Month: July 2015

It’s All In The Game

I got to tell you  this story about Momma because you know we are all a part of  and a result of, this massive puzzle of life.

The Puzzle of Life where we either fit or don't fit (til you find your very own missing pieces. From Morguefile.com Puzzle.jpgBy FidlerJan
The Puzzle of Life where we either fit or don’t fit (til you find your very own missing pieces).
From Morguefile.com
Puzzle.jpgBy FidlerJan

So by now you know Daddy and Momma (who has no sense of direction) had been around the block, well, at least twice.  So let me tell you Momma’s odyssey of finding Daddy in the Cardiac Care Unit (aka CCU) at The Big Smoke Cardiac Hospital.

The ambulance from the local hospital delivered Daddy to CCU so Momma had no clue where to start, except a room number that any reasonably functioning brain could find…..you’d think!  But first, Information told her that she had to get the elevators that took her to the Cardiac Floor.  Security said, ‘No, not these elevators, take a left, pass two entrances, take the third elevators to your right. Follow the yellow foot prints on the floor till you find a CCU Waiting Room.’ Sounded simple enough. How could anyone go wrong?

Well, it seemed the Security Guard couldn’t count or maybe, he said three doors.  Finally, Momma found the elevators, went to the correct floor, followed the yellow foot prints…till they suddenly stopped, in the middle of what, from the stillness, might have been the morgue.  There was no one, anywhere, just rows of doors, no numbers and no names.  Five or ten minutes later (Scout’s honour) a door opened, out came two orderlies, chatting away, oblivious to the fact they were pushing a freshly toe tagged corpse.    When Momma asked for help, she was so unnerved, she barely concentrated on their response. Surely they did not mean to send her to another hallway that definitely looked like mankind had been swooped off to some unknown dimension.  Momma went north and south, east and west, zigzagged left, right, forward, backwards till she ended up in the same spot where she had seen the orderlies.

Shining floor, deserted hallways. Where do you go from here? From Morguefile.com IMG_2999.JPGBy ArielleJay
Shining floor, deserted hallways. Where do you go from here?
From Morguefile.com
IMG_2999.JPGBy ArielleJay

Finally, like a mirage in the desert, a Volunteer appeared. He delivered Momma to the CCU Waiting Room (hey, the yellow footprints on the floor had reappeared, like a path in the Wizard of Oz.)

Let me tell you about Momma’s interpretation of the CCU Waiting Room.  First line up, wait your turn. Spell your name, then the patients’ name. They look at you suspiciously, check with his nurse. They instruct you to take a seat. The nurses must always delay entrance by ‘preparing’ the patient, call back, give entry consent.  Therefore many Visitors are lulled by the monotony of the long, dastardly hard waits, by playing the Waiting Room Game, I-Got–the–Sickest–Loved–One.’

There were rules to follow: 1) Everyone must participate.  It was bad manners to do otherwise. 2) Everyone must fully commiserate with the strangers in their midst. 3) When your loved suffered a crisis, you must dish out the details so the listeners could recall about the battles fought and won by their loved ones.

Finally her name was called. Momma went in to visit Daddy.  She pushed open the door to find a nurses’ station in the centre, a massive beeping computer monitoring system manned by nurses, interns, doctors from cardiologists to surgeons just ready, set, go for the next emergency.  As Momma sat down she got a good view of the unit across from Daddy’s.  Everything was identical.  Hospital bed with a wan, semi-comatose patient, CHECK; monitors, tangled IV’s, CHECK; computer to left of patients bed so doctors had history, present condition, and test results at their finger tips, CHECK; television, mounted on wall to alleviate pondering their condition should patient actually wake up, CHECK and of course, the signature Crash Cart at the bottom of the bed, just in case the patient flat lined and need a little persuading to return to Planet Earth. CHECK.

Momma did not even have her book out to start reading when it happened.  All of a sudden there were beeps, bells and whistles going off, like one of those Lottery Terminals.   In came the doctors, in came the nurses, and in came the lady with the big fat purse.  Momma was hustled out the unit to contemplate what she could have done that caused such a commotion.  Would they think she was a toxic wife with a Munchausen Syndrome and ban her from in inner sanctum? She sat in a corner, eyes on book to avoid questions.

