Language lovers, there's a blog for us!

Sharon, my neighbor, sent me a link to a blog for language lovers that is published by Collins Dictionary.  It includes help for people learning English.  That day, the latest blog post was about these three similar words:  cupboard, wardrobe, and closet.

1.  "Cupboards in American English are built-in shelves behind doors.  They are mainly found in kitchens."  My own example:  When the pandemic kept me from regular grocery shopping, I stocked my kitchen cupboard with canned goods, like soups, vegetables, chicken, tuna, and peanut butter.  But now we have another word dilemma — or at least, I do.  I know the word "cupboard" primarily from the nursery rhyme I learned as a child:

"Old Mother Hubbard

went to the cupboard 

to get her poor doggie a bone; 

but when she got there, 

the cupboard was bare, 

and so the poor doggie had none."

We always referred to the shelves in our kitchen as cabinets.  In other words, if I had told anyone that I'd collected those cans of food, I'd have said I put them in my kitchen cabinet.  I rarely use the word cupboard.

2.  "A wardrobe is a tall piece of furniture, usually in a bedroom, that has space for hanging clothes."  My example:  I remember having a wardrobe when I was growing up.  It looked sort of like this illustration I found online, but mine was light-colored and child-sized.  My cat Duchess had a litter of kittens on my underwear in one of the drawers.  It was probably the most comfortable place she could find, and I had most likely left the doors open.  I have no idea what happened to that wardrobe from my childhood.  Today, all my clothes are in my bedroom closet (see definition #3 below).

And to take this a bit further, what about the word chifforobe?  Actually, that's what we called that thing that held my clothes as a child.  Duchess had her kittens on top of my underwear in the chifforobe.  Wikipedia has information that I've edited for space:

A chifforobe (/ˈʃɪfəˌroʊb/), also chiffarobe or chifferobe, is a closet-like piece of furniture that combines a long space for hanging clothes (that is, a wardrobe or armoire) with a chest of drawers.  Typically the wardrobe section runs down one side of the piece, while the drawers occupy the other side.  [Mine had two doors, so we could open one side or the other or both.] ... Chifforobes were advertised in the 1908 Sears, Roebuck Catalog, which described them as "a modern invention." ... The word is used in the United States, primarily in the southern portion of the country...

Yes, I'm from the South, so what can I say?  And I was a child in the 1940s and 1950s.  It's complicated, isn't it?  So was half of my chifforobe a wardrobe and the other half a closet?  Okay, it's time for that third definition.

3.  The language lovers blog says:  "In American English, a built-in wardrobe is called a closet."  My example:  Clawdia, the cat I have now, is so intelligent that she gets bored all alone in our apartment when I go out.  So she has taught herself how to open my coat closet by pulling in the center where it folds to open.  It took me years to catch her doing it when I happened to have a camera handy.

I did finally get a photo of her walking into the closet, just to prove she can.  I leave part of the floor in there cleared out, just for her.  She never stays inside the closet, just goes in and right back out.  But she knows how and likes to remind herself that she can easily do it.  (Hmm, does posting about Clawdia make this a Caturday post?  Sure, why not?  We now have a Caturday in the middle of the week.)

So after all this word study, what did I do?  I subscribed to the newsletter from Collins Dictionary and discovered it's from HarperCollins UK.  That "UK" explains a lot, right there.  If you are interested, I think you can sign up at the bottom of any page on the blog.  And it has free online dictionary, thesaurus, and reference materials.  Maybe I should also mention their Wordle helper.

Caturday ~ let's have a mid-May event

That's your assignment for today, if you choose to participate in this mid-May event on Bonnie's Books.  You didn't really expect it to be strenuous, did you?  Simply share a name or two or ten to answer the question, What have you named your kitty?  Any kitty, no matter how recently or how long ago.  What name did you choose?  For even more fun, tell us why you chose that name or tell us how you happened to get that particular cat.  I'll start.

She looked more bedraggled than this.

