Ever notice how when you're waiting for money that you know is on the way, time seems to dddrrraaaggg on way too slowly? Yeah, me, too.
I'd filed my taxes online at the beginning of February. The second, to be exact. I'd used one of the online filing sites that I'd used before. It seemed that in previous years, the money would show up maybe a week or so, so I figured that would be the scenario this year.
Actually, I'd filled out most of the online form a few days earlier and had been tempted to hit send. But I'd wanted to check on a couple of things, just to be on the safe side. The Pinellas Park Library usually has tax preparers from the AARP come in every tax season to help people fill out their tax forms, free. So, I called the library to find out when AARP would start doing taxes.
"Not until Thursday, the 6th. They'll be here Thursday and Friday afternoons and Saturday mornings."
I thanked them and hung up. I really didn't want to wait that long, figuring any delay filing would delay getting the refund. Makes sense, right?
So I called the local IRS office, and waited...and waited...punched "1" for the correct option...Finally, someone answered the phone. I asked the couple of pertinent questions, got decent answers, thanked the man for his time, then hung up.
Sunday morning, I glanced over the online forms one more time and hit send. The site mentioned sending along a text when the taxes were accepted. An hour later, the text arrived.
One little glitch: the site said it could take up to three weeks to get my return. It felt like three years.
By Friday, I started checking the bank to see if the money had been deposited. Of course, Friday was too soon. I lamented over this to my friend, Cookie.
"I did my taxes early last week. Got the money Wednesday."
"How'd you file?" I asked. Same online site I'd used. "So you saw the thing that it could take up to 21 days?"
"Yup," she answered. "I think they tell everyone that, no matter how long it takes. But it only took nine days for mine."
Great, I thought. At that rate, I figured mine would be in that Monday.
But Monday, the tenth arrived with no sign of the money. Okay, maybe Tuesday...
Monday afternoon, I spoke with my daughter, M.H. "Yeah, my refund came today," she told me. She'd filed her refund on February 3...the day after I filed!
Then my son M. went to the library that Saturday, almost two weeks after I filed, and got his taxes done by AARP. He was told to expect his money in 7 to 10 days. It had been almost two weeks since I'd filed mine.
I kept checking the site where I'd filed to see if there were any updates that I'd missed. It still showed that the refund had been accepted.
Earlier this week, I followed a link from the site to the IRS's site to see if I could figure out anything. Voila! It showed it should hit the bank this morning. M. then asked, "Hey, can you check mine?" Turns out his was scheduled for today, too.
This morning, I checked the bank. Money in. This afternoon, money spent. Bills, a case of cat food at the vet's office (Karma's still on a special diet...his special expensive diet), some kitty treats, and a trip to Publix.
I'm glad tomorrow is pay day because I'm now broke. Wouldn't bother me as much if it hadn't taken longer to get the money than to spend it!
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Thursday, February 13, 2014
A Tail of Two Cats (And A Dog and another Cat...)
I currently have two cats, which is ironic, considering I'm more of a dog person. Most people, if they like dogs and cats, tend to like one species a little more than the other. I've always been more of a dog person, but that's beside the point: I now share my house with two cats.
Actually, it's not completely my fault that the two of them live here. Oh, yes, I know, I didn't have to allow either one into my house. But there are times when life happens. What was it John Lennon said? "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans." Which is what happened here.
I was having a bad year. It hadn't actually been a January-through-December-bad-year, more like June-through-whenever kind of bad year. It started when our cocker spaniel died in June, 2006. Osha was 16 years old, and we knew it was just a matter of time. She's started losing her hearing, her vision was getting bad, and in the last few weeks, she seemed to have the dog equivalent of Alzheimer's.
One afternoon, maybe a week before she died, I'd let her out in our fenced-in back yard and, somehow, she'd managed to slip out in a break in the fence that she'd never been able to get through in her middle age. When I saw her wandering next to the road, I ran out and scooped her up. She gave me a happy-aging-puppy look that seemed to say, Hi! I can't quite place you, but you do look familiar! Maybe you have a nice treat for me? I knew...
Osha
A week later, the evening of June 4, she had trouble getting up and coming to the bedroom. My son, J., was on the computer, and planned to be up for a while.
"If she needs help, let me know," I told him.
"Sure thing," he answered.
Maybe fifteen minutes later, he knocked on the door, holding Osha. She'd tried crawling out of the living room toward the hallway. I took the old gal and placed her on her nest of blankets, petting her once-silky fur.
But no matter what, she couldn't get comfortable. Paul got up and fixed a pot of coffee and we sat up with Osha. We knew that if she didn't go that night, we'd have to do the hard thing and take her to the vet's in the morning. She was that far gone. Sixteen is a very old cocker spaniel.
Finally, at 4:00, when it was obvious she couldn't get comfortable, I picked her up and sat on the front porch while cradling her. She'd always loved sitting on the porch, sniffing the air, watching the neighborhood. She howled her wimpy little cocker spaniel howl, something she hadn't done in probably several years, then settled down. I told her what a good girl she was, that it was okay for her to go.
