Category: R.I.P.

RIP – Gone Never Forgotten

Keep Me Searching For A Heart of Gold

First please understand, I, Jakita, was not even born when Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His Soul was alive. I knew he and Momma were tight, from what she had told me, like white on rice. Even in death, Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His Soul had a strong spirit, that cast a long shadow.  One night he came to me in a dream and implored me to tell this story so other widowers would not unintentionally bring pain to their children. He had thought a companion would alleviate his loneliness and make him less of a burden to Momma and RIP Daddy, who called daily, and  dropped by at least four times a week. They were busy people.  He did not want to be an albatross around their neck.

You can only imagine Heart-of-Stone Lady had a misshapen, irregular heart, like this stone. From Morguefile.com P8070076.JPGBy doctor_bob
You can only imagine Heart-of-Stone Lady had a misshapen, irregular heart, like this stone.
From Morguefile.com
P8070076.JPGBy doctor_bob

Momma always said they were largely perplexed why their family had to encounter Heart-of-Stone-Lady.  To look at her she was your typical Senior Citizen,  always dressed suitably for her age group. You’d never guess by looking at her that she was a cougar on the prowl..…….and Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His Soul, was the hunted.

First Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His-Soul told the family she was a friend of their Mother-God-Rest-Her-Soul but  that did not fly. Finally they confessed.  The Heart-of-Stone-Lady had an ad in the paper that Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His Soul had seen and contacted her. Or did he have the ad and she contacted him?

Right from the get go, Heart-of-Stone-Lady said she was financially stable and just longed for companionship since her husband had died two years earlier.  What was not included was that Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His-Soul was to be Husband #3.  Husband #1 had left when she got involved with the man who became Husband #2.  She told us she had no children, which was correct….after Family Services got involved.  She had omitted a tiny detail. She had five children with Husband #1 that had been taken away from her.  When Husband # 2 died, she got the estate, his children got the shaft (actually Momma still has Husband #2’s toolbox in our basement, if anyone is looking for it.)  As time progressed and stories piled up, the family was highly skeptical of everything she told them.

Momma said the family noticed how adeptly she could manipulate their Father-God-Rest-His-Soul.  Heart-of-Stone-Lady was taken out to eat all the time and had hired help to clean the condominium once a week.  She couldn’t wear a cloth coat; Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His- Soul bought her a fur coat, befitting her new position in life.

It was no surprise to the family that one week after the wedding, Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His-Soul’s will was changed, naming her as the sole beneficiary, with the talk of her being financially stable and looking for companionship only, tabled for ever.

Six weeks after the marriage happened, the family was told, Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His Soul had been on his way downstairs, when he had a stroke, fell down and concussed his head. Some of the siblings wondered, did the chicken come from the egg or the egg come from the chicken? No one will never know.  What was apparent though was that Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His Soul would never walk again, care for himself again or even go home again, since he was catastrophically paralyzed on his left side and one sure thing, the Heart-of-Stone-Lady, who could not cook or clean, would not  take care of him.

In order to pay for long-term care for their father and residence for Heart-of-Stone-Lady, the condominium had to be sold . The siblings were expected to pack everything that Heart-of-Stone-Lady did not want and store it in Momma’s  basement. Since their Mother-God-Rest-Her-Soul ’s freezer was old, Heart-of-Stone-Lady agreed the youngest sister, Itty Bitty, could have it.  In order to move it, they  threw out contents, some of which had been labeled four years earlier by their Mother-God-Rest-Her- Soul.

See you in court!
See you in court!

The call came the next morning from the Heart-of-Stone- Lady’s lawyer.  She wanted the contents of the freezer or Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His Soul’s children were being charged with theft. Where do these lawyers come from who will action such demands by petty clients?  Was the Heart-of-Stone Lady looking forward to entering the place to find pails of melted ice cream and the smell of rotting fish and meat, that she would have to throw out?  Go figure. Momma laughed and said, ‘Meet you in court.’ But life is unpredictable.  The very lawyer who opposed them that day, did them a solid years later….and we are going to tell you all about it.

