Bringing another cat into the house is way more complicated than I remembered it

 

That's Cheddar soaking up some sun near our front door.

For many years we owned five cats. This was just how it was, and I spent the first few minutes of every morning feeding them, getting them fresh water, scooping out their litter boxes, and ensuring they were all present and accounted for.

Then our three boys (Fred, George and Charlie) each succumbed to various feline diseases in one 16-month period, and suddenly we found ourselves down to two kitties in the house: our girls Ginny and Molly.

As much as I miss Fred, George and Charlie, I have to admit I've enjoyed the relative ease of taking care of only two cats vs. five. All along I've said that as soon as these two ladies pass on – something I hope doesn't happen for quite a while – we would start living cat-free.

No more food bowls, no more litter boxes, no more clumps of fur blowing randomly around the house.

You know where this is going.

A few months ago, my daughter Melanie found a sweet, affectionate orange cat living outside her house. She started to feed and pet him, and the next thing you knew, Mr. Orange was living inside her home along with the two cats she already owned.

This would have been fine except that the two existing felines weren't especially nice to Orange. They made his life miserable, which is all the more sad considering what a nice little guy he is. He loves receiving pets, being around people, and just generally loving everyone.

Mel didn't know what to do. She wanted to find him a new home where he could live in relative peace and quiet, but there were no obvious candidates outside of her family.

Again, you know where this is going.

I had already resigned myself to the fact that Cheddar, as she had named him, would be coming to live with us, even before the formal request was made. Our oldest daughter Elissa offered to take him, but it was agreed that we could offer Cheddar the best home.

So one Saturday Mel brought him over. He lived in our master bathroom for a few days while he got acclimated to his new surroundings.

Actually, him living in the bathroom was done mainly to allow Ginny and Molly ample time to get used to his smell and accept the fact that he would be their new brother.

I read online how integrating a new cat into an existing cat family should be a gradual process. One thing we did, for example, was to feed the girl cats treats on one side of a bedroom door while Cheddar was getting his own treats on the other.

This not only put them in close proximity, the treats also (theoretically) created a positive association for them with their mutual smells.

Slowly we started giving Cheddar more freedom. When the girls first encountered him visually, their reactions were predictable: Light but insistent hissing and facial expressions that clearly conveyed the message, "We don't know what you are, but you are not welcome."

As I write this in mid-April, this is still the state of affairs, though I think Ginny and Molly are coming to the realization that Ched isn't going anywhere and they need to get used to the idea.

Who knows? Maybe in time they'll become pals.

All I know is that I envisioned this process happening much quicker and going much more smoothly. We've done the cat integration thing before, but apparently I've forgotten how reluctant they can be to welcome new companions of their own species.

We had a much easier time when we were bringing home new (human) babies every two years back in the 90s and early 2000s. At least back then the kids didn't hiss at their new brothers and sisters.

I'm sure my wife doesn't take unfair advantage of the fact I can't leave a dirty dish in the sink

I should go back and watch the video of our wedding, because I can't remember the exact vows Terry and I exchanged back in June 1992.

I'm pretty sure the traditional "honor and cherish" was in there, though, which is why I can say with some confidence that she doesn't use my neurotic approach to housecleaning against me.

You can't cherish someone, for instance, and purposely leave the kitchen messy knowing your partner is absolutely incapable of walking away and leaving it dirty.

This is what I choose to believe.

Terry has always been a busy person. In the early years of our marriage, if she wasn't working full time, she was taking care of one baby or another. Or volunteering at the school. Or doing yardwork.

There is and always has been something on her plate.

Which, speaking of plates, is why I never get suspicious when I come home to dishes in the sink and miscellaneous items strewn about the kitchen. This, I tell myself, is not a case of her leaving it all to me, but rather her focusing on another important task with plans to come back later and clean it all up.

The thing is, I have some sort of mental condition that does not allow me to relax knowing the kitchen needs to be tidied. I simply can't do it. I must clean it and clean it immediately.

(Actually, this condition doesn't allow me to relax at all, period, regardless of the condition the kitchen is in.)

This sounds like a positive trait. Something to be admired. After all, who wouldn't want a spouse who tries to do their fair share of housework?

But it's not. It's annoying, both to me and to others. It's why I'm constantly picking up half-filled glasses around the house, dumping them, and putting them in the dishwasher, only to be asked 15 minutes later by a family member or guest where their drink has gone because they haven't yet finished it.

