Life In The Slow Lane

There’s nothing like the call of the wild to rouse somebody from a deep slumber.

Two cats decided to have a battle on my front porch.

Or at least that’s what I figure based on the screeching I heard.

But then again, it could have been two bears squaring off for all I know because at 4:30 in the freakin’ morning my brain’s not really functioning all that well - at least not until I’ve downed a couple of Pepsi’s and dipped into the tin for a few handfuls of M&MS.

Don’t get me wrong. I love cats. But I don’t love them at 4:30 a.m. when they’ve just come home from the bar and decide to have a little alcohol-induced spat on my front patio.

I know that one of them had to be Tommy, the big orange cat that’s been hanging around in the back yard keeping a watchful eye over the bird feeders as the birds sit on the roof and cast a wary glance in his direction.

I don’t like Tommy too much as long as he’s sitting in my back yard waiting for an easy dinner. Aren’t his folks feeding him well? He was back out there again later in the morning, thinking he was hiding in some brush. Well, I saw him. And if I saw him certainly the birds saw him - and that explains why there wasn’t a single bird at the feeders even though all three of them are filled to the max.

If I chase Tommy away, the birds go away too.

Ah, what a tangled web we weave.

I won’t have time to watch for him tomorrow. It’s another early wake-up call, this time to head into the office and out to the schools for their grand opening of the 2008-09 school year. I’ve covered all the orientations and now it’s time to get down to the real deal - back into the classroom for the next 10 months.

Seems like an eternity, doesn’t it? Well, in reality, it’s only 180 days of actual time in the school - if that’s any consolation to the kids.

Time to take down the “Pool’s open, dive carefully” signs and replace them with “School’s open, drive carefully.”

Luckily, summer hasn’t gone totally away. The fine folks at AccuWeather say today’s gonna be hot, hot, hot - about 90 degrees. Too bad we couldn’t have had that during the summer. Better late than never, I suppose.

Still, it’s time to face reality. Summer’s winding down, autumn’s only a skip away and I’ve already got my junk mail catalogs advertising the Christmas season.

It should only be a couple more months before I get the summer 2009 catalog.

There’s a cat living in my bathroom.

Holly’s taken residence on the toilet tank, where I’ve laid down a towel so it’s not quite as hard and cold as the porcelain.

I’ve brought in bowls of food and water and keep those well-stocked on the vanity.

She even has her own personal litter box because, if the past two or three weeks are any indication, she’s never coming out of the bathroom.

So far I haven’t had to bring her “Mouse Hunting Monthly” for her reading enjoyment.

Holly’s always been an adventurer. I’d find her sleeping on top of the entertainment center, the book shelves, the electric stove in the living room, the dresser in the bedroom. But she seems to enjoy the darkness and coolness of the bathroom and she’s more than content to lay in there 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

At least I always know where she is, but sometimes it would be nice if she’d give me some privacy every once in a while.

I tried that, picking her up and carrying her to the hallway.

She was back on the toilet tank quicker than I could turn around.

I tried again.

Back on the tank faster than a flash.

So I’ve finally conceded that “two’s company and three’s a crowd” where the bathroom is concerned.

At least I don’t have to worry about Tabu or Katie invading that space.

Tabu’s busy climbing the screen door between the kitchen and garage and perching on the top, waiting for me to put my arms out so she can get back down.

Katie’s busy climbing the screens in the kitchen window to get to the birds at the feeder - a move that always knocks down the kitchen curtains. I’ve given up trying to keep them up and put them away - at least until cooler weather sets in and the screens come out of the window.

Maybe by then Holly will have come out of the bathroom too.

I hope this isn’t a sign of things to come:

NEW BRUNSWICK, N.J. (AP) — This presidential race was no contest: John McCain sped to the finish while Barack Obama was reluctant to leave the starting point. But there’s no guarantee giant Madagascar hissing cockroaches will predict the real result in November. The roach race Thursday was part of the New Jersey Pest Management Association’s annual clinic and trade show.

It’s been a depressing week around the house since Sissy was laid to rest. Tabu - her best friend - seems like she’s been in the dumper without Sissy around. Katie, well, she never changes. Just a rambunctious ball of fur. And I worry about Holly, who’s prone to seizures and has a heart murmur.

It’s been quiet and lonely without hearing Sissy purring like an engine as she munches on her evening snack of treats. In fact, the treats are going largely untouched these days. The cats just don’t seem to want them, no matter what flavor I put down in front of them. They’re not eating well either, just kind of moping around. I don’t know what goes through a cat’s mind, but I can only believe that their heart is as broken as mine.