Happy Days! Our Mother-and-Father-God-Rest-Their- Beautiful-Souls. Note: Taken a year before our Mother's unexpected death.
Happy Days! Our Mother-and-Father-God-Rest-Their- Beautiful-Souls.
Note: Taken a year before our Mother’s unexpected death.

But… never underestimate the power of a woman. to protect her children. Trust me, their Mother-God-Rest-Her-Soul would find a way to right any wrong because….she was powerful upset and that is what good Momma’s do!

All In All It’s Just Another Brick in the Wall

Momma told me this story… so it is mine to tell you.  She seems to think there are a lot of what she calls Baby Boomers who will say, ‘Been there, done that and no thanks, I don’t want the T Shirt.’

Momma and WonderBoy are much kinder teachers than the teacher from H-E-Double Hockey Sticks. They are never sarcastic but they do laugh at me, sometimes.
Momma and Wonder Boy are much kinder teachers than the teacher from H-E-Double Hockey Sticks. They are never sarcastic but they do laugh at me, sometimes.

In the good old days,  all adults just pitched in and made sure kids behaved the way they wanted their own to act.  Maybe it was the threat of corporal punishment but no one dared sass back.  You bit your tongues and listened, especially to your teachers  who put up with students every day, week in and week out.

However there was one teacher (isn’t there always), who no one ever forgets.  She was small in stature but made up for it in her ability to keep students on their toes, by being relentlessly unforgiving if she caught them drifting off to dreamland, rather than being present, feet on the floor, head out of the clouds.  She actually expected students to be connected to the subject at hand, (Geography in her case) while in her classroom.  Momma tried to mind her p and q’s, concentrate, come up with the correct answer but out of the blue, like a snapping turtle, the teacher would attack, centering Momma out for admonishment.

A blankmap - a.k.a.Geography Class Torture. From Morguefile.com MAPS_earth-map.jpgBy Prawny
The dreaded blank map – a.k.a.Geography Class Torture.
From Morguefile.com
MAPS_earth-map.jpgBy Prawny

Pity the student she brought up to the front, handed him or her a pointer and asked where, say Burma was.  If the student pointed to the incorrect place (purely by accident), in a most irritating, sarcastic voice she would say, ‘Don’t tell me.  Burma must have moved.  Strange they are not talking about it on the news.’  The poor student would turn every shade of red as their fellow students tittered.

It is not hard to believe that this kind of walking on egg shells approach, makes one at the top of their game.  Hey, everyone wanted to do well.  That is why Momma would be so disappointed at the results of the exams when she got them back.  Although it would be a passing grade, the teacher From H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks would routinely mark questions that were correct, wrong, and deduct points accordingly.  One day after class Momma went up and asked her teacher about it.  Putting on her sweetest smile the teacher would say, ‘You know what, Quite Contrary, you are correct.  I’ll just mark it in my ledger and next exam, I’ll add the marks on to your score.’

The Mark Ledger where you were measured against your peers. From Morguefile.com a oct nov 036a.jpgBy jdurham
The Mark Ledger where you were measured against your peers.
From Morguefile.com
a oct nov 036a.jpgBy jdurham

Momma would look at her like she had two heads.  The next exam would not even be marked by her. It would be sent to a central marking location to ensure provincial marking was uniform.

Momma wrote her final exam and waited for the results which came by mail.  She could not believe it.  She had got one mark less than the highest score for all of the geography exams written that year in her province.  Momma and the teacher’s favorite student, even got an acknowledgement from Board of Education, because they got the top scores in the province (which rightfully made the H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks teacher look good).

In reflection, did the teacher from H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks very perversity cause students to dig deeper, go further?  Did she see something in Momma’s personality that made her need to challenge her to get the best performance?  Was the teacher as devious as Delilah or as Wise as Solomon?