It's why I have to (HAVE to) scrape the pots and pans and put away leftover food after holiday dinners while everyone else is playing a family game I should also be playing.

My insistence on a clean kitchen is not a noble act, it is a compulsion.

It is borderline unhealthy.

Terry knows this. And I know my wife, so I will always give her the benefit of the doubt.

Of course, I also know how smart she is. And how tired she gets by the end of any given day. Who among us can stave off the temptation to sneakily pawn off a chore to our significant other when all we want to do is put up our feet and watch TV?

My wife is not immune to such impulses.

Yet whenever I come home from work and am greeted by a messy kitchen (which really isn't that often), I regard cleaning up as the least I can do in return for the three decades' worth of delicious meals she has cooked for me – and not some devious plan to leverage whatever mental disorder makes me this way.

But she's smart, that one, very smart. And sometimes I wonder...

What, me retire?

Not long ago, Terry and I had an overdue check-in with Dave, our Merrill Lynch financial guy (NOTE: That's not Dave above. That's Alfred E. Neuman. If you don't know who he is, you're probably too young to be interested in reading this post in the first place.)

Maybe the conversation wasn't "overdue," though. I'm not sure how often you're supposed to talk with your money person, but it felt like we hadn't taken a step back and discussed the big picture for quite a while.

While Dave stays in touch regularly, some time had passed since I had gathered all of our account information, sent it to him, and allowed him to run the numbers and gauge our financial health.

The results were encouraging.

Lord willing and the creek don't rise, we're right on track for me to retire in about 11 1/2 years. My goal is to work until the end of 2035 before calling it quits and enjoying whatever comes next.

I'll have just turned 66 at that point and will have been a member of the full-time workforce for two-thirds of my life (that's 44 years for those who didn't have Mrs. Schwarzenberg at Mapledale Elementary School and whose arithmetic skills may therefore be lacking).

That "feels" about right. I would rather not work full time into my 70s, if I can help it, but I also don't want to get out of the game too early, for reasons both personal and financial.

There are several factors that go into deciding how much money you need to sock away for retirement, including the lifestyle you want to lead once you get there. Terry and I want to be able to travel with some regularity, whether it's to visit kids/grandkids or just see the world.

I'm not talking about boarding a plane for some exotic location every two weeks. Maybe "several" trips a year, with most domestic and one overseas.

"Comfortable but nowhere near extravagant" is how I would describe our desired post-retirement lifestyle.

That's somewhat vague, I realize, but it was enough for Dave to decide we're ahead of the curve with our savings and investment plan, given the vagaries of the markets, my presumed ability to continue working for another decade-plus, and all of the other unpredictable realities that come with aging.

This was all somewhat of a revelation to me. I'm 54 years old. I don't think about retirement very often beyond how much I throw into my 401(k) and occasional dreams of touring World War I battlefields in France and Belgium once I have the time to do so (that's likely to be a solo trip sans Terry, if I had to guess).

For the first time, the conversation with Dave made retirement seem like a tangible thing and not just a far-off hope. I've still got a ways to go, and like I said, you never know what's going to come your way. But the fact is, it could happen, and that's fun to think about.

Again, though, as quickly as time passes these days, I still have several career-building years ahead of me, which is OK. We'll get there when we get there.

The closer it gets, the more real it will become, I'm sure.

I need to quit whining, go to bed earlier, and regularly lift heavy things

"The problem is we have a problem. It's not that we don't know what the problems are; we've known those for years. It's not that we don't know what the solutions are; we've known those for years. The problem is we haven't done anything about it." - Former Cleveland Mayor Frank Jackson

I usually do this in the caption, but there's so much going on with the photo above that I had to address it in the main body of today's post.

I prompted the AI Blog Post Image Generator with "sleepy guy lifting weights." After several attempts even worse than this, I settled on the image at the top of your screen. I'm fascinated by (a) the bar running through the narrow end of the weight plate and on to...I don't know, another machine?; (b) the situation with the guy's right arm; (c) the condition of his right eye.

Why, you might logically ask, do I continually use such an inferior generative AI tool? The answer is a combination of it being free and my inability to look away from some of the images it creates. I can't stop going back to it.