I thought maybe work would take away some of the hurt, but it’s been a tough haul. Sissy’s not in the window when I get home and she’s not sleeping with me at night. Holly’s taken her place at my bedside, which eases the pain somewhat.

It’s hard to describe the hurt I feel without Sissy. I’ve always gone through a mourning period with every cat I’ve had to lay to rest, but for some reason it’s hit really hard with her passing. Maybe because she was only around for three years. Perhaps that makes it harder to swallow than having a cat around for 20 years. Whatever the case, my heart still hurts and aches every time I think about her - and that’s often.

In fact, I think about all the cats, no matter how long they’ve been gone, and I’m thankful for those who still befriend me.

I’ll never forget my friends.

Sissy

2005 - Aug. 11, 2008

Good-Bye My Sweet Baby

Your Presence Will Be Sorely Missed

I said good-bye to Sissy for the last time at 8:25 p.m. last night. I took the day off from work because it was apparent she wasn’t going to make it through the day. She had been going downhill steadily since the previous weekend and nothing I could do could keep her from crossing The Rainbow Bridge.

She’s buried with her brothers and sisters in Pawprint Garden now - and she’s not suffering anymore.

The other cats - Holly, Tabu and Katie - know that Sissy isn’t here anymore. Tabu was looking for her this morning and couldn’t find her. I know, even though cats can’t talk, they miss her because she was a special kitty.

She was always the first one in line, making a mad dash to the kitchen when she heard the bag of treats being rustled. She didn’t do that in her last days and I knew this wasn’t my Sissy.

She didn’t like to cover her poopies after she used the litter box. Instead, she’d barrel out of the box and start sharpening her claws on the leg of the kitchen chair. I’ll remember her scratching every time I see those marks.

In her early days when she was just a kitten, she’d sit on my lap at the computer and paw at the moving things on the screen. Later she’d start sleeping on top of the monitor and then she’d sit on my laptop as I was trying to type and the newspaper as I was trying to read. Miss Inky Butt.

When she was young she’d always attack my feet under the covers. Then she stopped coming into bed with me. We slept together the last few days, knowing they really would be the last few days.

She was a sloppy eater, always shoving her food onto the floor as she tried to eat it. And a small watering bucket that I kept on the counter to water the plants was her “drinking bowl.” She’d reach her paw inside, bring it back out and covered with water and lick the water off. Then the paw would go back in and out, in and out, until she had quenched her thirst. I was going to put it in her burial box, along with the big bag of treats, her plate, a can of food and a toy. But I kept it on the counter and plan to use a black magic marker to stencil in “The Sissy D. Cat Memorial Watering Bucket.”

She liked to lay with the other cats, literally sleeping on half of their back. And when she slept by herself, she left remnants of her slumber. She had a wet belly from licking and some of her hair stuck to the room divider between the kitchen and the living room. It’s still there, a reminder of her sleeping spot.

I miss Sissy terribly, just as I missed the other cats who’ve been a part of my life. I only had her for three years, but she left an impression that’s hard to forget.

People say, “She was just a cat, get over it.” No, she wasn’t just a cat. Neither were Muffin, Jake, Kitty, Nicole or Patches, and neither are Tabu, Holly and Katie. They’re my family that greets me in the morning when I wake up and they’re my family that’s waiting for me when I get home from work. They’re my babies.

The house isn’t the same today and it’ll take time, as it always does, to move on.

Katie D. Kat has her appointment with the vet tomorrow. It’s spay day and she’s the last of the bunch who needs to be fixed. It’ll be a relief to get that done and over with, but I’ll have to keep a close eye on her tomorrow to make sure she doesn’t start doing her normal Mexican jumping bean impression and rip out her stitches.

Friday’s a day on the road. I have to travel to Utica for a story, leaving early in the morning and likely arriving back late in the afternoon and writing. It’s going to be a long, long day.

I’ve been asked to cover a clean-up effort on Saturday, so I can kiss some of that day good-bye.

And then Sunday is the day of rest to prepare for, what else, work.

Yes, my friends, the hits just keep on coming.

See you in a few days.

In the meantime, how about a game of bowling?

I almost lost Sissy A. Cat last night and I’m still shaken up by the whole ordeal.

I’m doing battle with fleas, a ritual that seems to crop up damned near every summer, and I decided it was time to give Sissy a flea bath. She’s the one who has the biggest problem with the bugs.

