More Christmas confusion

 

Charlie discovers Christmas wrappings

We all know kittens have a magical attraction to Christmas trees. Charlie, Jordan’s kitten, not yet six months old, found the tree this week. Because he’s young and not quite civilized, Charlie has his own suite in the house—what really amounts to the family room and Jacob’s bedroom. But he gets frequent forays into the rest of the house, and that’s how he found the tree. Charlie is destined to be an indoor cat—in fact, Jordan rescued him when he was about to be turned out to the wide wild world at too young an age. But sometimes he feels his confinement severely. This morning I watched him march along the windowsills in the family room—the back wall is all window—watching intently as Sophie went about her morning business. He’s a pretty cat and, so Jordan tells me, affectionate though playful as kittens are. I have barely met him. To say I’m not a cat fan without explanation is not fair to me—I have adored one cat, my beloved Wynona Judley (affectionately known as Wywy), who crossed the bridge several years ago. But Jordan got a kitten in middle school that lived to nineteen and was, to my mind, the cat from hell. She peed everywhere, including on furniture, and I had to have a couch and chair reupholstered at great cost because of her. She’d stand right in front of me and pee on the floor. Graffiti soured me on cat ownership, though if I could have another Maine Coon like Wywy I would (she was not purebred, but we’re sure the strain was in there—thick, fluffy coat, pointed ears, sweet disposition).

For some reason, the gods of internet fraud have decided to pick on me this week. I’m not over the iStock disaster when today I get, in rapid succession, two messages from Norton Life Lock, the first informing me that my subscription was about to renew for $467 and would be charged to my account unless I called the cancellation line within 24 hours. So I called and ended up talking to a heavily accented gentleman who told me I’d have to file a cancellation report. The more he talked, the less I understood him, but I was fairly sure the report would want my banking info. I hung up. Within in hour, I got another email—different address, different amount—saying that the renewal had been charged to my Norton prime account. Good luck with that. I don’t have such an account. But they said I could still call the cancellation line. Just to be sure there was a flag on my account, I called my bank after both emails. They were tremendously helpful, but it took a chunk out of my morning.

In a similar vein, I recently fell for a free trial offer, and I am here to warn others against it. It was from iStock. iStock is images controlled by the Getty Foundation and those images are high priced.  I never consider them for my blog. But I thought, a free trial? Why not? I can tell you why not—it’s hidden in the fine print. If you don’t cancel in the first month, you are locked into a year-long contract. And it’s not small change. Many offers like that remind you when your trial period is ending or allow you to cancel at any time. Not iStock, and they play hardball. So I will make substantial monthly payments for a year. All my fault. I didn’t read the fine print. Even my lawyer daughter says I’m stuck. If I don’t pay, they’ll send it to a collection agency and damage my credit rating. I know it’s my fault, but I am still angry and still feel I‘ve been tricked.

Before all this I also signed up for a trial offer from the Washington Post—a reasonable $4 a month for something like three months and then no higher than $12. Still, I cancelled it—a lot of little subscription fees add up. No problem. Easy as pie. Not many of you reading this would have occasion to even think about iStock, but this is my warning to prevent anyone else from being taken by their free trial.

Otherwise, the event of the day was making our traditional cheeseball, which I wrote about recently on my food blog. Cheeseballs may be considered dated, but my family still loves this one which traces back to my childhood. In recent years, the girls in the family have made it, so tonight was my first time in a long time. I’d forgotten how messy it is to work with all those soft cheeses—blue, cream, Velveeta. I had the brilliant idea to grate the Velveeta—don’t try that! What a mess. And parsley all over the place.

But the cheeseball is in the freezer, Sophie is contentedly sleeping in her crate, and I am sipping a glass of wine as I write this. The neighborhood newsletter is off to the designer, the kitchen sink leak is still not fixed (plumber comes tomorrow), and life goes on. I feel like a hundred loose ends are dancing around me, but I know, with Jordan’s super organizational skills, all will be in order on Christmas Day. Counting my blessings.