mikefain Loc: Columbia R, PDX/Vancouver

The Cat

When I was a young lad of about 10 years, I lived in a modest house with my parents, two sisters and my brother in Gresham, then a very sparsely developed suburb of Portland, OR. There were several other boys in the neighborhood, enough to field two, three man teams for playing baseball, which we did almost every day in the summer. To make our “field” large enough, we combined our back yard with that of our neighbor. The major league stars of the day included Mickey Mantle, Whitey Ford, Willie Mays, Hank Aaron, Harmon Killebrew, Frank Robinson, Roberto Clemente, Warren Spahn, and many others. We tried to emulate our heroes by swinging for the fences on any hittable pitch. Likewise, when it was our turn to pitch, tried our best to strike out the side by throwing curve balls low and away like Whitey, or fastballs like a Herb Feller.

The games were intense more than they were friendly. We debated foul balls, home runs, what was a “safe”, or an “out” call, a fair vs. a foul ball, etc. We held the collective fervent hope that our parents would not call us to do a chore, or help on some other unimportant item that could always wait since it was seldom as important as the game at hand.

As it happened, my mother didn’t rank her priorities in the same order as my own. And one day she called for me to go to the freezer in the garage and bring her a loaf of bread and some frozen fruit. She was making lunch and needed to finish up before Dad got home from work for his lunch break. I begged the guys for a short break and ran to the garage, opened the freezer, ran into the house out of breath with the bread and a container of fruit. As I was running out the door to get back to the game, Mom reminded me to be sure to make sure the freezer door was closed so I was able to catch the edge of the freezer door and close it as I ran by. The game was back on. We had about an hour before other parents would be calling their boys home for lunch. And it wasn’t likely that we would be getting a full complement of players back for the game. It turns out that other mothers had chores for their sons as well.

Before lunch I was asked by Mom to feed our cat, Toby. Toby could hear the sound of the can opener opening his food, even at 3 houses away and was always there before his canned food was dropped in his dish. Except today was an exception. No Toby. So I left his food in its normal place by the back door. After my quick lunch, I went outside to await the return of the teams. Shortly after I left the house, Mom screamed and called my name. Dad was still home.

As I got to the house, I could hear her crying in the garage. She had come out to put the leftover fruit back in the freezer. I could sense that I was going to be central to a major family episode. Mom looked at me and as tears streamed down her face said, “I think you left Toby in the freezer.” This, was that major family episode.

As Dad was pulling the cat out of the freezer, he said that he thought Toby might be okay – but he wasn’t moving. He instructed Mom to call the vet right away and ask what we could do. Mom returned to the scene of the episode and said the vet told her to give Toby a half teaspoon of white gas (the forerunner of Coleman lantern and stove fuel). Dad says “That’s crazy”. Mom says the vet advises that the gas needs to be no more than a half teaspoon, but that she will need help holding him and opening his mouth. Dad found the white gas, Mom got the teaspoon, and I held Toby while trying to keep him calm and warm.

Together, we struggled to get Toby in a position of calm but firm restraint, while Dad opened Toby’s mouth, and Mom used an eye dropper to suck up the fuel in the spoon, then squirt the fuel to the back of the cat’s tongue. Once the fuel was inserted, all hell broke loose.

Toby screeched and screamed as he ran in circles for about 30 seconds, then plopped over on his side. There was no movement. It was my fault. I asked Dad, “Did Toby die?”

Dad said, “No. No, he didn’t die. He just ran out of gas.”

OJdidit Loc: Oak Creek Wisconsin

Good one, there!

Big dog Loc: Bayshore, Long Island, New York

Okay, that’s it. I haven’t heard that one in 50 years, and with any luck, I won’t hear it for another 50 years.😖🤪

BadFisherman Loc: Lake Whitney, Texas

Who won the game

Fish Dancer Loc: Guntersville, Alabama

The Wildcats.

Jeremy Loc: America

Had me wondering if you were going to have to light the gas at some point. That fuel works well in Zippo type lighters too. They will lay on their sides or any which way and still work too...unless they run out of gas.

DB Ed Loc: Brock, Nebraska southeast ne

you and me both grandpa told that one and he passed in 1955

bozokarl Loc: south central Pa

I made the mistake of putting Coleman white gas in my Zippo one time when I was out of lighter fluid and it burned up my wick. This was back in the days before the internet was widespread and it took me like 6 months to find somewhere that sold Zippo wicks.

mikefain Loc: Columbia R, PDX/Vancouver

Cautionary notice to all Stagers:
I would put the flammability index of white gas as volatile as any gasoline - regular, high octane, with or without ethanol, etc. I'm pretty confident that the Surgeon General will not be issuing any warning about using gasoline and its relatives in any device that does not have a combustion engine. You will have to rely on your own instincts.
Treys & Jacks

mikefain Loc: Columbia R, PDX/Vancouver

Cautionary notice to all Stagers:
I would put the flammability index of white gas as volatile as any gasoline - regular, high octane, with or without ethanol, etc. I'm pretty confident that the Surgeon General will not be issuing any warning about using gasoline and its relatives in any device that does not have a combustion engine. You will have to rely on your own instincts.
Treys & Jacks