Five minutes later the door opened and just Momma’s luck, the visitor of the patient in the unit across from Hubby came in.  He asked, ‘How is your husband?’  Momma was like a deer caught in the headlights.  He went on in a pragmatic yet been-there-done-that’ way, ‘You understand he just flat lined, don’t you?’

Now this caught the ears of all the players of I-Got–the–Sickest–Loved–One.  Momma had broken the cardinal rule.  She had not shared all so the other visitors could trot out the glory days of their loved ones.  Momma felt like a traitor, Peter denying he knew Jesus.  She mumbled something, grabbed her purse and took the elevator to the Ground Level and went for a walk outside to sit on one of the benches in front of Legislative Assembly of Ontario, you know, where Premier Dad used to have a job.  Nothing much is ever accomplished by the politicians at Queen’s Park, or the Parliament Buildings in Ottawa or even in Washington, DC anyway, according to the daily newspapers.

Older, wiser, still fun Momma & RIP Daddy
Older, wiser, still fun Momma & RIP Daddy

Yeah, your right! My Momma and RIP Daddy lived through some ‘been there, done that‘ experiences.  It only seems or seemed to strengthen their ability to find the humor hidden along the way because, everyone has some stories they are hauling from Yesterday to Today to Eternity.’

 

I’ll Be Coming Home, Wait For Me

Just as dusk was falling, we gathered together on Momma’s bed because Ruby, the Incredibly Wide Eyed Monkey said she had heard a story that could turn in to a rumor that may be fact or fiction but it was not her place to relegate plausibility.  No, her job was to relay an account of what she heard and swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help her God. So we opened our ears, cleared our minds and concentrated, because after it is rolled out, we will all have opinions to share.

Ruby shares the story with Charlie, Gen, and Jakita using Tigger as a head rest.
Ruby shares the story with Charlie, Gen, and Jakita who is using Tigger as a head rest.

It is not like Momma had much experience in seeing ghosts although she was always open to the idea that it could happen.  I mean, she didn’t know anyone who had ever seen UFO’s but that does not mean they haven’t.… or so Momma theorized.  When Grandmama, Her-Mother-God-Rest-Her-Soul appeared in a dream, it was like an angel coming down from heaven, surrounded by a cloud, with a rainbow over her head. Grandmama’s face shone like the sun, her cloak flashed with fire. And the message she delivered was Momma must talk of, write about, the Mysteries that enshrouded Reality.

About two years after Grandmama died suddenly, (here one minute, gone to her greater reward the next).  Grandpapa claimed (but he was always a great storyteller) that one night when he was sound asleep, he was awoken by a bright white light in his room.  In the light stood three women, transparent they seemed, like crystal angels without cumbersome wings.  Grandmama stepped forward and told him that he should get on with his life.  If he wanted to remarry, so-be-it. Life was for the living.  He strained to see the other women, but they stood in the shadows and did not talk. He wasn’t sure, but thought it was Grandmama’s two sisters (one a Sinner, one a Saint) accompanying her, to deliver the message. ‘Huh,’ said, the siblings, ‘Imagine that’, with varying degrees of skepticism.

Grandmama and her two sisters - the Sinner and the Saint. From Morguefile.com cha610.JPG By chamomile
Grandmama and her two sisters – the Sinner and the Saint.
From Morguefile.com
cha610.JPG By chamomile

Months later when Grandpapa became involved with the Black Widow,  Heart-of-Stone-Lady, some of the family wondered, was the visitation from Grandmama a way to justify the new romance and be convenient to Grandpapa’s long range plans?  Momma’s sisters and brother knew Grandmama was the jealous type till the day she died, always cautioning them that she would still be warm in her grave when Grandpapa would start the replacement process.  No way would Grandmama sanction remarriage, with her children possibly developing loyalty to another woman. Of course, that would never have happened.  The Black Widow could have been Mother Theresa and Momma and her siblings would have pined for Grandmama. Also they were always cognizant that if they didn’t, they would have to answer to Grandmama when they went joined her in Paradise. God knows how she greeted Grandpapa when he passed over!

Funny thing is RIP Daddy was just like Grandmama.  He warned Momma within an inch of her life that if he passed first, she was not allowed to have another relationship. No worries, RIP Daddy.  Even after all this time, Momma has not moved your clothes from the closet or your change from your pockets, flung on top of the bureau. She says, she does, you might be coming home anytime soon like she thinks the company you work for sent you out-of-town to drum up more business to grow the bottom line. What can I say?