I put her in the sink and lathered her up with water and a special shampoo and, of course, fought tooth and nail with her to keep her still.

I never imagined what would happen next.

I got her dried off pretty well and she went bolting into the bedroom.

And suddenly she couldn’t stand anymore.

I’d seen this happen way too many times with my other cats.

I picked her up and laid her on the bed and she lay there motionless, making strange sounds that you only hear from cats on the verge of death.

I covered her up with a warm, dry towel and held her and, of course, cried.

And I prayed.

And I think it’s my faith in God that brought her back.

I don’t ask God for much. I know that He’s going to provide for me in His own way.

But I asked for His help last night and He came through.

Within a few minutes Sissy was starting to come back around again.

I brought her water. She drank it.

I brought her treats. She ate them.

She was still a little unsteady, but I felt like maybe a miracle was in the works.

I would have fed her a 20-pound bag of treats - her favorite kind - if I would have had them.

Last night for the first time in a long time Sissy slept with me - on my hip when I slept on my side and on my stomach when I slept on my back.

This morning she ate her breakfast with all the other cats.

It’s almost as if nothing happened.

I’ve thanked God for things He’s done in my life in the past - and I’ve cursed Him when he’s taken loved ones like my mother and father and stepfather and other cats out of my life.

But I had to thank Him from the bottom of my heart last night because today Sissy is still with me.

I’m beginning to worry about the birds feeding in the back yard because a gentleman from the neighborhood named “Tom Cat” has been keeping a real close watch over them.

There’s even a couple of feathers in the ground - and I hope it’s because the birds lost ‘em while they were dodging Tom’s jaws instead of losing them in Tom’s jaws.

I’m a cat lover, but I won’t tolerate Tom’s antics. I see him anywhere near my bird feeder he’s gonna have a nice cold pail of water dousing him.

I think it’s time for the birds of a feather to flock together and scare the big orange furball out of the neighborhood.

I’d chase Tom away myself, but my muscles are too sore after volunteering to set up for the annual St. Mary’s picnic yesterday. Twenty-six cafeteria-style tables had to be moved from the social hall to the great outdoors, along with a corresponding number of chairs.

Lemme tell ya, I earned my hamburger and potato salad yesterday. I can hardly move my legs or arms and especially my back today.

The crew got lucky though. We didn’t have to move the stuff back into the social hall after the shindig. Father Mike hired some young dudes to do it for a little moolah.

Talk about your Lord Have Mercy.

It was a pretty good time. Good food, food friendship, good dancing to the good music of The Lime Hollow Boys.

They didn’t play any Christmas music though.

That was reserved for Friday night.

And here you think stores push the seasons on us way too early. School was barely out and they were having back-to-school sales.

But I digress.

John Ward owns the Riverside Campgrounds in Brasher Falls, a seasonal camping area on the scenic St. Regis River, and they had a Christmas In July celebration. Dig out the decorations, dress up your trailer and sing a few Christmas carols and you might win a prize.

I was asked to be one of the judges for the decorating contest. Ever try to get into the ho ho ho spirit in July when it’s 80 degrees out and people are dressed in shorts and sitting around a campfire toasting marshmallows?

It ain’t easy.

But they did it, and a good time was had by all.

Especially the mosquitoes.

Many years ago in Cincinnati I had my left ear pierced. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision to get ready for a Halloween party. I had no costume, so I decided to go as a rock star. Simple concept. Slick the hair back with grease, stick on a pair of dark sunglasses - even at 9 p.m., and try explaining that one to the cops - and get the ear pierced.

Yeah, I was one cool dude.

Rock on, Cincinnati!

I still have some of my ear ornaments tucked away, but I haven’t worn them in years. The hole that used to be in my left ear lobe has long since closed, and I had - you’ll notice I said “had” - no intention of getting the ear pierced again.

The cats had other ideas this morning.

I’ve already related in a previous entry that I have two or three cats pinning me down through the night when they sleep on my body. Such was the case last night and when I woke up at about 5 this morning and needed to readjust myself, out came the claws.

And into the ears they went. Not just one, but both.

I don’t know who’s the guilty party. All their claws are equally as sharp. What I do know is (1) it hurt like a sonofabitch, and (2) I’ve never seen blood spurt out as fast as it does from the inner ear.

Understand, I’m in a fog at that hour, but it’s amazing how quickly you wake up when claws are jammed inside your ear and you suddenly see a red liquid all over your hands when you put them up to the aforementioned ears.