(1)  Duchess ~ When I was nine years old, a neighborhood boy and I were splashing in rainy puddles when a bedraggled kitten found us.   My mother said it looked like a drowned rat (well, mouse ... the kitten was very small), and Micky's mother wouldn't let him bring it into their house.   After due consideration, Mother decided to let me keep the kitten.  I named her Duchess, and she slipped right into our family like she had always belonged there and grew to be very regal indeed, a beautiful soft gray cat with white paws and a white spot below her chin that moved like a dog's tag when she walked.  Duchess had her first litter of kittens in my drawer on top of my socks and underwear; it must have been the softest place she could find at the time.   When I was in high school, we rode the regular city buses to school and home again in the afternoon, yet Duchess was always at the bus stop to meet me.   How did she know which of the buses that ran every 20-30 minutes all day would be the one I rode?   I don't know, but her internal clock was set and there she was, waiting to walk home with me.

Jack grew to be a big cat and looked a lot like this one

(2)  Jack ~ When my twin daughters were five and my son was two, they found twin kittens from the same litter under our tree on Christmas morning, one male and one female.  I have never been able to tell one from the other until cats grow up, but we told our children which we thought was which.   We were, of course, mistaken.  Before we learned we had mislabeled the kittens, the children had chosen names from among their favorite stories, and the fur babies became Jack and Jill.  Or Jill and Jack.   Within a few months one darted under the wheels of a car and "Jill" lived on ... until the day it was undeniably clear that "she" needed to be renamed Jack.  I'm sure Jack was totally confused when he received his sister's name, after having been Jill up until then.  But it was clear that he knew the word meant HIM.  Whenever he heard "Jack"  in a sentence spoken between humans, he would twitch his ear in our direction, even if we thought he was asleep across the room.

Kiki Cat in later years

(3)  Kiki ~ My loving Kiki Cat, who was twelve when she died a couple of years ago, was a con artist from an early age.  She was quite good at lying for a good cause.  Her antics were sometimes hilarious.  When my roommate Donna would come home from work, Kiki would show up to tell Donna she had not yet had her afternoon treats ... and Donna’s cat Sammy would come running to jump atop the piano to watch, hoping Kiki could convince the human that the poor starving kitties never got their treats on time.  The only trouble with their scheme was that I was usually right there in the room.  Donna would look at me and say to Kiki, "But you already HAD your treats."  Kiki, the more talkative of the two, would say plaintively, "Maiow mew mew."  Donna said, "Yes, you did."  Kiki protested, "Meow miahow mew!"  Donna would say again, "Yes, you DID."  Getting desperate, Kiki insisted, "Meow miaow meOW, myou."  The cats never seem to notice that humans communicate with each other as well as with them.  Finally, Kiki would give up and plop down on the floor with her back to Donna.  Still watching from the piano, Sammy would sigh and sit down.

I still miss each of you, Duchess ... and Jack ... and Kiki.

Friday Five ~ dogs or cats or what?

Jan @ RevGalBlogPals wrote:  "In my experience in the United States, people are either 'Dog People' or 'Cat People.'  As the graph above illustrates, not everyone is limited to those types of animals.  So I am wondering about pets and experiences with them."

1.  Are you a DOG or a CAT person?  Or OTHER?

I have had a number of pets — turtles, puppies, fish, kitties, salamander, and a hamster named Herman, for example — but the ones I have bonded with have mostly been cats.  Kiki Cat, who came to live with me in 2001, was the most loving pet I ever had.  So I guess I'd call myself a "cat person" because I had a very special "person cat" until she died last year.

2.  Who were the pets of your childhood, and what were they like?

When I was nine years old, a neighborhood boy and I were splashing in rainy puddles when a bedraggled kitten found us.  My mother said it looked like a drowned rat (well, mouse — the kitten was very small), and Micky's mother wouldn't let him bring it into their house.  After due consideration, Mother decided to let me keep the kitten.  I named her Duchess, and she slipped right into our family like she had always belonged there and grew to be very regal indeed, a beautiful soft gray cat with white paws and a white spot below her chin that seemed to swing back and forth like a dog's tag when she walked.  Duchess had her first litter of kittens in the drawer on top of my socks and underwear — it must have been the softest place available to her at the time.  When I was in high school, we rode the regular city buses to school and home again in the afternoon, yet Duchess was always at the bus stop to meet me.  How did she know which of the buses that ran every 20-30 minutes all day would be the one I rode?  I don't know, but her internal clock was set and there she was, waiting to walk home with me.  She was a special cat.