Here I sit in contemplation of Grandmama's visitation.
Here I sit in contemplation of Grandmama’s visitation.

Did Grandmama appear to Grandpapa in reality? Will we ever know?  If she did, why did she not warn him about the Black Widow, Heart-of-Stone-Lady?  Or did Grandmama think Grandpapa needed a Life Lesson delivered?  Knowing Grandmama, no one would put it past her.  She had a powerful strong will – that Campbell blood, you know.

Yet it seems like we all got some lessons to learn.  As far as I am concerned, I got some questions that need answering the very second I meet up with Grandmama on the Other Side. Did she really appear to Grandpapa? Was she setting him up?

So….how far is Heaven, did you say?

 

 

 

Come Here and Take A Lesson

To my way of thinking and it may sound esoteric, trees call out to me, if I will take the time to listen – not all trees but let’s be truthful, but not all Four Footed or Two Footed inspire me, either.

It is majestic in size with the hint of an interesting base, even this far away.
My Smart Tree is majestic in size with the hint of an interesting base, even this far away.

It seems some individuals have that ‘seen one tree,  seen them all’ attitude and just bolt past them. Oh, ye of little understanding.  If you are one of those unfortunates, listen up and learn the secrets whispered in the wind, shouted across mountains, lingering far and wide, over the great expanse of time.

Once upon a time (oh, you heard that story already), well okay….you know how Momma and I go walking.  I observe, I sniff, I listen and I respond.  I mean, no kidding, you may meet up with a flower so exquisite, with such an intoxicating smell, that  it is impossible to go by without stopping.  Or I can gaze for hours at Momma’s shiny stones in her rock collection or lay in the front garden, watching teeny, tiny ants and beetles, busy, busy, busy.  Let me tell you about the miles Momma and I have walked, the paths we have taken and all the trees we have seen.  Yet none compare to my Smart Tree.

A huge tree, with a thick foliage of leaves, it shades all takers from the hot summer sun or even provides shelter in a rainstorm (NOTE: Stay away during a thunderstorm).  It is young enough to be vital and strong, yet mature enough to have a history.  And it communicates, not just to me but to all who would take the time.  I recall the first occasion I heard it whisper to me, the leaves, rustling gently.  I stopped, looked up, up, up, so far that I felt my neck crack in protest.  It was a tall straight tree with such symmetrical branches, it looked almost engineered to perfection.

Is that an Eagle eye or a human eye? Is there an angel with a dog's head. Do you see the monkey perched on branch? It is like a ever changing kaleidoscope vision.
Is that an Eagle eye or a human eye? Is there an angel with a dog’s head. Do you see the monkey perched on branch? It is like an ever changing kaleidoscope of possibilities.

Then my eyes scaled down the trunk to the base of the tree and I could not  believe what my eyes were showing me. It was as if an artist had painstakingly carved an eagle eye that could  see forever and back, a monkey perched on a bench  surveying all, an angel with the head of a dog.  The more I looked, the more I saw.  And toes, much longer than a Two Footed.  And is that a forked tail? Is that even possible? No, these toes and tails must be the fossil of the dinosaurs or dragons long since extinct.

On one side of the tree the toes dig in to the earth, stabilizing its position. And no toe is that long? Is that a forked tail? You tell me!
On one side of the tree the toes dig in to the earth, stabilizing its position. And no toe is that long? Is that a forked tail? You tell me!

Momma, Momma, Momma what can this mean?  I hear the tree tinkle with laughter – like Momma would know their well guarded secrets! Still, Momma has an answer, because well Momma always has an answer, even if it is not the right answer. It is Mother Nature, Jakita, driving rain, wind, ice, exposing roots and carving messages in the trunks, cautioning us, and warning us, while at the same time inviting us to celebrate their wisdom and truth, earned over their long life span. The only problem is that the Two Footed are pretty much deaf to  tree whispering.

Not me Momma.  I could come here every day to listen, look and feel the power of this tree.  It is like the carvings play mind games with me, confusing me by appearing different each time I gaze at them. Some days they appear frightening, some days they are benign and some days they are friendly like, welcoming me to come closer. I am not sure what that is all about but I do know that tree is calling me, beckoning me to not accept things at face value but always be ready for change because change is inevitable.