You probably are saying, ‘whatever’. Momma would never have to see her after high school.  You would be wrong.  The teacher from  H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks decided, since she thought so much of Momma’s parents, (translation – Grandpapa) she would not only move to the same city but buy a condo in the same building.  Momma saw her all the time at unplanned / unsolicited drop bys, at the nearby mall where everyone shopped, at family meals, at the teachers’ place, and even at Momma’s place.  However, the teacher from H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks was now on Momma’s team all the way, mostly because Momma’s son, Wonder Boy was intelligent, perfect in every way, as well as the best looking boy the teacher ever knew. No one knows how someone as hopeless as Momma (in the teacher’s eyes), ever managed to have such a remarkable kid.

All in all, it’s just another brick in the wall.

All these years later and Momma will tell you, if she is talking teachers with those she went to school with, it always comes round to the teacher from H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks. Whatever methods she used, you can bet, she will never be forgotten.

All in all, it’s just another brick in the wall.

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.’

 

Pretty Little Miss Kat Mandu Earns her Pink Fluffy Cloud

Imagine, 3 calicos in Momma's household. I was the No.1 Sister, with a lot of black fur hiding the tan and oranges, all topped off with white paws chest. Oh, I was a Pretty Kitty.
Imagine, 3 calicoes in Momma’s household. Oh, I was a Pretty Kitty.

So to continue my story,  everyone wants to unravel mysteries.   They have to know the how, where, when, why I am on that fluffy pink cloud drifting around in Pet Heaven. I can only report on what I know, any other details must come through Higher Authority that I am NOT privy to.

All I remember the day before the pain struck, it was business as usual.  I ate, I went out into the dark of the night, came in and Charlie and I slept in the basement on the big couch, with the Disney World blanket, the one that Momma is continually brushing down because of the gobs of fur that Charlie expels, like the breath of all living creatures.  Sometime, somewhere this excruciating pain began, nothing like this 12-year-old cat ever felt before.

Now some would say, that is young for a cat to get sick to die, but not for a feral.  All of Momma’s rescue felines died at 10 years or younger. She bragged about how long I had lived. But apparently this was where the rubber hit the road.  I suddenly felt dizzy, rolled off the couch in the basement, crawled along in the direction of the stair case, hoping to be able to make it up to Momma. Too weak to carry on, I flopped over in front of some boxes.  The next day, poor Charlie tried to alert Momma by limping up and down the stairs the staircase, even stepping into the kitchen, looking at Momma with worried eyes but Momma’s radar was down, her GPS tracker was out of commission.

I never miss a sunset.
I never miss a sunset.

As the sun fell and darkness descended and I did not come upstairs to ask for food, or to go out into the night, Momma started to wonder.  She flipped on the basement light, went downstairs and there I was in plain sight, my head facing a box.  As soon as I heard her, I started meowing plaintively. ‘Help Momma,  help, put me out of this misery.’  Momma understood that cry.  One time in the Emergency Room, she asked a nurse to hit her over the head with a two by four because the pain was so excruciating but the staff wouldn’t. Apparently it is not listed as a chargeable service in our Government run Health Care System .

Momma ran upstairs, calling for Wonder Boy who came down to the basement and confirmed her prognosis – whatever I had, it was not good and somehow, somewhere I needed the intervention of the Two Footed good critters.

The carrying case was brought forth, Wonder Boy gently put me in on the sheep skin padding, latched the door shut (hey, at this point, I wasn’t going anywhere on my own four paws) as Momma found the number and location of an After Hours Vet Clinic – you know, where clients are at their mercy and pay sometimes double for their services.

As soon as we arrived, Wonder Boy told the Receptionist, ‘We have got a dying cat here.’  Nevertheless, I was taken in to a room for a ‘vet consultation.’ Within a few minutes Wonder Boy and Momma were invited in to receive my prognosis – not good. My heart  and liver were shutting down. Should they do some tests even knowing that long-term, this was not going to be a comeback miracle.  Immediately Wonder Boy said, ‘No intervention, give her the dignity she lived with, just stop the pain.’

