Tag: cats

That’s when I work in a nap

“A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.”
— Old saying attributed to many sources. I first heard it from my grandfather.

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“Do you ever wonder what birds are saying,” a friend once asked. “So peaceful, listening to them.” Her beautiful photographs of feathered species were, as I remember them, consistently stunning.

Listening to a bird’s song while drinking coffee outdoors and naps; seemingly lost regimens of respite from daily routines to which I was introduced as a child. Learned from my grandfather while spending summers with my grandparents in Northeast Texas.

My grandfather was a man of rigid routines, even in retirement. After awakening from his afternoon nap, he retrieved the Fort Worth Star-Telegram from the mailbox and settled into his backyard lawn chair beneath the big pecan tree. There, he spent the next hour or so reading the paper, listening to the birds with his pet chicken, Easter.

Seriously, I’m not making that up. My grandfather really had a pet chicken named Easter. He kept a half dozen laying hens in his backyard, but this one White Leghorn bird bonded with him, roosting on his leg while he perused the paper.

“Hear that Mockingbird,” he would say.

“What’s he saying,” I asked? “Do birds talk to each other?”

“During the day, they sing to attract mates,” he answered. “But they sing during the spring and summer evenings just because they have a song.”

Supper was at five sharp, followed by some old-fashioned front porch rocking that included casual conversation and evening serenades from the many birds in the trees that filled my grandparent’s yard in Pittsburg, Texas.

Outside sitting continues today at my house in Center. It’s not every day, and it’s also a little different from those childhood days.

Mornings are on my secluded patio with a hot cup of strong, black coffee where I’m typically welcomed by three resident cats. “Lover Boy” wastes no time making his way to my lap. He earned his name for his constant craving of attention. He will purr for as long as you will pet him. Not far behind L.B. is “Fuzzy Butt” who was named … well, you can probably figure that one out easily enough. She enjoys the attention almost as much. And the third feline, Marshmallow? She came with that name. She loves petting as much as the others, but loves the food dish even more..

Bird watching is not my thing, I’m more about the melodies. I seldom see the singers, anyway, something to do with having three cats.

Some evenings, I’ll perch on the front porch. Fewer birds there with more activity on the busy street. Walkers and runners burning calories and shedding pounds. Reminding me that I should be out there with them, looking out for loose nut birds behind steering wheels. A species noted for its lack of intelligence flying faster than the law allows in residential neighborhoods and blowing through the corner stop sign.

These birds are likely the reason why the cats and I prefer the patio.

Patio sitting one morning last week, I recalled another cat that once called this place home. About a decade ago, when I took my longtime weekly newspaper column into the digital age with a blog site. My debut post was observations of a young orange tom “walk on” that adopted me.

Hardly more than a kitten, he spent long periods sitting, looking out the back door. I speculated that he might be wondering what was happening on the other side of that door where the birds were singing.

Which was kind of the way I felt at the time about what was ahead in the digital age of column writing.

My lifelong friend, Oscar Elliott, suggested I not worry about what might come next. That everything would always be all right if I did just one simple thing.

“Relax in your recliner,” was his direction. “Put that orange cat in your lap and take a nap.”

I’ve worked on relaxation in the years since. Trying to be like the birds that don’t sing because because they have all the answers, they sing simply because they have a song.

Working in a nap when I can. And if a cat wants to join me, that’s fine.

Just no chickens. Please!

—Leon Aldridge

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Aldridge columns are featured in these publications: The Center Light and Champion, The Mount Pleasant Tribune, the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche,  the Fort Stockton Pioneer, the Elgin Courier, The Monitor in Naples, and Motor Sports Magazine.

© Leon Aldridge and A Story Worth Telling 2025. Excerpts and links may be used, provided full and clear credit is given to Leon Aldridge and ‘A Story Worth Telling’ with appropriate and specific directions to the original content.

If I’m lucky, it will happen again

“Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in.” 
— Mark Twain (1835-1910) celebrated American writer, humorist, and essayist.

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“Do you think animals … our pets, will be in heaven,” my friend asked.