Here I sit by my favorite Smart Tree. Look at that gnarly, carved tree base.
Here I sit by my favorite Smart Tree. Look at that gnarly, carved tree base.

Still I wonder, what if Momma is wrong?  Maybe it is not Mother Nature but instead those wee people who come, in the dark of the night, with chiseling tools and lanterns, to carve the tree trunks.

I mean, Momma, you are the one who taught me, ‘All things are possible.’ Let’s come back some night and see if we can catch them in action, okay, Momma?

 

How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?

So I don’t get it. What gives?  Momma and I got home from a walk and there was a car in the driveway, but no occupants. Well, you know that means I must sit on the back of the couch and stare because there is a threat, I am positive, but where is it, what is it, exactly? It is not easy being Head of Family Security when anyone, anytime is allowed to drop by without warning or clearance.

How Much Is That Doggie in the Window? Jakita on Call, inside the sunroom, on the back of the couch, surveying the neighborhood. No, the trees are not inside the house, and I am not light green. It is just a reflection on the window pane distorting perception.
How Much Is That Doggie in the Window? Jakita on Call, inside the sun room, on the back of the couch, surveying the neighborhood. No, the trees are not inside the house, and I am not light green. It is just a reflection on the window pane distorting perception.

Keeping my eye on the unoccupied car, I scan the neighbourhood for clues. It was a hot Sunday afternoon and I was not sure what the neighbors were up to, but nothing was stirring, not even a droning bee, a scampering mouse or a fluttering butterfly. All of a sudden, I heard heavy footsteps.  One sure thing, as clumsy as Momma is, she steps lightly and so does Wonder Boy.  It is like they go through life doing a ballroom dance, gliding from room to room.  Not me.  Momma calls me (besides a host of other names) Miss Wiggle-It-Jiggle-It.  I am sure there is a compliment in there somewhere and I am earnestly looking for it. I refuse to be offended.

No, heavy steps may mean an alien force to be sought out and if an ‘unfriendly’, barked off the premises. My woof is so deafening that I do not even have to nip to get the attention of the undesirables. Could it be one of those extraterrestrials Momma was talking about? Oh, no, it is just Lover Boy without his Baby Little-Me.  I love his Little-Me but the feeling is not mutual. Apparently my friendly overtures frighten poor Little-Me.  I have to be like Larry David and Curb My Enthusiasm.

Once Lover Boy leaves I look across the road and marvel.  I could have sworn that house was white but now it is yellow.  How does something like that happen without a vote of the entire neighbourhood?  Momma says it is because there are new owners.  I know.  I miss the old owners, who only had a cat so I was their foster puppy.  They loved me unreservedly.

These new folks have their own dog so I am not much interest to them.  And they have cats with their own stories.  The day they moved in, one of the cats, (let’s call him I-Get-Around) confused, frightened and disoriented, took off.  Just like the Sophie Alert, they put up posters, looked at their old home, as well as scoured the new neighbourhood.  They got in contact with the local Animal Shelter.  It felt ominous to have a move start on such a bad note.  Days turned into weeks, a month and the constant drip, drip, drip  of the realization that their well-loved cat may never return.

Sleek, slate grey and white I-Get-Around Cat aka a reasonable facsimile.
Sleek, slate grey and white I-Get-Around Cat.

Cats though, that is why I admire them – they have that nine lives thing going on, you know.  About forty-five days after he had disappeared, the Animal Shelter called.  The cat come back because he couldn’t stay away. Yes, everyone loves a happy ending….except, well, it is a nice I-Get-Around-Cat, but one day after his Great Expedition, he crossed the street to befriend Andy and Gen and I am sure I saw an Initiation Ceremony where he was accepted in to the Kitty Club Med.

 

You know my job in life.  If I can not drive away the adversaries, I have to accept and protect them.  It is a sweet, friendly, non confrontational, sleek grey and white cat, wearing a collar with a little bell.  Andy doesn’t mind him because  well, nothing much fazes Andy. Now that RIP Beau-Re-Guard found his blue cloud, Andy has dual roles of Defence and the Brainiac. Andy could have handled it all along but he understood it was a Badge of Honour for Big Beau to flex his muscles. Gen, as sweet as she is, has the feral streak in her as far as being paranoid about new acquaintances. However, she seems to instinctively trust this I-Get-Around-Cat and  his Little Miss. So….I like them, too.