I was carried in to another room, an awesome little knit sleeve put on my tiny paw where the injection would be made.  Momma and Wonder Boy stroked me and told me I was a good little brave Mandu Cat and where I was headed for there was no more pain.  The next thing I knew a fluffy pink cloud floated towards me (see, there are blue ones for the boys) and I leaped on it.  The panoramic view I have is ‘ to die for‘ but you have to wait till you get here to know the whole story.

So, when I exitted earth, headed to Pet Heaven, I had to leap over a blue cloud to my pink fluffy landing pad, where I can survey 'our Kingdom come' 24/7. I am watching you as I count the days, the hours and the minutes for the rest of my family to catch up with me.

So, when I left earth, headed to Pet Heaven, I had to leap over a blue cloud to my pink fluffy landing pad, where I can survey ‘our Kingdom come’ 24/7. I am watching you, as I count the days, the hours and the minutes for the rest of my family to catch up with me.

PS:  As my spirit passed, I was greatly amused when I heard the vet go over the charges for services rendered and Wonder Boy hit the nail on the head.  The vet said, ‘$125 for consultation, $85 Cremation, $300 to euthanize.’  Quick as a whip Wonder Boy asked, ‘What consultation? We came in, I said, we have a dying cat here, no one had to consult to tell us that.’ The Vet had to admit Wonder Boy had a point so the Consultation ended up costing $75. instead of $125. plus HST taxes of course so that the federal and provincial government could benefit from my misfortune.

Front Garden where angels perched on rivers of silver, dispensed amongst the plethora of greens, with the best seat in the house to see the butterflies and humming birds touch down. Is that me, hiding in the shadows at the back, you think? No, not there, over there.
Front Garden where garden fairies perched on rivers of silver. Is that me, hiding in the shadows at the back, you think? No, not there, over there.

PPS:  Although there is some mystery surrounding the circumstances I still have not met up with Mao Cat up here in Pet Heaven.  You suppose she is in that Catholic Kitty Purgatory all those Protestants Cats don’t believe exist.  I am keeping my eye out for her.

Sir Teddy (Bear) Spinner by Senorita Jakita

 

A handsome, loyal Angel Dog who was steadfast and true. We miss you Teddy.
A handsome, loyal Angel Dog who was steadfast and true. We miss you Teddy.

If Daddy had Zanny, did Momma have a dog before me, you may wonder? Yes, she had a beautiful Angel Dog, Teddy, a bright white miniature American Eskimo who, I am told, hardly did anything wrong in is his life.

Well, I don’t believe that, I think aloud. Momma says, well,  maybe, once or twice he needed to be reprimanded, like his first grooming when he nipped Momma as she brushed him and Momma,  Quick-Draw-McGraw, tapped him on his snout and Teddy never did that again. If only I could learn so easily.

Of course, being an Angel Puppy,  he never chewed anything, snapped, snarled or growled and on top of that could be left outside, on the front porch and NEVER ran away.  Are you sure he was a dog, Momma??? That theory was even tested one day when Momma, always in a rush Momma, put Teddy outside in the morning, then went off to work.  At the time poor Daddy was recuperating from open heart surgery so every night after work Momma would go visit him at one of those Down Town World Class Cardiac Hospitals.  She did not even know she had created a problem till she got home, late. The moon was shining high in the sky, on a cold, winter night. There sat Angel Dog Teddy, waiting patiently, on the top step by the front door.  I mean, I do not get it, was he missing a dog gene?

Like me, Teddy came from a Puppy Mill, (a ramshackle barn crammed with all different purebred  breeds and sizes of dogs, from teacup to St. Bernard’s). He was so happy, happy, happy when he was handed over to Momma. He buried his head on her shoulder, clinging to her for dear life, realizing that he had a matter of seconds to bond so that he could become part of her Forever Family.  Teddy shadowed Momma even more than I do, protecting her from every person he thought was a threat – like the Courier Delivery Man who got a little too close, so was subjected to a sharp nip in the ankles. Even at my fiercest, I am not that brave.

