Dear Respected Recipient (1999):
Merry December from JoAnn, Keeper of the Cats, and Tom, her slack-jawed assistant. JoAnn’s year in review shows yet another steady schedule of hard work at Care Animal Hospital and partial ownership of Martha Stewart’s empire. Tom, on the other hand, has developed a career strategy that normal people call “quitting.” He prefers the term “greener pastures” and would gladly share the details of this radical business technique with fellow feeble-minded slackers.
Indoor noise pollution concerns over the course of the year precipitated the departure of noisy cockatiels Boo, Phoebe, and Lila and their oversized cage from the premises, leaving the in-house animal head count at an all-time low of about four or five. The standard three cats, Gideon, Cecil, and Tigger, remain solidly entrenched in the lap of feline luxury, where they silently endure occasional visits from Aunt Linda’s enthusiastic new dog, Simon. Nigel the South American possum runs about a mile a night on his treadmill but still remains pleasingly plump on his metered diet of crickets and mealworms.
JoAnn compensated for the loss of the indoor birds by patiently transforming the back yard from a suburban wasteland to an outdoor aviary of blue jays, pheasants, sparrows, vultures, chickadees, Cornish game hens, flickers, quail, magpies, turkeys, ducks, gargoyles, and geese. The various bird feeders have also become a favorite gathering spot for marauding mice, squirrels, raccoons, wild dogs, stray cats, and the occasional mountain weasel.
The neighbors tolerate this unlicensed game preserve only because they eagerly await JoAnn’s daily, morning rounds, during which she glides from feeder to feeder dressed in nothing more than a flowing robe and oversized galoshes. They also enjoy Tom’s frequent encounters with the local wildlife, the most recent of which involved a mad dash for shelter after an imagined sighting of a Cape Buffalo rising from the mud flats just beyond the back yard. The buffalo turned out to be a heavy-breathing, morbidly obese human walking his equally large dog, both of whom watched in stunned amazement as Tom ran screaming like a schoolboy into a hanging suet feeder and then, blinded by rancid animal fat, staggered backward into the bird bath, at which point he was set upon by a covey of flying squirrels that had patiently waited most of the summer for just such an opportunity. Fortunately, the smell of suet kept the vermin at bay. Unfortunately, the lingering odor has had the same effect on JoAnn.
Our concerns for the new year revolve around finding a satisfactory substitute for the reprehensible designation “Y2K.” Two thousand? Twenty hundred? Two triple zero? Twenty ought nothing? Double O zip? We remain open to suggestions.
In the resolution department, JoAnn will continue to care and find homes for stray animals and also plans to embark on an aggressive tranquilizing/tagging operation in the back yard in her pursuit to become known as the Jane Goodall of the squirrel world. Tom’s less lofty goals involve an anti-necktie campaign and re-admittance to the local Victoria’s Secret store, from which he is currently banned for life for sinister deportment.
We wish all of you timely insurance claims, dependable batteries, comfortable dress shoes, nutritious fast food, early retirement, adequate support, legible handwriting, safe passage, polite customer service, favorable reviews, clean public restrooms, tuned instruments, strong tailwinds, helpful salespeople, keen insight, crash-free computers, patient supervisors, independent wealth, potable water, minimal injuries, rapid advancement, educational television, tranquil commutes, good digestion, rudimentary math skills, unobtrusive telemarketers, casual dress codes, dry basements, reasonable interest rates, honest federal officials, preventive maintenance, efficient public transportation, satisfied employees, short waiting lines, rewarding careers, round tires, quiet neighbor children, on-time departures, happy landings, and mentally healthy pilots.
Double O Zip (2000) Season’s Greetings From Cat Hair Country:
We’ll skip the annual animal head count this year and settle for merely listing the additions. JoAnn’s year 2000 resolution to champion the cause of homeless, injured, endangered animals produced the following spectacular results:
Emma the stray cat and Avery the homeless dog, both suffering egregious injuries, somehow escaped the animal shelter gas chamber and found their way to Care Animal Hospital, where JoAnn saw to their recovery, took them home for “the weekend,” and subsequently neglected to return them. Emma’s souvenirs from her previous life include mutilated ears and a lot of hardware in one hip, but she’s still the fastest, best-looking cat in the house. Tom requested that JoAnn trim his ears in hopes of attaining the same improvement. JoAnn agreed to comply only if the improvement included less snoring at public gatherings.
Avery the shepherd mix graduated from the canine college of obedience in November. Shortly thereafter, in typical dog-like fashion, she designated JoAnn as the Alpha male of the household and demonstrated her dominance over Tom in a manner that shall remain un-described in this document or anywhere else. The knowledge of his true position in the household shocked Tom. JoAnn appeared unsurprised by this revelation.
The passing of Nigel the South American possum left JoAnn with an empty aquarium, which she quickly filled with rat ladies Adelaide and Pandora, claiming that she had saved them from a fate involving caged reptiles. Tom suspects ulterior motives as their presence evens the household female to male ratio at 1:1 and threatens his campaign to become household Alpha male.
On the subject of campaigns, Tom’s year 2000 anti-necktie crusade faltered because of an apathetic streak that began when he discovered that he and the Etch-a-Sketch are the same age. However, he did accomplish the apparently difficult feat of remaining with the same employer for an entire calendar year, and is currently enrolled in a company-sponsored training program intended to help him appear less stunned in public when work-related events do not occur as planned.
We celebrated our 7th anniversary with a visit to Cape Cod, where we combed the beaches of the National Seashore for big dead fish heads and petrified horseshoe crabs. The staff of the Cape Cod Museum of Natural History sent us on a nature walk of the shore line at low tide and then charged another group of tourists admission to watch us make our way back across the swampy salt flats as the tide rolled in. The high point of our trip involved a tour of the Chatham Light House, where Tom, under the direction of a muscular Coast Guard volunteer, learned how to clean nose prints off an antique Fresnel lens. The last night of our trip found us at the Captain’s Quarters in the historic Boston suburb of Revere, a location we would not recommend for your next family vacation.
Wishing you all a cat-hair-free 2001 that’s the best year ever.