So I am exaggerating about the fur but you have to admit the left eye is non existent. Maybe I am just jealous because he is adorable!
So I am exaggerating about the fur but you have to admit the left eye is non-existent.

You know what?  ‘Itsa not so bad’.  Who cares what colour the house is? Their dog is half the size of me. I am happy to extend my protection to I-Get-Around-Cat and  his Little Miss….okay, okay, that little dog too. He looks like he needs help. There is so much fur covering his eyes, he probably can not even see where he is going.

I know, I know the rules (that do not apply to me, of course)……If you don’t have anything good to say, don’t say anything at all. I will keep you posted how having new neighbors work out!

 

 

I Stand On Guard for Thee and Thee, and Thee Too!

Pan Am 1

I am a fine Black and White, and like a good wine, I get better as I age. Just don’t put me in a bottle in your wine cellar. Then I may not live up to your expectations.

As in Indoor / Outdoor / Indoor cat I have the blessings of a home, while still able to quench my call of the wild streak that runs from the tip of my twitching nose, down my back, to my tail and up my soft belly. I know it is invisible to mere mortals but it is real and goading me to the next level of interaction with the Four Footed and some Two Footed.

My favorite spot to survey Andyville.
My favorite spot to survey Andyville (Psst…don’t tell Jakita – she thinks it is Jakitaville).

In order to quell my call of the wild streak as well as my testosterone  level, I spend a lot of time breathing deeply, exhaling, stretching, doing yoga poses, clearing the wheat from the chaff, so to speak because Momma is not a fan of that side of me. That is why I spend a lot of time outside on the front bench just surveying Andyville.  Oh, oh, don’t tell Jakita what I said.  She calls our homeland Jakitaville but she does not put in the long hours that I do, culling the herd, so to speak.

Now I am no Jakita.  I do not have a book of Policies and Procedures.  No, I just react, situation by situation, to keep our surroundings safe and habitable.  I can be ever so accommodating with the squirrels and the raccoons.  They have a separate cycle of life that I do not interfere with as long as they are no threat to my family and me.  It is other situations I feel I must control. I will give you a for instance.

Momma is on her hands and knees weeding the front garden.  Someone passing by stops to chat.  I get off my front perch and stroll over.  No, do not pat me, I am like the President’s Secret Service.  I am on duty.  I sit on a stepping stone to evaluate the threat.  If it seems to be a friendly, I stretch out in the sun.  Then again, if it appears to be a loony tune or an unsub, I pester Momma by winding around her and caterwauling, until she tells the person, uuuhhh, she has to see what I want.  Maybe I am hungry.  That works.  Some fresh chicken chunks for saving, possibly, your life.  Seems like a fair trade-off to me.

Here I am, working on my yoga poses, grooming and de-stressing, all at the same time.
Here I am, working on my yoga poses, grooming and de-stressing, all at the same time.

 

 

My next big challenge is the feral felines that steal Momma’s time and sometimes her heart.  Now Casey is Over and Out but I barely tolerated him.  Next came BB.  Oh, what a troubled cat he was.  I never knew such a vocal, disturbed, (I tell you) cat, howling and growling, like a hand grenade about to detonate. But I saw through him.  He was just frightened and trying to keep all taker’s back.  And…. if BB was the grenade, Clem was the pin. 

I know I was  a Feral, rescued at a tender age so I don’t understand how that pecking order works completely.  All I know is when BB started hissing and growling, Clem with  his tortitude went in to an attack mode that pulverized poor BB.  Momma interfering left her with gashes and bite marks.  Throwing cold water or shaking a bottle of marbles at them, intensified the fight, bringing it to a new level of unbridled suffering.  And BB, a much bigger cat, always lost to this little wild cat from. H_LL.  I would just shake my head.  Leave them alone and let them go home, Momma, anywhere out of my sight.

Who comes? Who goes? Ask me. I know!
Who comes? Who goes? Ask me. I know!

Momma, please, you can’t go investing your heart in the strays, should it be the Two Footed or Four Footed kind.  You know it surely did not lengthen Casey and BB’s life. From where I stand, I don’t see any improvement in the life of the poor unfortunate Two Footed either who walk around muttering to the voices in their head.  They actually looked scared when you look at them, like maybe they have done something wrong, just by walking by.  As the Most Wise Wonder Boy says, do not encourage the strays. Their ways are not our ways, okay. You heard that one before, you say?

