THE CURMUDGEONS


                                           
One of the feral cats that lounge around my patio waiting to be fed every day is mean. I'm not talking about a murdering kind of cat, but the type with no clue about manners.   He's not that bright, either. When I open the patio door, he's right there in front of the door. He claws at my feet and legs as I slide it open while holding a large container of cat food. The swiping doesn't end when he's full; au contraire, he'll reach for Paddy with extended claws when we leave for a walk minutes later. I've learned to spray water on him to get him to back away. We're good for about 5 seconds. As the patio gate opens, he's back and ready to attack again. Someone advised me the other day to have him picked up since he's the cat version of a curmudgeon, but I can't force myself to call Animal Control. They'd euthanize him, and I'd feel remorseful that I had a part in killing another living thing. It wouldn't be very Zen of me, and from what I hear, Karma might come calling. It's my burden to bear. I give up. From this point forward, I'll use the front door for the walks with Paddy.

Shortly after I opened a rehabilitation hospital in South Florida well over a decade ago, one of our clerks had an elderly mother with whom she lived. She didn't want to leave her at home alone when she worked 12-hour shifts. Our hospital was composed of spacious single-patient rooms, many offices, and enclosed areas for different activities. Since none of the patients used the TV room, I agreed to let her stay there during the day. She planted herself in one of the lounge chairs and watched TV for 12 hours, only leaving the place to use the restroom across the hall. Her social skills were limited due to her age or perhaps part of her personality, but she wasn't the friendliest person I had ever met. When I greeted her every morning, she stared at me. If I or anyone else dared leave the restroom door even the slightest bit ajar, we would receive a tongue-lashing. It was vitally important to her that the door remained closed. You might wonder why I would let a woman who didn't appreciate that I had disregarded hospital regulations by allowing her to stay with us. Still, I wanted to help one of my employees take care of her mother. Eventually, several staff started resenting that the clerk was given special privileges and wondered why they couldn't bring their children to work, even though we operated a daycare center within 50 feet of the hospital. I wondered at the time if they might have gotten tired of being yelled at, but she was a little old lady. Besides, there were plenty of other bathrooms they could use! I eventually told the clerk that she'd have to find another solution for her mother. I felt awful when she died shortly after leaving us.

Some people might think I have a pattern of doing things that aren't appreciated, and maybe I'm even crazy for allowing myself to be treated terribly while helping. Still, I figure that sometimes, you do things because it's the right thing to do––no matter what! And, maybe it makes up in some small way for the things I've done that I wish I hadn't.


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