I thought for a minute before answering. Before taking time to shovel another spade full of dirt from the hole I was digging. Helping my friend in their time of loss.

“I don’t know,” I said. “The Bible doesn’t directly address that topic. Some say yes, they will be, based on indirect reference to animals in the scriptures. Others say no because the Bible doesn’t mention animals having a soul or the ability to follow God’s will.”

I took my time to fashion the hole a little larger while considering whether my answer was appropriate. Or sufficient. Then, resting on the shovel for a minute, I said, “There are lots of topics in the Bible that have no bearing on salvation. The kind where our opinion one way or the other won’t have any bearing on where we spend eternity. This is one of those questions.

“While I can’t tell you for sure whether our pets will be in heaven,” I rambled on, “I can tell you about a few I’ve had that deserve to be there … in my humble opinion.”

I shared memories of my first dog at about the age of six. A faithful mutt named Brownie I had to give up when we moved. And how that broke my childhood heart.

I talked about Max, an old, rehomed basset hound I adopted later in life. Mine and his. A dog that traveled Texas with me. A fine dog by any standard.

And I recalled Benny, the fisty and funny miniature schnauzer that enjoyed every minute of life. His and yours.

“A dog is the only creature on earth that loves you more than he loves himself,” I said. “Love a dog and it will love you back tenfold — no questions asked. Scold one that loves you, and with its tail tucked between its legs, it beg your forgiveness with its eyes. Never questioning whether you were right or wrong.

“And if you don’t believe that,” I laughed. “Try coming home late one night to your wife and your dog with no explanation. Then pay close attention to which one of them is happier to see you.

“Never trust anyone who tells you your pet is just a dog,” I added. “A dog that gives you so many good times to remember. Afternoon walks around the neighborhood. Never tiring of fetching a toy or a ball as many times as you throw it. Napping at your feet, letting you know that its favorite time is with you.

“Dogs come into our lives to teach us about love,” I said. “And they depart to teach us about loss.”

I thought no dog could ever replace Max. I sat on the floor and wept when it was his time to go when arthritis robbed him of his joy and his ability to walk

But I was wrong. Benny, the runt that no one wanted in a litter of schnauzer puppies, came along and changed that. The tiny puppy napped in my lap from day one, assuring me that I had a new furry friend just as loving, trusting, and entertaining.

And he was right.

“One thing about our pets,” I said, “no matter how many years we get with them, it’s never enough. Max, then Benny, became traveling companions. Going many places with me. Making memories and giving me stories about the love and companionship of a pet that I could bore you with for hours.”

Finishing the sad task I had volunteered to perform for my friend, I placed the small, lifeless, furry body in the hole I had been digging. Then covered it with dirt.

“Thank you, little kitty,” I offered as an abbreviated eulogy, “for the brief moments of happiness, love, laughter, and memories you shared with us.

“The best thing I can say about our pets,” I added, “is if we’re lucky, they will come into our life, steal our heart, and change everything before they have to go.”

While I can’t say with any authority where our pets go from here, I can say without hesitation that I’ve been blessed more than once by ‘just a dog’ or ‘just a cat’ that has left me with heavenly memories.

And if I’m lucky, it will happen again.

—Leon Aldridge

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Aldridge columns are featured in these publications: The Center Light and Champion, The Mount Pleasant Tribune, the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche,  the Fort Stockton Pioneer, the Elgin Courier, The Monitor in Naples, and Motor Sports Magazine.

© Leon Aldridge and A Story Worth Telling 2025. Excerpts and links may be used, provided full and clear credit is given to Leon Aldridge and ‘A Story Worth Telling’ with appropriate and specific directions to the original content.

I don’t need another cat

“Singin’ the blues while the lady cats cry,
‘Wild stray cat, you’re a real gone guy.’
I wish I could be as carefree and wild,
But I got cat class, and I got cat style.”
— The Stray Cats, American rockabilly band

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Saw another news item about big cats in East Texas last week. A huge one up near Longview that ran out in front of a police cruiser at 3 a.m.