3.  What pets do you have now?

Because my roommate's cat Sammy will turn 18 tomorrow, I have not brought another cat into our home.  I'm afraid it would bother her too much, even though she pined for Kiki when she died last summer.  Sammy is skittish and doesn't like being petted unless she rubs against my leg first, and then I'm allowed only a short touch before she runs away.  She has become friendlier since Kiki died, however, and now comes to tell me "meow" when she wants food or somebody to clean her litter box.  That's real progress for a cat who was tossed out in a parking lot where my roommate worked — Sammy didn't even know how to eat yet.  Donna had to mother her by giving her a bottle and later teaching her how to eat solid foods.

4.  Have you ever had any unusual pets in your household or visit your home?

It's been too long for me to remember the details about how and why we got a golden hamster, but I do remember Herman. He wiggled and squirmed and turned in our hands so much that one of my children said, "Herman, the Squirmin' German!" All three roared with laughter, and that strange moniker became his name. Since I was the one who spent the most time with him — feeding him, cleaning his cage, giving him water, and trying to find him when he escaped — he became plain ole Herman to me. Herman had a small wire cage with a rattling metal wheel that he would run in, frantically, rapidly, daily, hourly it seemed. The bottom of his cage was covered with cedar shavings, under which a hamster could sleep all covered and snug.

I don't have any photos of Herman, but this one from Wikipedia looks a lot like him.  He was a smart little fellow who knew if he tried long enough and hard enough, he could open the door of his cage. He would wiggle and squirm and chew and bite: ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-chunk, ch-ch-ch-ch-chatter, ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-chuck-chunk. And POP after awhile that door would open! He especially liked the corner behind the four-drawer file cabinet, though I can't imagine how he knew it was heavy and hard to move. Poke along the side with a broom handle, and he'd run behind. Poke behind the file cabinet, and he'd run to the side. Poke and prod long enough and Herman would make a mad dash to the sofa and climb inside from underneath. He had probably made the hole in the cloth as his escape hatch. Sometimes we could see him moving along inside the material, safe from us humans who really did NOT want to cut up the sofa and make him run for the other end. Eventually he would emerge, hours or days later, and someone would grab him. Sometimes he would choose to run around the cushions, and all it would take to catch him was a still hand waiting along his path. Soon he would dash right into the hand and be caught. And poor ole Herman went back to work: ch-ch-ch-ch-chuck-chunk, ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-chu-chuck, ch-ch-chat-ch-ch-ch-thunk-ch-ch.

We had Herman during the time I was deciding whether I really wanted a divorce, a time when I often felt frustrated and overwhelmed. There came a day when I was sitting in the kitchen floor, leaned back against the cabinets, with one of the children saying something like, "It'll be okay, Mom." I was thinking about a husband, not a hamster, but I heard a suspicious sound: scritch-scratch-skitch. I shushed my child and said, "Listen!" Scratch-skritch-scrunch-scratch. Slowly, quietly, I leaned toward the corner cabinets and the sound was even plainer. Scritch-scratch. Uh-huh, in case you were wondering, Herman had been AWOL from his cage for several days. Scritchity-scritch-scratch.

I felt under the edge of the cabinet doors. A hole! There was an unseen opening in the corner where the cabinet makers had not entirely made everything fit together; after all, who would ever know, right? Who is likely to get down in the corner under a three- to four-inch toe-inset to check? A six-inch hamster, that's who! Slowly I opened the corner cabinet and reached around to discover a space between the dishwasher and the cabinet shelves. And there was Herman, who had happily settled in by bringing shreds of this and that to furnish his new home.

For an animal I never bonded with, Herman and I have a lot of history together. One night I was sitting in the den after everyone else had gone to bed. As usual Herman was fighting his cage door: ch-ch-chuck-ch-ch-ch-chunk-thunk. I was about as down as I'd been that summer, knowing that I had to leave that marriage, and there's that hamster, chewing like crazy on his cage door. Finally, I said softly to him, "What's your problem, Herman? We feed you, we exercise you, we give you plenty of water and sawdust and everything else you need. Why are you fighting so hard to get out?"

He kept trying to escape, ch-ch-chewing, ch-ch-ch-ch-chucking. And suddenly it hit me. Yes, it sounds like a cliche, but I was struck by the thought: We are just alike! I, too, have food and clothes and everything I need. I, too, am unhappy in my cage. Herman, I understand. I took him out of his cage and held him, though he still wanted to get away to some place nice, like that little cubbyhole in the kitchen.

