Ivan the Cat and the Dreadful Doberman

Ivan was king of the neighborhood. An accomplished hunter, he was feared by every bird and small animal near our house. No mouse ever set up shop in our kitchen on Ivan's watch. Though we fed him, his steady diet of little pests kept his dry food intake to a minimum. It wasn't that he was a big, strong, kitty... Ivan was only about a foot long. There were squirrels in our area who were as big as the cat, but he took them down anyway.

The diminutive seal point Siamese had also dominated the other area cats, including those who were much larger than he was. Even most of the neighborhood's dogs, having felt the sting of his claws and the bite of his teeth, feared the tiny terror. More than once our household received phone calls from upset owners of wanting to know who was going to pay their dog's vet bills. Eventually, the dogs learned to avoid Ivan. At least one owner told us that when our cat walked across her fence, her little pug would shoot in through his doggy door like a sloppy, wet bullet. A friend told me her puppy had scratched up her back door trying to get in because of him. A lot of neighbors couldn't even walk their dogs on the sidewalk outside our yard, even though it was separated by a hill and a tall hedge. So feared was our Siamese Ninja Attack Cat that most pups would rather cross the street.

This tale is not about one of those dogs.

Tasha was a full grown Doberman Pincher. She wasn't very friendly, but that was probably because the kids she lived with didn't understand how to play with her. Instead of playing with her like she was a dog, they played with her like she was another kid, including her in their pirate and war games. To the kids, it was a game. To the dog, it was a torment, and she became very grouchy.
Ivan was smart enough to not chase this dog. Unlike many of the neighborhood's dogs, who merely sought to play, Tasha was constantly on guard. A direct approach was sure to result in a painful bite. Therefore, a weakness must be found and exploited if Ivan the Neighborhood Terror was going to beat her.

That weakness turned out to be fairly simple; the dog was on a chain. The chain had a finite length. All the cat had to do was find a point just beyond the chained dog's reach, and he could sit in all of his mighty superiority, driving Tasha insane while remaining perfectly safe.

Needless to say, Tasha was not the only individual who was bothered by this tactic. Imagine trying to take an afternoon nap, and just as you are about to nod off, you hear a loud, booming,
"BROW-WROW-WROW-WROW-WROW! BROW-WROW-WROW!"

Eventually, the culprit was identified, and that lead to more phone calls. Sure... it's the dog who is noisy, but let's blame the cat... or at least, that's what one neighbor did.
It didn't help that other cats soon joined in the game. After that, I guess it was only a matter of time before it happened. A dog can only take so much.

It was a warm day in autumn. Being too young to go to school, I was at home, playing in the back yard. I heard Tasha barking and glanced over to see my cat sitting in his favorite teasing spot, a few inches beyond the reach allowed by the dog's chain. No matter how many times I called him, he refused to give up the game, but instead sat calmly watching the doberman's canine meltdown. At the time, I thought Ivan was just being willful, but looking back, I doubt he could hear me over Tasha's tantrum. She growled and barked, threatened and whined, pranced and dug, jumped and shook, all to no avail, as she could not close that last couple of inches in front of the cat. Every so often, as the dog fell from a particularly high jump, Ivan would be so mean as to flick his tail into her space, giving her false hope so that she would jump again, snapping her teeth on the empty space where only a second ago had been tempting fur and bone. Furious, Tasha would launch into another series of canine cussing and double her efforts to get Ivan, nearly choking herself, and almost pulling the chain's anchor out of the ground. That was when she found it... the weakest link.

After weeks of stress, the chain to which Tasha's owner had tethered her broke, freeing her.

Suddenly, the game changed. The fence on which Ivan sat was no obstacle for a doberman. The dog jumped, and Ivan snapped into action, rocketing across the fence and sideways down the alley. I ran to the side steps to see if I could intercept and protect Ivan, but the animals were too fast for me. Having turned away from traffic and onto the sidewalk, they raced past the steps and around the corner, Ivan's blue eyes the size of saucers, his body stretched out like a rubber band, and Tasha an inch off of his perfectly straight tail, roaring with rage.

I ran into the house to get mom. At that age, I still believed that she could, and must, fix everything.
"Mom, Tasha's chasing Ivan, and she's gonna KILL HIM!"
"No she won't," came the calm reply from over by the sink.
Incredulous, I gaped at my mom.
"Ivan's a tough kitty. He can take care of himself." Mom went back to scrubbing.

Still worried, I ran back outside and listened to the sounds of the two pets' battle as it raged throughout the neighborhood... loud barking to the southeast, then further south, followed by a kitty yowl... more barking, back to the southeast, and then further north, almost directly to the East... another yowl... they seemed to be going up and down the other side of the block. In my mind's eye, I saw my helpless, battered, chewed-up kitty fleeing for his life, followed by one monstrous, angry dog. The barking seemed to become stuck at the southeast corner. There was a lot of growling. Mentally, I could see my poor little Ivan cornered, his back arched and his tale bushed, waiting as Tasha closed in for the kill, and then I heard it:

MEEEEYYYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWER!

