He’s a grand cat – literally AND figuratively!
My father never liked to talk on the telephone. However, he used to stay on the line with me to discuss the urgency of my earning an MBA, the importance of my starting a Roth IRA, or the irreparable economy. Now Daddy is either disinterested in or incapable of elaborating on the topics that once facilitated father-daughter conversation. These days our 2-minute-tops phone chats revolve around one thing: my cat MacGyver.
“How’s MacGyver doin’?” he always asks.
“He’s doing well. His automatic food dispenser went off, so he’s happy to be eating dinner.”
“That’s my grandcat. He’s a grand cat – literally AND figuratively!”
I laugh as if Daddy never had made this joke before. Half of the time, he asks the same question 10 seconds later.
“How was your day?” I attempt to switch the subject.
“Good. Slept a lot. So how’s MacGyver doin’?”
“He’s doing great. He’s eating dinner.”
“Let me tell you, that’s a grand cat – literally AND figuratively!”
“I know, Daddy. He’s grand all around.”
Daddy and MacGyver when he was four weeks old.
Ryan and I recently considered the idea of buying a house, and I felt sad I couldn’t talk to my father about it.
“You should try,” Ryan encouraged me.
Daddy immediately attempted to get off the phone, but I semi-forced the subject.
“Any advice?” I winced and asked.
“Well… just get somethin’ ya like. Buyin’ a home is the best investment you will ever make.”
Three years ago Daddy would have approved of the idea but also broken down the hidden costs of home ownership, told me to kiss my love of clothing goodbye, and mentioned that my generation never will enjoy the quality of life our parents achieved.
Still, he said something.
“Thanks, Daddy.”
“Yup. How’s MacGyver doin’?”
“He’s awesome. He wants to make sure we buy a house with adequate bird- and squirrel-watching windows.”
“That MacGyver is a grand cat – literally AND figuratively!”
I laughed and released Daddy from the phone so he could go back to sleep.
Hot Dog Beehonkus 
You know what? If not for Hot Dog Beehonkus, I would be reading something stupid. I’m now certain of it. Example? Just five minutes ago, I was reading an article about Kanye West saying something really stupid about something he’d already said that was really stupid, which of course led me deep into the comments section (I know… I KNOW!) and then remembered I hadn’t read this entry yet, and now I feel retarded for having spent 12 minutes of my life on that Kanye thing. Seriously: if you stop writing, I’m going to die an illeterate goob. Help me, Bobbin. Please do this forever because, well… I’m an idiot.
I appreciate the encouragement, although I’m sure the occasional Kanye column won’t turn you into an illiterate goob. I plan to write for life because I feel anxious and agitated when I don’t! Now that reminds me, I need to look up the latest gossip involving Robsten’s break-up. 😉
The good news is I have no idea what you’re talking about 😉
I’m so glad MacGyver has shed those pounds. I’m sure he had a greatly increased risk of developing diabetes. If only he were amenable to petting…
On Saturday my friend Elizabeth called MacGyver SLIM. I still can’t believe you and Mother called MacGyver fat behind my back.