When I brought her back inside around 4:30, she seemed ready to sleep. Sometime between then and 6:00, she passed over the Rainbow Bridge, her friend and buddy, our cat, E. B. White, keeping watch.
That was a hard one. Even Paul - a former Marine! - was a little teary-eyed.
Then came October. Paul was sick and had to be rushed by ambulance to the hospital. At one point, he seemed to be getting better. But after almost a week, he passed away. I won't go over the details; suffice it to say that I covered that in another blog...
Paul
The following June, E. B. White died. She'd seemed to be going downhill after Osha and Paul died. And on Father's Day of 2007 - June 17 - she, too, died. After wrapping her up in an old towel so that I could take her to be cremated the next day, I called to wish my dad a happy Father's Day. Unfortunately, it was obvious he couldn't come to the phone. Two years earlier, he and my step-mom had come to visit to let me know Dad had cancer and was terminal. He died two weeks later. My brother, too, had gone several months earlier.
E. B. White
Greg
Dad and step-mom, Phyllis
I really wasn't in the mood for any more pets. Cats and dogs tend to have a shorter life-span than people, which means that there's a good chance you'll have to go through the pain of their deaths. I was soooo over death and dying. Whether the loved one was a person or a pet, it hurt. True, some deaths hurt more than others, but it still hurts. I was not going through that again!
About a month before E. B. died, though, I had called my friend Kevin up. Kevin, you might recall from previous posts, drives cab. I needed a ride, so I usually call Kev.
On this particular trip, Kevin informed me that his friend Billie, a nice gal who'd gone through a rough patch with her sense of humor intact, had a cat who'd just had a litter of kittens. "All of them have been claimed for adoption when they're old enough, except for one," Kev informed me. "That one is yours'. He's your karma." I was sure he meant that I was destined to have this cat, but it came out as Karma.
"No way I'm taking that kitten," I informed Kev. "I don't need another cat."
"Yes, you do," he insisted.
"Whatever." I let the subject drop, figuring that someone else would come along and decide that they had to have that kitten.
But nooooo. Kevin kept giving me periodic updates on my kitten. The first couple of weeks, I kept telling him no. Then I got to the smirking stage; no way is he giving me that darn kitten!
"But Karma's so cute!" he gush, as I smirked away.
Sometime between E. B.'s death and my dad's death, two weeks later, I was on the phone with my son-in-law, B. (M.H., who I'd wanted to talk to, had gone to work.) Suddenly, a car honked in the driveway. I looked outside.
Kevin.
"Hold on," I told B. "Someone's here."
I opened the door as Kev opened the trunk of his cab. "I got your cat!" he called.
"Even you wouldn't keep a kitten in the trunk of your cab!" I responded. He gave me a look.
"No, Billie has Karma. I just have all the cat stuff so you can't give him back!"
It was then that I noticed Billie in the front seat. She opened the window and handed out a tiny black furball. Karma's eyes were wide and he opened his mouth to let out a yowly mew. I took him as Kev put litter box, cat litter, and a six-pack of canned cat food on the front porch before beating a hasty retreat to the cab.
Karma Kitty, first week at home
"Enjoy!" he called as he jumped into the cab, threw it in reverse and left!
I looked at this tiny little bundle. "What are we going to do?" I asked. He leaned into me, then looked up and bit the end of my nose.
I got him and the stuff into the house and watched as he sniffed the carpet. E.B.'s scent was still there. "Yes, Karma," I told him. "This is a cat house." Meaning that we'd recently had a cat.
At this point, I heard laughter. It sounded kind-of far away, but somehow close. The phone!
Grabbing the phone, I asked, "Are you still there?" B. was. He'd heard the cat house remark.
A month later, we adopted Drexie from our vets' office (Pinellas Animal Hospital). I figured a second cat would keep Karma company. After a day or two of getting acquainted, during which time Karma kept trying to get rid of the intruder, until she finally fought back and let him know I'm staying, they've become friends and perfect foils for one another.
Karma Kitty, adult
Drexie Calabash
I guess I'll keep 'em.
Actually, it's not completely my fault that the two of them live here. Oh, yes, I know, I didn't have to allow either one into my house. But there are times when life happens. What was it John Lennon said? "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans." Which is what happened here.
I was having a bad year. It hadn't actually been a January-through-December-bad-year, more like June-through-whenever kind of bad year. It started when our cocker spaniel died in June, 2006. Osha was 16 years old, and we knew it was just a matter of time. She's started losing her hearing, her vision was getting bad, and in the last few weeks, she seemed to have the dog equivalent of Alzheimer's.
One afternoon, maybe a week before she died, I'd let her out in our fenced-in back yard and, somehow, she'd managed to slip out in a break in the fence that she'd never been able to get through in her middle age. When I saw her wandering next to the road, I ran out and scooped her up. She gave me a happy-aging-puppy look that seemed to say, Hi! I can't quite place you, but you do look familiar! Maybe you have a nice treat for me? I knew...