Anyway, the quote above from Frank Jackson is famous here in Northeast Ohio. People make fun of it, but it perfectly encapsulates what I know to be true about my personal health – and what you may know to be true about your own health.

I am not unaware of the areas in which I fall short when it comes to taking care of myself. I do many things well in the bodily maintenance department, but there are areas in which I miss the mark badly.

Specifically, I don't get enough sleep and I don't strength train.

These are both bad things if you're looking to live a long and vibrant life.

Like Mayor Jackson, my problem is that there's a problem. And I've known for a long time what the problem is. And I've known exactly how to fix that problem.

The problem is that I choose to do nothing about it.

My quality of sleep is good, but the quantity of it is not. I don't like sleeping as much as most other people do. It is, to me, a necessary evil at best.

It's also a key ingredient to peak mental and physical performance. We have to sleep, and we have to get enough sleep. Most nights I get around 6 hours, sometimes less.

I fall asleep almost right away when we turn out the lights, but I also wake up earlier than I probably should. I almost never get the recommended 7 to 9 hours.

I should choose to go to bed earlier, but I do not.

I have also, for many years, chosen not to engage in the practice of lifting weights. My exercise focus has been on cardio activities, and for good reason. A healthy heart is vital.

But so is muscle mass and overall strength, much of which you lose after the age of 35 or so.

I am well past the age of 35.

The dilemma I face is that while I love getting outside and running/walking in the mornings, I do not love the act of lifting weights.

I do not even like the act of lifting weights. I find it as tedious and unenjoyable as I find running/walking to be uplifting and fun.

But as with many things in life, there is an element of "too bad, so sad" in play here. My choice is either to suck it up and start going to bed earlier so I can get up and lift some weights in the basement a few times a week, or to continue complaining about all of this.

I know what I should do. And I think, as I write this on April 9, I'm going to start doing it soon.

Really, I will. Or, by the time you read this, maybe I already have.

First, though, I should probably hire Frank Jackson as a consultant to help me better understand the problem.

Three ways to develop a taste (or at least a true appreciation) for any artform

Last night, my daughter Chloe and I were at Cleveland's Severance Hall to hear the world-renowned Cleveland Orchestra perform Camille Saint-Saens' Piano Concerto No. 2 (featuring rock star pianist Lang Lang) and Hector Berlioz's "Symphonie Fantastique."

Or at least I assume we were. I'm writing this in early April, and that's what's on the calendar for May 2. I have a partial season subscription to the Cleveland Orchestra. I use it to nurture my love of classical music and to spend time with my daughters Elissa and Chloe, who accompany me to these concerts.

I did not grow up a fan of this style of music, you understand. It's something I developed beginning in my early 40s and that continues to grow today through constant listening and reading articles about these works written by people who know what they're talking about.

I don't really know what I'm talking about when it comes to classical music, but I do, as they say, know enough to be dangerous. I'm constantly buying CDs off of Amazon and eBay to hear recordings of certain pieces you just can't get on a streaming service like Spotify or Apple Music.

I really can't enough of it.

Like I said, though, I was intentional in developing this artistic interest. I wanted to better understand and appreciate it starting around 2011, and I'm pleased with the progress I've made these past 13 years.

I have so much more to listen to and understand, though, which is the part I love. There's never a shortage of new stuff to discover.

If you have a similar potential interest in something artistic – whether it's music, visual art, dance, poetry, or whatever – you may benefit from doing three things that helped me get started as a classical music fan:

(1) Begin with the stuff you know you like
In my case with classical music, this was Tchaikovsky (unapologetically emotional, melodic, accessible) and Beethoven (familiar, powerful). Listening to those two well-known composers early got me acquainted with common forms like symphonies, chamber music and piano concertos. It also taught me to listen for and identify themes and recurring passages and how cleverly they can be used in a piece. Most important, though, starting with music I already somewhat knew kept me coming back and allowed me to develop a real thirst for more.