Herman didn't have the option of divorcing me or leaving town or leaving his cage, for that matter. But I got him a big glass aquarium filled with cedar chips and more space to run. Umm, it didn't have a door, and the top had to be covered, but Herman had more room. And he never, ever (as far as I know) experienced anything like this:

Hamster Wheel Gone Wrong
If the video quits working, watch it on YouTube.
5.  What have you learned from your pets?  Give one recent example, if possible.

I've  learned they are a lot like people.  My Kiki cat could be quite adept at lying for a good cause, but sometimes we had to laugh at her.  When my roommate Donna would come home from work, Kiki would tell her she had not had her afternoon treats yet ... and Donna’s cat Sammy would come running to sit on the piano hoping Kiki could convince the human that they were poor, pitiful, starving kitties who never got their treats on time.  The only trouble with their scheme was that I was usually right there in the room.  Donna would look at me and say to Kiki, "But you already HAD your treats."  Kiki, the more talkative of the two, said plaintively, "Maiow mew mew."  Donna said, "Yes, you did."  Kiki replied, "Meow miahow mew!"  Donna says again, "Yes, you DID."  Kiki, "Meow miaow MEOW, myou."  They never seemed to notice that humans communicate with each other as well as with them.   Finally, Kiki would give up and plop in the floor with her back to Donna, and Sammy would sigh.

BONUS:  Pictures or anything else related to animals you love.

I think this post probably has enough photos along with that video to count as a bonus.

Four-Legged Friends

The Four-Legged Friends reading challenge is in memory of Sandy, Kailana's best friend of 12 years, who recently died. That's Sandy in the photo. Kailana brought Sandy home on September 20th, so we have a short lead time, but five months to complete the challenge. Read books that have an animal as the main character or an animal who plays an important enough role that you remember it afterwards. They do not have to believable, but the animals do have to be real, as in, no dragons. Kailana counts The Guardian by Nicholas Sparks, for example, because the dog in it makes the book one of her favorites. The aim is to honor our pets (even if they don't have four legs), and length doesn't matter ... reading a picture book of Bambi to your child or grandchild counts. The most outrageously fascinating thing Kailana added to her "rules" was this:

My suggested food while you are reading? Baby carrots. I used to munch on carrots and never really think to give them to Sandy, but she loves them! So, baby carrots turned into half the bag for me and the other half for her. Actually, that's what I did with her for her last night. I ate carrots with her. She did not eat a lot, but I think baby carrots will always remind me of her.

Her last "rule" is that we tell something about our pets in our introductory post. I have had a number of pets ... turtles, puppies, fish, kitties, salamander, and a hamster named Herman, for example ... but the ones I have bonded with have mostly been cats.

When I was nine years old, a neighborhood boy and I were splashing in rainy puddles when a bedraggled kitten found us. My mother said it looked like a drowned rat (well, mouse ... the kitten was very small), and Micky's mother wouldn't let him bring it into their house. After due consideration, Mother decided to let me keep the kitten. I named her Duchess, and she slipped right into our family like she had always belonged there and grew to be very regal indeed, a beautiful soft gray cat with white paws and a white spot below her chin that moved like a dog's tag when she walked. Duchess had her first litter of kittens in my drawer on top of my socks and underwear; it must have been the softest place available to her at the time. When I was in high school, we rode the regular city buses to school and home again in the afternoon, yet Duchess was always at the bus stop to meet me. How did she know which of the buses that ran every 20-30 minutes all day would be the one I rode? I don't know, but her internal clock was set and there she was, waiting to walk home with me. One part of this challenge is dedicated to the memory of Duchess.

Hmm, I was going to tell you about Duchess, Pippa, Jack, and Kiki in this post. But I think I'll tell you about the others when I post my book reviews. Since I'm about to finish a book about a dog named Merle and one about a gentleman cat, I already have two books for my list.

1. Merle's Door: Lessons from a Freethinking Dog ~ by Ted Kerasote ~ dedicated the memory of Pippa
2. The Fur Person ~ by May Sarton ~ dedicated to the memory of Jack
3. Cat's Eyewitness ~ by Rita Mae Brown and her cat Sneaky Pie Brown ~ dedicated to Kiki
4. Goldie (The Puppy Place Series #1) ~ by Ellen Miles ~ dedicated to the memory of Herman
5. Sign-up for this challenge ~ dedicated to the memory of Duchess
__________

Click on a title to read my review of the book.
__________
The list of participants can be found HERE.