At that instant, I didn't have time to assume she'd killed him, as that was instantly followed by the most human sounding scream I've ever heard from a dog. Then, Tasha's pained and terrified yelps rapidly approached my vantage point, but there were no more sounds from my cat. Had a human gotten involved? Was Ivan dead?

My answer came screeching (literally) around the corner, her nose badly scratched all along its entire length, even into the black. Her ears were down, and her body low, as she flew toward her house with my cat securely attached to her little stub of a tail, holding on tightly with his teeth. He had latched on, and he wasn't letting go! His front claws took big, hard swipes at her hide, leaving long scratches with each hit, and his rear claws raking down the backs of her thighs and doing the same. As she jumped the fence back into her own yard, Tasha finally managed to shake Ivan off of her now red-striped butt. She ran across the yard and dove into her doghouse. Ivan lighted on the fence and looked down at her one last time, as if to punctuate his win, and then he hoped down onto the grass and strutted home, his cat-hood firmly established. It was his last time teasing Tasha, but that is probably because the fun of it was gone. The fight had determined who was strongest; thereafter, whenever she saw him, Tasha hid in her house, and Ivan knew better than to attack her in there.

Ask A Stupid Question

Years ago, while working with my family's photography business, I assisted my brother in his booth at a bridal show to help advertise our services to the local public. Before actually attending, I looked up the show online, mostly to get directions to the building, but also to see what the consumer was going to see when visiting the website for the show. There, I found an article about wedding photographers. The author was horribly ill-informed regarding the qualifications of a good photographer. Well, to be honest, the author was horribly ill-informed regarding pretty much everything about wedding photography... but what really grabbed my attention was the list of suggested questions she had posted for prospective clients to ask all of us in their search for the "perfect" photographer. Instead of suggesting brides check out our work examples, our references, and our track record with the Better Business Bureau, they were directed to inquire about our equipment, staff, and connections, as if everyone is involved enough in the world of photography to understand our answers, and as if those answers would give anyone a clue as to whether we'd do a good job of capturing the day's beautiful memories.
The list was stupid. The few relevant questions on it were about information we provided in our flier. The rest were meaningless drivel designed to make the bride feel as though she had accomplished something by interviewing the photographer. Brides would have been better off randomly picking questions from that week's episode of any random quiz show.
As soon as I saw it, I had to make fun of that list. HAD to. It was begging me.
I wrote mock answers to each of the questions, with actions denoted by asterisks (in the tradition of old AOL chatroom and BB "emotes" among my online friends) on either side of them. The result was what appears to be an interview between the Bride Without a Brain and the Mad Photographer.
No, I didn't answer the questions like that at the bridal show (even though I wanted to more than once)... but yes, I did share the list.
I originally published this on my first blog, which basically meant that all of my friends saw it and that was about it. Its second publishing was on Gather.com, where a few internet connections enjoyed the humor and commented. In the spirit of passing on the humor, I thought I'd share it here, as well, with the questions shown in black text, and my replies shown in purple... because I said so!

Questions to ask a Photographer

1. How long have you been in the business photographing weddings?
Weddings?!? I thought this was supposed to be pornography!!

2. Do you belong to any associations or organizations?
I am a long standing member of The Buttscrachers' Society of Ohio, and regular attendee of The Church of What's Happenin' Now.

3. How would you describe your approach and style of photography?
First, I pick up the camera...

4. May I see a portfolio of your work?
NO! It's Mine!! You can't have it!

5. Do you have an example of a complete wedding album I can look at?
I have an album... see the answer to question #1.

6. Who exactly will be photographing my wedding?
Larry Flint

7. How will this person be dressed?
Dressed? You want him dressed?!?
*laughs hysterically*

8. What kind of camera and equipment do you use?
It has buttons on it...

9. Do you bring back up equipment?
It beeps when it backs up.

10. Do you have a back-up photographer in case you get sick? Describe his/her qualifications.
She beeps too.

11. Do you offer different packages?
Hey! Keep your hands off of my package!

12. What is your fee and exactly what does it include?
I'll be claiming your firstborn child, unless you can guess my name.

13. Will you have a contract outlining exactly what products and services I will receive?
My attorney, Mr. Lucifer, will be handling that aspect of the deal.

14. What is your payment policy?
Pay me or die!!!

15. What form of payment do you accept?
I deal strictly in human souls...

16. How many photographs will you take in all? Is there a limit?
All of 'em. As for limit, I prefer to maintain a safe speed at all times. Do you have any speed? I need some!!!
*clings to client*

17. How much are reprints?
I'll be claiming your second born child...

18. Are the proofs included in my package?
All evidence is destroyed to prevent prosecution!

19. Do you offer purchase of the proofs?
What, are you trying to blackmail me?

20. Do you retouch negatives?
*looks around*
I never touched 'em in the first place! You can't prove anything! I wanna talk to my lawyer!

21. Do you offer gift smaller gift albums for relatives?
*finds speed*
*singing* the itsy bitsy album crawled up the water spout...

22. How long will you stay at the ceremony and reception?
Ceremony? I must get my robe...and my pentacle... ooh! and my athame!
*runs off*