Saiga's Notes

Not long before age 15, my cat got tired of living. Her daily activities shrinked to eat / sleep / piss / sometimes groom. She lost affinity to playing and galloping around as before. Instead, she dragged along, a pale shadow of her lively self, skinny, uneven thin fur. Once or twice a year, a hormone rush turned her into a restless noisy creature with insatiable hunger for being caressed so that my wife dubbed her Scratchbelly. I was much worried and sought a solution. Through thinking, reading and conversations I finally found a fresh look on the life that we gave to our cat. She lived in a flat, always indoor. Never gave birth to kittens, serving as a walking decoration and an amusement for humans. In her dwelling, nothing stayed unexplored or unfamiliar. All games been played, all corners been sniffed. Sick of chasing balls and feathers. I was determined to get my pet out of that hole and my wife supported me. So we embarked on a plan to change the life of the cat... and us. Since ...

“Short hand!” a voice came from behind when the ball hit the rim. A granny passing by the court smiled with sarcastic triumph. Lots of folks cross this court in our yard, many tempted to comment on us (me and my son Archie) playing. Some praise (“It’s so amazing seeing you two working out every day!”), most banter. Jokes simple as rocks – one or another cliché regarding us missing shoots, typically. And I have always been buying it with a thought jumping in my head “Show me your shot”. I seen that granny a hundred times - a ball with a walking stick who had nothing common with whatever type of fitness or healthy living for the last fifty years or so. Yet, something’s changed today. It occurred to me that I really missed the shot. She was right, I was a short hand indeed. Ten minutes before, I was a sniper, shooting five straight baskets. I was both. In fact, every short hand has his/her noble reason to be it. And it had nothing to do with the question if she could shoot. That moment, I...

I’m a jerk.  When the quarantine situation was in the very beginning of the trend to reverse back to normal life, I had to visit a dentist. Don’t forget you mask and gloves, the receptionist said when making an appointment for me by phone. “What are the gloves needed for?” I asked. “You’ve got that hand desinfection gel at the entrance.” “Yes, you also must use gel,” answered the receptionist. “And wear gloves over desinfected hands?” I put some sarcasm. “Exactly.” “I don’t get the logic here. So the gel doesn’t work?” “It does.”  “Then I can go without gloves?” “I’m sorry but that’s the law,” she answered apologetically. I gave up. At the office, I was cocky. I couldn’t help grumbling at the receptionist and didn’t wear gloves. She was restrained and polite to the end and pretended not noticing my hands were bare. Seeing me so unusually uptight (I’m a calm disciplined person normally), my dentist asked empathetically, «You don’t like all this, do you?» “Radically,” I answered...

Introverts feel awesome when homeschooling, but kids of that kind are also most prone to self-isolation. Enjoying the quiet world of theirs, they feel constant temptation to shun even the necessary minimum of socializing – for instance, to report about work done or even to get support. Communicating to people comes with risk of tension and conflicts, acutely painful for introvertial kids. They avoid it by all means and this is a downward spiral because a lack of practice is making them ever worse communicators. That's my son Archie. Choosing not the most efficient but the most individual approaches. Browsing in the Web instead of asking mom. Twisting away from regular reporting on progress. Insulting me with pessimistic remarks “no sense in all of that” or going hysterical when I apply parent's authority to force him into reporting. He doesn't do this on purpose, just acts on the subconscious getaway program.  All the while, he was always understanding being wrong, blamed h...

Thanks to a charismatic yet ill-mannered older relative, my son has taken to annoy people with uncalled-for thoughtless categorical remarks. That stuff had stuck in him so deeply that he didn't realize doing this, just couldn't keep in. Often, we his parents couldn't help getting mad trying to discuss something important with him. We're not so bad at adapting to different personalities but with this issue, he always took us aback, coming to this mood out of the blue as if he'd got up on the wrong side of the bed. Understanding came too late, after the wrong words has already been said. That day, he started squabbling while we were working on his study plan. Whatever I said, was met with penny arguments. “Look, you just object to everything I say and it doesn't get us nowhere,” I said, feeling ready to burst out with anger. “No I don't.” “Yes you do. Right now you're inhaling and your mouth is open to give another argument.” He realized that he was in...

A good rain can’t spoil a good mushroom hunting. My wife and I were all wet after getting caught in the shower on a far bike trip in the forests, our backpacks full of porcinis, russulas, and parasols. She was leading the way, pushing pedals hard, evidently focused on a soon shower… a different shower, without pants on… and then dry clothes. I was dreaming of the same but when passing a convenience store, pushed the brakes and let her go farther alone. I recalled that this morning my darling mentioned how much she missed citruses, absent in our kitchen for a string of days – she loves them dearly. And I love surprises as much so I had a plan. I was waiting in line, imagining how I’d put three oranges on the nicest dish and handle it to her when an annoyed voice broke into the dream: „You didn’t count money before leaving home, did you?“ A little girl before me did not have enough cash to pay for two icecreams. The ticket was issued already so the cashier took a phone to call the mana...