Ever try to stick a Band-Aid in your ear to stop the bleeding - especially at 5 a.m.?

It’s not easy, folks, trust me on that one.

The cats make life such a pleasurable experience these days.

As if putting a tourniquet around my ears to stop the bleeding wasn’t enough, I had to contend with the second consecutive day of Sissy barfing on the kitchen floor. That’s how my week started - never a good sign and you know the week’s only gonna go downhill from there. There I am, laying in a semi-conscious state Monday morning when I hear the sounds of the inevitable hairball. Clean-up on Aisle 3.

And she did it again today. Just for good measure, I suppose.

So, once I stopped the ears from bleeding, I had to clean up her mess - which of course was all over the kitchen floor because cats for some strange reason never stand in one spot when they’re puking. They choose to run around to make sure the entire floor is covered before they’re done.

I’m running out of patience with the animals.

Holly’s been laying in the bathroom sink, so I have to shave and brush my teeth while I’m in the shower as opposed to before I jump under the water. Ever try to shave your face without the benefit of a mirror? Keep the tissue paper handy. You’re gonna need it to cover up all the nicks.

Sissy’s been laying on top of the stove, so I can’t cook a meal for fear of catching her tail on fire. And she’s been laying on top of the clothes washer, making it damned near impossible to do laundry. Not that that’s a bad thing.

Katie’s been climbing up the window screens in a vain attempt to get to the birds that are feeding in the back yard.

Tabu, well, she waits until the moment is right - normally when I least expect it - to jump on my shoulders and stretch around my neck like a big black fur stole like the rich ladies wear to tea parties. And, of course, there are claws involved in that effort - and more blood.

And yet the nurse at the doctor’s office has a hard time getting a drop of blood for testing every time she pokes me.

She should just ask the cats.

They’re experts.

I guess I may as well give up on my garden.

Two reasons.

The pumpkins have overtaken everything else - from the carrots and peppers to the onions and radishes and beyond.

They’re everywhere.

And from what I can see, whatever carrots, peppers, onions, radishes, etc., that may have started growing are now being devoured by the dreaded, they’ll eat you alive every summer Japanese beetles.

They, like the pumpkins, are everywhere too.

This isn’t a case of the Beatles’ “I Wanna Hold Your Hand.”

It’s more like “I Wanna Spray You Dead.”

But they don’t die easy. Japanese beetles are special creatures. Regular bug spray doesn’t faze them. Probably gets ‘em a little high, that’s all. And even some of the Japanese beetle sprays they sell locally don’t do the trick.

So how do you get rid of them?

Simple.

Don’t be an idiot and try to start a garden.

I thought maybe I was making progress. I visited with a local garden dude last night and he explained the in’s and out’s of a successful vegetable garden.

Nice place he has. Tomatoes on the vine, cauliflower and broccoli sprouting, carrots starting to get bigger by the day.

But no Japanese beetles - which I didn’t realize I had until tonight when I was watering the garden and decided I might try some of garden dude’s tricks.

Damn them.

Next year maybe I’ll just try an indoor greenhouse.

As long as we’re talking about animals and plants, how about some animal and plant humor that’s been sitting on my hard drive waiting for some reason to publish it.

Now’s as good a time as any since I don’t have to worry about tending to the garden anymore.

I don’t know why, but sleep hasn’t been good to me lately. It seems I’m tossing and turning and waking up all hours of the night and, even if I went to bed at 5 a.m., I’d still be awake at 8.

Maybe it’s because of the three cats who insist on using my body as their bed, pinning me motionless for the evening. If I really need to turn over, I’m fending off 60 claws - estimating 20 claws per cat on the front and back legs - embedded in my skin.

Of course, they don’t lose any sleep over it.

Or maybe I’m not getting enough sleep because I keep dreaming I’m someplace else - and lately it’s been back at Dugway Proving Ground, Utah, my final assignment in the Army.

I don’t know why I’d dream about Dugway. There’s really nothing to dream about as you can tell from this YouTube video.

I’m so tired these days that I can’t think straight - which maybe means I could get my own newspaper column just like Clay Thompson. Seems Mr. Thompson doesn’t need to work very hard to answer people’s questions - and I’d be perfectly suited for that role.

Here’s an example:

Dear Clay: I have some large wind chimes on our patio and the pipes are like 20″ to 30″ long and an inch or so in diameter, but they are not tuned. Do you know how I can tune them?