Identified by Texas Parks and Wildlife as a mountain lion, the feline lost its battle with the law enforcement vehicle. Stirring up once again, the popular feud as to whether big cats really roam East Texas. Social media comments became a cat fight with some crying “scam” and others declaring, “See, I told you so.”

I’m not a hunter. Not even much of an outdoorsman if there’s any chance of encountering snakes, mosquitos, chiggers, or having to get up before sunrise. And communing with nature? My favorite camping style is a hotel room with a nice view of trees.

My first sort-of camping adventure involving cats was during grade school. With neighbor friend Eddie Dial on Redbud Street in Mount Pleasant. Roughing it under a tent created by throwing a couple of old bedspreads over the backyard clothesline.

“What’s that noise,” Eddie said in the middle of the night. Just as we were ready to make a run for the house, Mom’s house cats poked their noses into our makeshift tent. LIkely expressing curiosity about the backyard visitors. Or maybe they picked up the scent of our snacks.

Camping trips with Coach Sam Parker’s Boy Scout Troop never involved cats, just cat sounds. Older scouts making noises to scare the Tenderfoot campers. Even weeklong excursions to Scout Camp in the hills of Oklahoma offered nothing but a herd of wild hogs one night. Mount Pleasant High School teacher turned scout camp counselor, James Criscoe, demonstrated hog-calling skills we considered entertaining. Until a herd rumbled through camp in the middle of the night.

But big cats? Nope. None in Oklahoma.

 Nor Arkansas either, I guess. Mom and Dad spent their vacations camping at Albert Pike. I joined them weekends a couple of times. Arriving the first time after dark on Friday night, I looked at their small camper and asked, “Where do I sleep?”

“Here’s a sleeping bag,” said Dad. “That picnic table under the canopy looks like a great spot.”

“But what about mountain lions and stuff,” I asked.

“They don’t have them on Arkansas,” he laughed. “At least I don’t think so.” Sleeping with one eye open, all I saw were big mountain raccoons rummaging in trash cans in the middle of the night.

It was not raccoons, however, that I heard one night several years ago visiting the lower latitudes of Shelby County. Down between Possum Trot and Goober Hill. Yes, those are real places — check your Cracker Barrell road atlas.

Air conditioning did not grace the dirt road residence I was visiting near the Sabine National Forest that night. And being Springtime, windows were open allowing pleasant East Texas breezes for comfort.

It was way after dark when I heard it. A blood-curdling, ear-piecing scream.

“That’s just a panther,” someone said nonchalantly.

That was 40 years ago, and I didn’t dare dispute my host’s opinion. Who was I to say, anyway? My big cat experience in East Texas was limited to lions, tigers, and all kinds of ferocious felines in zoos like Tyler and Lufkin. And that was my first visit to the Possum Trot, Goober Hill area.

I still remember it. A cross between the time Mom encountered a mouse scampering across the kitchen floor and the epic shower scene from the movie “Psycho.”

These days, I see cats daily. Just city cats that call my house home. They are big, only if you count extra pounds from regular feedings of good quality cat food and sleeping upwards of 20 hours a day. And I see them sometimes from the travel trailer I bought a few years ago. I’ve enjoyed many nights camping in it. Right where it’s parked in my backyard, a few steps from the house.

They’re always the same three regular cats: Lover Boy, Fluffy Bottom, and Marshmallow. And two occasional walk-ons nicknamed Scrappy Cat and Mouthy. I just set an extra place at the food bowls when they show up.

If there really are big cats in East Texas, mountain lions like the one that ventured out in Longview last week, I just hope they are not fond of good quality cat food and sleeping upwards of 20 hours a day.

I don’t need another cat … of any class, style, or size.

—Leon Aldridge

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Aldridge columns are featured in these publications: The Mount Pleasant Tribune, the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche,  the Fort Stockton Pioneer, the Elgin Courier, The Monitor in Naples, and Motor Sports Magazine.

© Leon Aldridge and A Story Worth Telling 2024. Excerpts and links may be used, provided full and clear credit is given to Leon Aldridge and ‘A Story Worth Telling’ with appropriate and specific directions to the original content.