Osha
A week later, the evening of June 4, she had trouble getting up and coming to the bedroom. My son, J., was on the computer, and planned to be up for a while.
"If she needs help, let me know," I told him.
"Sure thing," he answered.
Maybe fifteen minutes later, he knocked on the door, holding Osha. She'd tried crawling out of the living room toward the hallway. I took the old gal and placed her on her nest of blankets, petting her once-silky fur.
But no matter what, she couldn't get comfortable. Paul got up and fixed a pot of coffee and we sat up with Osha. We knew that if she didn't go that night, we'd have to do the hard thing and take her to the vet's in the morning. She was that far gone. Sixteen is a very old cocker spaniel.
Finally, at 4:00, when it was obvious she couldn't get comfortable, I picked her up and sat on the front porch while cradling her. She'd always loved sitting on the porch, sniffing the air, watching the neighborhood. She howled her wimpy little cocker spaniel howl, something she hadn't done in probably several years, then settled down. I told her what a good girl she was, that it was okay for her to go.
When I brought her back inside around 4:30, she seemed ready to sleep. Sometime between then and 6:00, she passed over the Rainbow Bridge, her friend and buddy, our cat, E. B. White, keeping watch.
That was a hard one. Even Paul - a former Marine! - was a little teary-eyed.
Then came October. Paul was sick and had to be rushed by ambulance to the hospital. At one point, he seemed to be getting better. But after almost a week, he passed away. I won't go over the details; suffice it to say that I covered that in another blog...
Paul
The following June, E. B. White died. She'd seemed to be going downhill after Osha and Paul died. And on Father's Day of 2007 - June 17 - she, too, died. After wrapping her up in an old towel so that I could take her to be cremated the next day, I called to wish my dad a happy Father's Day. Unfortunately, it was obvious he couldn't come to the phone. Two years earlier, he and my step-mom had come to visit to let me know Dad had cancer and was terminal. He died two weeks later. My brother, too, had gone several months earlier.
E. B. White
Greg
Dad and step-mom, Phyllis
I really wasn't in the mood for any more pets. Cats and dogs tend to have a shorter life-span than people, which means that there's a good chance you'll have to go through the pain of their deaths. I was soooo over death and dying. Whether the loved one was a person or a pet, it hurt. True, some deaths hurt more than others, but it still hurts. I was not going through that again!
About a month before E. B. died, though, I had called my friend Kevin up. Kevin, you might recall from previous posts, drives cab. I needed a ride, so I usually call Kev.
On this particular trip, Kevin informed me that his friend Billie, a nice gal who'd gone through a rough patch with her sense of humor intact, had a cat who'd just had a litter of kittens. "All of them have been claimed for adoption when they're old enough, except for one," Kev informed me. "That one is yours'. He's your karma." I was sure he meant that I was destined to have this cat, but it came out as Karma.
"No way I'm taking that kitten," I informed Kev. "I don't need another cat."
"Yes, you do," he insisted.
"Whatever." I let the subject drop, figuring that someone else would come along and decide that they had to have that kitten.
But nooooo. Kevin kept giving me periodic updates on my kitten. The first couple of weeks, I kept telling him no. Then I got to the smirking stage; no way is he giving me that darn kitten!
"But Karma's so cute!" he gush, as I smirked away.
Sometime between E. B.'s death and my dad's death, two weeks later, I was on the phone with my son-in-law, B. (M.H., who I'd wanted to talk to, had gone to work.) Suddenly, a car honked in the driveway. I looked outside.
Kevin.
"Hold on," I told B. "Someone's here."
I opened the door as Kev opened the trunk of his cab. "I got your cat!" he called.
"Even you wouldn't keep a kitten in the trunk of your cab!" I responded. He gave me a look.
"No, Billie has Karma. I just have all the cat stuff so you can't give him back!"
It was then that I noticed Billie in the front seat. She opened the window and handed out a tiny black furball. Karma's eyes were wide and he opened his mouth to let out a yowly mew. I took him as Kev put litter box, cat litter, and a six-pack of canned cat food on the front porch before beating a hasty retreat to the cab.
Karma Kitty, first week at home
"Enjoy!" he called as he jumped into the cab, threw it in reverse and left!
I looked at this tiny little bundle. "What are we going to do?" I asked. He leaned into me, then looked up and bit the end of my nose.
I got him and the stuff into the house and watched as he sniffed the carpet. E.B.'s scent was still there. "Yes, Karma," I told him. "This is a cat house." Meaning that we'd recently had a cat.
At this point, I heard laughter. It sounded kind-of far away, but somehow close. The phone!
Grabbing the phone, I asked, "Are you still there?" B. was. He'd heard the cat house remark.
A month later, we adopted Drexie from our vets' office (Pinellas Animal Hospital). I figured a second cat would keep Karma company. After a day or two of getting acquainted, during which time Karma kept trying to get rid of the intruder, until she finally fought back and let him know I'm staying, they've become friends and perfect foils for one another.
Karma Kitty, adult
Drexie Calabash
I guess I'll keep 'em.
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