Clay responds: I have made tuned wind chimes in the past, but like making bird feeders out of old pill bottles the directions are long lost. Go to Google and type in “tuning wind chimes.” You’ll find some books for sale there on the procedure. I haven’t read them, so I’m reluctant to suggest one. And buy a hacksaw.

Geez, I could do that.

Dear Bob: I’m having trouble making ends meet on my measly paycheck. How can I make money go farther?

Bob responds: Simple. Tear your $5 bill into four pieces so it makes it seem like you have more money than you really do. And stop buying food.

But getting back to this sleep issue, I’m thinking maybe I should start shoving a DVD into the player and let a boring movie lull me into a deep sleep - or in the case of some movies, death from boredom.

And if you don’t like the movie, great news. They’re disposable now. Really. I saw it at Kinney Drugs yesterday when I was picking up my supply of M&Ms and Pepsi for a grueling day of work. Apparently you buy the DVD for like $5 and it plays twice before it goes kaput. Then you just chuck it in the trash.

Sounds like a perfectly good waste of money to me - even if you’ve taken that $5 bill and torn it into four pieces.

And if you happened to like the movie? Well, not only have you just shelled out $5 for a copy that’s no longer any good, now you’ve got to plonk down another $20 to get a version that will keep playing more than a couple of times.

Who says technology is smart?

Or are people just stupid?

Especially those of us who don’t have much brain left because of sleep deprivation.

Yeah, I wish it was Wednesday - or even Friday.

But it’s Monday, and it’s Hump Day courtesy of Katie, who’s in heat once again.

How appropriate that she’d go into heat on one of the hottest days so far this summer, with the “real feel” temperature expected to hit about the mid-90s.

I can’t complain so far about this summer- and you know I’ve always got something to complain about, but nope, can’t do it this time.

The temperature’s been comfortable so far, there’s been a nice mix of rain and sun, and I haven’t had to haul out the pedestal fan to blow the hot air around.

Today might be the day when it comes out of its winter hiding spot.

Hell, while I’m at it I might even put up the Christmas tree, which I’ve yet to sock away in the attic. And since the attic temperature is about 500 degrees hotter than it is on the ground, my chances of putting that tree away anytime soon are pretty remote.

Besides, maybe if I put the tree up now Santa will be all out of whack and he’ll bring me some early Christmas presents.

Like maybe my stimulus check.

That’s supposed to arrive in my mailbox on Friday and, if it does, I’ll have a chance to be stimulated this weekend.

It’s the best present I could hope for.

Other than Katie getting fixed so she’ll never hump my leg again.

Doesn’t that sound like the title for a great horror movie?

But seriously, I’m wondering, “Where have all the squirrels gone?”

They’re normally bouncing around the neighborhood no matter where you look - darting in front of you on the road, climbing up your trees or your bird feeder, attacking the fake hairpiece you’re sporting on top of your head.

But I haven’t seen one in ages.

It’s like they’ve vanished from the face of the earth.

Is there like this shortage of squirrels this year?

Or did the long hard winter wear them out so much that they’re sleeping it off in some remote location?

Or have they all been smashed under the front tires of the neighbor’s Chevy Tahoe?

I don’t know.

I’d ask them if I saw one. But they’re nowhere to be found.

In years past they’ve shimmied up the bird feeder and eaten more food than the birds themselves. This year the pigeons and the crows have the feeder all to themselves.

And the rest of the birds have the trees all to themselves.

And there’s nary a squirrel to be seen.

It’s eerie.

You know, maybe it really would make for a good horror story now that I think about it.

I’ll have to put it among the other million and a half things on my “to do” list.

And God help anybody who says, “Hey that sounds like a great idea. I think I’ll do it myself.”

I’d better not see it on NBC’s “Fear Itself” anytime soon.

If you haven’t checked out that program (10 p.m. Thursdays), might I make a recommendation that you tune in. I’m not a big television fan, but I really like the concept with a different big-name director sharing his or her tale of horror each week.

Sure beats all that crappola that involves (1) has-been stars making idiots of themselves in something like a circus; or (2) average American Joes and Janes auditioning for something or other on national television (how many more of those friggin’ American Idol-style programs do we need).

We also don’t need any more reality shows that involve people doing nothing (if I wanted to see that, I’d tune in to a reality show about the day in the life of a kitty), or the resurgence of game shows that were boring to begin with like Password or Family Feud.

Yeah, Hollywood, you’ve made television really interesting.

I’d rather have five nights a week of “Fear Itself” instead of one night a month of “Who Wants To Be A Nashville Star?”