(2) Get a book or check a website for beginners
Every artform has a set of books or online articles for those who want to learn more about it. In my case with classical music, I own four books that were indispensable in helping me understand what I was hearing and directing me toward the most important works. In case you're interested, those are:

• The NPR Curious Listener's Guide to Classical Music
• The NPR Guide to Building a Classical CD Collection
• The New York Times Essential Library of Classical Music
• The International Guide to Building a Classical Music Library

(3) Go and see it live when you can
If you want to learn more about painting or sculpture, you have to get to an art museum to see the medium up close and personal. If dance is your thing, find a live ballet performance. In the case of classical music, you have to hear a good orchestra play in person. You just have to. There's nothing else like it. I'm spoiled having a world-class ensemble in my backyard, but there are plenty of highly skilled orchestras in every state/province and country. Get thee to a concert hall (or museum, or live poetry reading, or dance theatre...) and your understanding of your chosen artform, much like the Grinch's heart, will grow three sizes that day.

I'm increasingly behind the artificial intelligence curve

My brother Mark knows a lot about artificial intelligence (AI). To the point that he's considered an "industry thought leader." (That link, in which Mark talks about the business use of AI, is worth your time.)

To be clear, what Mark knows is generative AI, which our friends at Wikipedia define as "artificial intelligence capable of generating text, images, videos, or other data using generative models, often in response to prompts."

AI that creates stuff for you, basically.

We all use AI more than we think, whether it's a digital home assistant (think Alexa), facial recognition on our phones, or browsing the recommendations Amazon has for us based on our shopping history.

More and more of us are also using generative AI tools like ChatGPT, and I really want to tell you I'm one of them. I am, after all, a corporate communicator. My people have helped lead the generative AI revolution in recent years.

But I would be lying if I said I was an AI power user. Or even a regular user.

Honestly, it just doesn't occur to me to use AI tools day to day in my personal or professional life. ChatGPT is incredible (most people don't understand what it and similar apps like Claude and Microsoft Copilot can really do), but it's simply not top of mind for me.

There's also a certain Lazy Old Guy factor at play. I don't always want to make the effort to learn new ways of doing things, especially when the old ways serve me just fine.

(Of course, Mark is 12 years older than me, and he doesn't seem to have any problem learning how to use these tools to their full potential.)

The more I read about generative AI and its growing importance in 21st-century society, the more I worry I'm missing out.

There's an easy way to fix that, I know. I just need to get with the times and become an AI guy.

But hey, my brother uses it often enough for the both of us. For now I'll stick to my method of doing things, which I know is SO 2018.

I don't know what other bloggers do, but this is how I come up with topics to write about

The nose. Work on the nose, AI Blog Post Image Generator.

STEP 1: Go to blogger.com and click "+NEW POST" button. This opens up a blank white screen. Big, big mistake. The level of intimidation engendered by a blank white screen cannot be overstated.

STEP 2: Look around the room to see if anything there inspires an idea. Usually it doesn't, unless I want to write about mundane objects in my immediate vicinity like pencils or dictionaries.

STEP 3: Think about all the things that have occupied my time and attention over, say, the past week or so. This is almost always a series of boring work-related events or chores around the house, so rarely does an interesting topic spring to mind when pursuing this line of thought.

STEP 4: Mildly panic. Go get a cup of coffee to reset myself and perhaps gain some inspiration. Briefly consider writing about coffee. Realize I've done it before. Many times.

STEP 5: Return to ominous white screen. Think about the advice my wife would give me in this situation, which is always some variation of "write about me." Briefly consider this. Sometimes follow through on it. Other times realize that, like coffee, this is ground I've covered many times.

STEP 6: Try panicking again. Say a silent prayer of thanks that I write these posts 3-4 weeks in advance just in case writer's block rears its ugly head, as it so often does.

STEP 7: Stumble upon a promising idea, begin to write about it, quickly realize I've had this idea before. Delete everything. Return to blank screen.

STEP 8: Read my friend Peter Vertes' excellent blog to see what he's writing about. Quickly realize I am highly unlikely to successfully replicate his point of view or choice of topics, as I do not happen to be witty nor Jewish nor gay like him.

STEP 9: Swallow my pride and find an old post I can run again, since no one except me remembers anything I wrote in 2014. Position this post as an ultra-exclusive "Blog Rerun." Feel shame.

STEP 10: Sometimes I will mercifully end this process with Step 9. More often, though, I feel obligated to come up with something new and eventually find an idea that is probably only of interest to me. I bang out 300 words about it, make the AI Blog Post Image Generator come up with an illustration to go with it, and set it to publish on a future date. I come away feeling neither satisfied nor accomplished.

And that, my friends, is what I go through to produce these blog posts...which, as I always say, are worth about what you pay to read them.