Wonder Boy and I, we understand testosterone and feel things we don’t see. Now it is time to embrace it, Momma.  After all, we are depending on you to not upset the apple cart of life, okay, Momma? 

 

 

If You Go Out to the Woods Today

Maybe The-Boy-Next-Door needed more of theses friends when he was a kid ....
Darby, the Brown Teddy Bear with Wonder Boy’s Lightbulb.

Hey, I am Darby, the Dark Brown Teddy Bear. Now I am not like Ruby or Tigger or Babby.  I have no clue where I came from. My first memory is Christmas Muzak at a big department store where hundreds of Teddy Bears were for sale.  As the shoppers pushed and shoved, picking me up, throwing me down, I screamed, though no one heard, ‘Me, pick me.’  I can’t say for sure if Momma heard me or was it telepathy? I was so relieved to be leaving behind bedlam to go to a forever home, assigned a master.

I had big plans.  I should have known Momma had even grander plans.  As we drove home she explained that I was to be a Love Teddy Bear.  ‘What’s that Momma?’  ‘I chose you with care. You are to bring comfort and security to those who are in need.  Your very presence will remind them they are beloved, even in the darkest hours. In between missions, you will have a place of honour on the old trunk, from my ancestors, in my bedroom.’ I could feel my chest expand with pride. Just the perfect assignment for a Teddy Bear like me.

The very first ‘being’ I met sitting on the old trunk was the Very Yellow Light Bulb Teddy Bear who had been gifted to Wonder Boy at his birth. Light Bulb was named by Wonder Boy who had such an obsession with light that it is the first word he said, at six months so I am told. I wasn’t there so I can not confirm or deny the facts presented. It does not matter. I love Little Light Bulb, dressed in a  Wonder Boy’s onesie, clutching flowers and ribbons, that were in the same gift basket  that Light Bulb came in.

Now it is summer and we all wait with bated breath because this is the time of the All Things Plush Picnic. Ruby, The Incredibly Wide Eyed Monkey goes, as well as Tigger,  Babby and of course the two Teddy Bears – myself,  Dark Brown Darby and my best buddy, Little Yellow Light Bulb.

Ready, Set, Go to our Annual All Things Plush Picnic. I am holding my best buddy Lightbulb. Babby is in the centre while Ruby cradles Tigger. Notice how my fur is so dark that you can only see one eye. I have two, honestly!
Ready, Set, Go to our Annual All Things Plush Picnic.I am holding my best buddy, Light Bulb. Babby is in the centre while Ruby cradles Tigger. 

If we have been good all year, (LOL – what can the inanimate be ???) we may even be the guests of honor at the annual All Things Plush Extravaganza, held deep in the woods, away from watchful eyes and nosy spies. But it is not only a picnic.  Sure we eat teeny cucumber sandwiches and shortbread, drink lemonade.  But it is also a convention of sorts to toss around theories, talk about the good old days and catch up with what has happened in the lives of All Things Plush.  As we march along, carrying picnic baskets of goodies, we sing and whistle, skipping along merrily, avoiding the cobwebs and thistles along the path to our secret destination.

Our picnic site, in the clearing, yet protected by the canopy of leaves and bushes. See how the sunlight is filtered through the trees, bathing us in glorious gold.From Morguefile.com 20141106_4830_DxO_tonemapped copie.jpg By Eric Berthe
Our picnic site….                From Morguefile.com
20141106_4830_DxO_tonemapped copie.jpg By Eric Berthe

There is something else that is very special.  We always send out an invitation to the fairies and  wee people. It seems both the Two Footed and the Four Footed can not see them, so they do not give credit to how much they contribute to the world at large.

Well…, I have seen them in action in Momma’s front garden. Maybe if she can not see or hear, at least she feels them, like a magnet drawn to metal. And Jakita, so super sensitive, she feels everything!  But we (All Things Plush) see, hear and feel the  fairies and wee people. We know how they mystically reverse attitudes, right wrongs, and magically appear in a life that cries for their healing power.

The Fairies on a bench provide the music at the picnic. The Wee People bring their shovel and wheel barrel, just in case...
The Fairies on the bench provide the music at the picnic. The Wee People bring their shovel and wheel barrel, just in case a project breaks out…And you are correct,  these fairies and Wee People live in Momma’s front garden every summer.