If you don’t have time on Thursday night to check out “Fear Itself,” no big deal. Just go over to my entertainment links, click on NBC Television on Demand and check it out on the Internet. The full program, not some measly two-minute snippet.

Thanks from the bottom of my heart, NBC, for making it available on the Internet. It’s a great move for some of us who are still toiling away at work when the program’s on and don’t have DVR capability.

We do have a VCR that we haven’t learned to program yet and it makes funny sounds when we stick a tape in - yes, VHS tapes still exist.

Did I say funny sounds?

Hmm, maybe that’s where the squirrels are hiding.

Those were the words for one of the many cadences we used to sing while we were marching or running in ye olde U.S. Army.

Now it’s more appropriate to recall them as I finish my vacation and head back to work.

Nuts.

Of course, after a miserable rainy weekend, the sun’s shining today and the birds are chirping and the temperature’s a refreshing 61 degrees - just as I head back to the office.

Not that the rain was a bad thing. I managed to finish my gardening yesterday. Laid down the seeds for the onions and radishes and green peppers and carrots and all that good stuff that costs an arm and a leg in the store these days. Because of Saturday’s rain, I was sloshing in mud that came halfway up my shoes and they’re still sitting in the garage caked over until I feel like scraping the crud off them.

But, when it comes to planting - at least from what I’ve read - moist ground is good. So was the rain that came down after I finished the planting. The seeds are cool and comfortably nestled in the ground and I can only hope there’s something growing after the birds get done pecking.

Yeah, those pesky birds. I’ve got a feeder that I filled to the brim yesterday with wild bird food. But I see few birds taking advantage of the free lunch. They must not be Democrats - motto: if it’s free, it’s for me.

No, instead, they choose to peck away at my garden and I’m thinking they’re picking up my carefully placed seedlings.

I may have to put scarecats out to guard the place.

Tabu would love it. Chomp, chomp, chomp. Nice little birdy in my mouth. Tastes so good.

Anyway, the week of vacation is over and I feel some sense of accomplishment. The body’s creaking, which meant I put it to good use, and the hands are all blistered up. I’m not sure if that’s because I did a lot of heavy manual labor or because my hands are just wimpy these days and start blistering at the thought of holding a hoe.

No, not that kind of hoe people. Get your minds out of the dirt.

The blisters remind me of basic training a couple of years ago - OK, maybe it was more like 31 years ago. Same difference.

But I digress.

It seems that anytime we wanted to eat, we had to cross a set of monkey bars that were carefully placed in front of the dining hall door. Oh, they were in other places too, but the dining hall is what I remember because, while we were in the process of building our upper body strength with those little exercises, our hands were also so blistered that we could barely pick up a knife and fork. Maybe that was the idea. Less food, less time in the mess hall, more time for the drill sergeants.

Yeah, it was all a plot.

And it worked.

Speaking of plots…

There were some decisions made last week regarding who the Democratic candidate will be for the 118th Assembly District that covers our area.

One of the people who put his hat in the ring is our eligible-for-retirement Police Chief Tim Currier.

Three days later the hat was kicked off his head.

Here’s the scoop. Timmy, being a police chief, hadn’t endorsed any one party in the past. In his position, in an effort to stay neutral, that’s not a bad idea.

But now that he’s retirement eligible and interested in a political career, he registered as a member of the Democratic party. That party affiliation, however, won’t kick in until after the next general election in November.

So, as it goes, Tim wanted to run for the Assembly seat as a Democrat. He was, after all, going to be an official Democrat later this year. But because he wasn’t “officially” a Democrat yet, the chairpersons of both the St. Lawrence and Jefferson County Democratic Parties had to offer their support.

That’s where it all fell apart. The Jefferson County chairman said, “Hell no, I’m not supporting him. I’ve got my own candidate.”

You can read about it here.

So, rather than let the Democratic party as a whole decide if they wanted Tim Currier or Jefferson County Legislator Addie Jenne Russell, the choice was taken away. Tim, they said, you’re out of here. Pull your name and throw your support behind Addie.

Three days after announcing he was making a run for office, Mr. Currier was out of the race in favor of a woman who I’d never heard of until this whole fiasco started.

Perhaps Massena Town Supervisor Gary Edwards said it best when Currier announced his intention to leave the race.

“I don’t know anything about this lady,” he said. “I’m sure she’ll do a fine job, but we need a voice up here.”

And wouldn’t it have been nice to let the Democratic voters decide instead of shoving a candidate down our throat?