So if you go out to the woods on a summer afternoon, tread lightly and maybe you will be fortunate enough to see us sitting in a circle, talking, laughing, or maybe dancing a jig or eating our teeny cucumber sandwiches, the wee people, taking shelter at the crackle of a footstep. But don’t bring your cameras. The photos do not develop, I am told.

I know, I know there is no scientific proof, but we are out there, if only you believe.

 

 

 

 

The Lonely Mansion On The Hill

It was an old house, a sad house, a dilapidated house, sitting high up on the hill, the doors sagging, the glass panes broken.  Sometimes, when we were out for a walk, Momma and I would pass by and I would beg her, ‘Tell me that story again. Momma’.  You know Momma.  She loves spinning tales.  I have long ceased trying to separate the Fact from Fiction because we all know how strange the truth can be.

Can you see the invisible fence around it? From Morguefile.com 1-IMG_2360.jpgBy Sgarton
Can you see the invisible fence around it?
From Morguefile.com
1-IMG_2360.jpgBy Sgarton

Many, many years ago a middle-aged couple moved from the city to our home town, bought a piece of land on the hill, built a house with the mountains behind them, the ocean in front of them.  They appeared gentrified and uppity to the local folks, as well as reclusive, so no one knew much about them, where they came from, if they had children. No, no one knew.

Somehow Mr. and Mrs. Uppity lived among them without blending in, which was unheard in this part of the country, where the neighbor’s knew if someone cut a tree down on your property on the second concession, without your permission.

Does Anyone Care? You betcha! The locals will report back to you who did it, when it was done and tell you to confront the culprit so he does not do it again! From Morguefile.com IfATreeFallsInTheForest.jpgBy gracey
If a tree falls in the forest, does anyone care? You betcha! The locals will report back to you who did it, when it was done and tell you to confront the culprit so he does not do it again!
From Morguefile.com
IfATreeFallsInTheForest.jpgBy gracey

It was like an invisible fence ran around their property that shielded the privacy of the Uppities and kept the locals out.  Sometimes you’d see the locals just standing on the road, staring up the hill, saying, ‘It’s a strange, strange world, we live in, when you may not even know who lives beside you.’.

Time passed. Mr. Uppity went to his  greater reward.  And Mrs. Uppity?  No one knows what happened to her.  Did she run away in the middle of the night? Did she head to the mountain for a stroll, take a wrong turn and become disoriented, entrapped forever in the deep, dark forest? Is Mrs. Uppity somewhere in that rambling old house, like down in the cellar, scrounging for potatoes, harvested the past fall or  up in the attic, digging through trunks of memorabilia? 

Or… was Mrs. Uppity from outer space conducting an experiment to understand human relationships, like marriage?  Was she one of ‘them’, in human form? Did the space ship come and ‘Beam her up, Scottie’, to report to the Space Alien Commander and Chief, once Mr. Uppity died? And could it be the Extraterrestrials that hold parties in the lonely mansion on the hill? What is that Momma? I never heard of Extraterrestrials before.  Later, Jakita, I’ll tell you what I have heard and saw, later.

Finally after many years, the locals scaled the invisible fence and peaked in the windows.  The supper dishes were on the table, dinner still on the plate, as if Mrs. Uppity left in a hurry. The closets were full of clothes, the beds made meticulously. Like here one moment, gone the next.

Over the years, things happened, no one will lay claim to.  The dishes were all broken and flung across the floor. The furniture has been ravaged whether by the Two Footed or the Four Footed, who knows? All the locals can say for sure is that it has been said every few years on a moonlit night, the lonely  mansion on the hill is flooded with g;owing lights.  Sometimes you can hear music and loud voices coming from the open windows.  Then as quickly as it started, it ends abruptly, and the very silence can deafen you.

Who would not love to live facing on ocean, backing on to mountains? From Morguefile.com Sillouhettes_1519.jpgBy dpawatts
Who would not love to live facing the ocean, as well as backing on to mountains?
From Morguefile.com
Sillouhettes_1519.jpgBy dpawatts

We never knew what to make of it, Momma told me.  No one could figure them out in life so it is a sure bet, we don’t understand them in death.

What a strange story Momma.  I got to tell Gen, Ruby, Tigger and Babby about the lonely mansion on the hill. We’ll wrap our heads around it and figure it out.  I promise.

Your No Kid, Your No Kid, of Mine

I am so delighted because, you know, summer is here and I get to spend hours and hours outside, in the garden, sniffing the flowers, chewing the grass and sun bathing on the brick steps.

Diva Calico Gen
Glam Diva Calico Gen.

You already know that I am a Glam Cat, with aspirations to have long, thick, glittery  eye lashes and teeny, tiny high heels.  Maybe I could have little scented sparkly diamond  studs in my ears (say what?)   that cast beams of rain bow colored light and exotic fragrances into the world, attracting the attention of resplendent butterflies. Remember, you heard about scented earrings to attract butterflies here first. As I said before, I am no Brainiac but I am a Creative Genius, I tell you.

As much as I love summer, it always brings out the strays.  Clem had been doing a proper good job of sneaking around so that none of the Colony Cats followed him back to the land of Kitty Club Med.  If he was being followed by a starving, meowing feral, he would drive them away with a ferocious attack  because he is super high-strung and can not abide the caterwauling or even worse, trespassers.  No one invited the strays.  Clem is like Jakita, all Policies and Procedures, none of which apply to him, but with even a shorter fuse and higher developed sense of punishment for transgressions.

On Saturday morning, we saw Clem was in Crusade / Cleanup Mode. I would not stay outside and see Clem attack a starving but still gorgeous grey striped feral tabby, who had the nerve to outwit Clem and end up on our doorstep. But a feral can be very wily. 

Clem hears the call of the wild.
Clem sees all, hears all, feels all.

Gorgeous Grey Tabby would not run.  He just sat very still as Clem went ballistic.  It is hard to fight an enemy who turns the other cheek.  In the end, Clem, still with his ears and tail twitching, stalked off.  Gorgeous Grey just waited, waited some more, till Clem disappeared in to the thicket, then left on his chosen time.  Our Bad Boy Andy, with that male testosterone, flooding his reason, sat on the hood of Momma’s car, to get a ring side seat.  Momma tried to coax him in, so no harm would come to him, but to no avail.  No, it was show time, he had paid the price of tickets, over the years, The Bad Boy was not going anywhere. Who can figure out the male species, really?

Still, worse was to come. Gorgeous Grey has never returned but…he must have shared his experience at the Cat Colony because in his place came Lucifer.

Poor little Lucifer. A sad kitty. Please stop crying. You are annoying me. From Morguefile.com cmw3_n90s_353_jasper2.jpg By snowbear
Poor little Lucifer. A sad kitty. Please stop crying. You are annoying me.
From Morguefile.com
cmw3_n90s_353_jasper2.jpg By snow bear

Pure black with a few wisps of white fur, on his belly, Lucifer has decided ‘su casa es mi casa’ (your home is my home) and will not  leave even when Clem threatens him or Wonder Boy stamps his feet.  If he was well-behaved like Gorgeous Grey, no problem.  But Lucifer is, well, needy, that kid at school you abided in the day’ ….when bullying wasn’t allowed.  He cries all the time.  If Momma puts food down, he doesn’t even have the brains to eat.  Maybe he is trying to tell Momma, ‘Go catch me some fresh mice.’ And, if I am outside, he clings to me, like Velcro or stalks me like he is on an African Safari and I am the catch ‘du jour.’.  I am not his Baby Mama.  It is way too annoying for a Glam Cat.  I refuse to go outside. It makes me very tense and twitchy. I have Wonder Boy wrapped around my finger.  If I can not abide Lucifer, neither can he. So he has lectured Momma not to encourage Lucifer. Yeah, well, good luck with that.

It is an oasis of calm. Charlie on the left, on guard duty with Ruby in the middle, while Gen to the left, Jakita and Tigger at the bottom of Momma's bed do siesta.
It is an oasis of calm. Charlie on the left, on guard duty with Ruby in the middle, while Gen to the left, Jakita and Tigger at the bottom of Momma’s bed.

So pray for me – that my summer will not be ruined.  Best case scenario, Lucifer chills around me and we can both enjoy the great outdoors. Or, I will be more like Andy and ignore his presence, like I can not see or hear him, he does not even exist.  Any other suggestions?

For now I will just hunker down with my BFF Jakita, Charlie, Ruby, and Tigger.  They keep me grounded and stress free.

Still, the clock on summer is ticking (tic toc, tic toc).  Maybe Lucifer will just give in or give up. I will keep you posted.