I am told Teddy mostly  abided or ignored the cats, feeling superior because he slept on a doggie pillow at the end of Momma’s bed. With Zanny, he showed his nurturing side, though never excessively. While Teddy was napping,  Zanny was allowed  to curl up in a ball by his tail, in order to sleep.

Teddy with white cotton candy fur and Zanny, the ultimate Yorkie, settle into their napping positions.
Teddy with white cotton candy fur and Zanny, the ultimate Yorkie, settled into their napping positions.

Still, my competition will always be the Perfect Angel Teddy who was (like myself) an Aquarius, strangely enough. One weakness Teddy had, just like me.  He was always seeking and demanding the attention of the Two Footed, longing to be patted and praised, while all other family pets were to be ignored, as if they did not exist.  At least I sniff, kiss and groom the kitties, happily rolling up in a ball with them to nap – not our Teddy, he did not ‘do’ cats.

No one is without flaws, myself included.  Still it gives me pleasure to report, one time, I am told,  when Teddy was only four or five months old, he stole the night guard for Momma’s teeth. The minute he popped it in his mouth, the sharp wires that held it in place, drilled into his gums and he thought, ‘OMG, what is this?  I will never be able to eat again, save me’. He choked, gagged and shook his head until the little guard went flying out of his mouth, across the bedroom floor where Momma heard the commotion and scooped it up.  The guard was obviously misshapen and no longer wearable or even salvageable. Yet Teddy looked so ashamed that Momma  did not have the heart to chastise him.  Lesson Learned: Momma should not leave things on the bedside table and if she did, Teddy must ignore them, to avoid pain.

Besides his few faults, Teddy had a couple of amusing but harmless quirks. Sometimes if he was in the kitchen and Momma  called him to the living room, he would not walk in forwards, no, he would turn and back in. The ‘Spinner’ was added to his name when he was registered at the American Kennel Club because he loved to spin in circles as a puppy, like a white whirling dervish, hearing, feeling music not audible to the world around him.

So sometime, you may understand, I feel, give me a break, don’t tell me any more, I feel like I am gagging on his goodness.  Teddy and Fidel – Angel puppies, the two of them…no wonder Momma longed for a testosterone male.

I'll do anything to fiesta, even wear this itchy pink tutu that Momma and her guests thinks I look adorable in!
I’ll do anything to fiesta, even wear this itchy pink tutu that Momma and her guests thinks I look adorable in!

Now, with the facts before you, I’m not sure what you think, but even Momma admits Teddy was a little too serious. I would say that I am way more fun – cause girls just wanna have fun – ask Cyndi Lauper.

Teddy lived a long and charmed life, succumbing to ill-health in his old age, winging his way to Pet Heaven. I like to think impetuous little Zanny and steadfast sturdy Teddy were there to greet Daddy when he reached his Greater Reward in Paradise. But what happens once we pass, well that is all hearsay, it can not be proved scientifically or in a court of law.

Ready, Set, Go for the game of tag with Andy-Long-Legs.
Ancestor of forefathers.

However, I am just telling you what I heard whispered by Momma, the kitties, even the squirrels, sitting up on the car garage roof, chirping down secrets thorough the ages passed on from their forefathers  who lived at this home since its creation in 1867. I’d say they pretty much have their finger on he pulse.

You can see, I think a lot about Teddy.  I may be a work in progress but at least now I  attempt to live up to the fine example Teddy left.

Are you listening,  are you  with me, Zanny, or are you off on one of your wild goose chases?)

 

Pretty Little Miss Kat Mandu & Charlie

Charlie, always hovering at the basement door, too shy to explore other territory.
Charlie, always hovering at the basement door, too shy to explore other territory.

And so the legacy between Charlie and I began. The more successful my mission, the more I peddled influence over Charlie, my devoted team of one.  In no time she would only come up the basement stairs to eat and drink or as an alert to have me come back in the house at night.  I had poor Charlie convinced the puppy was out to get her, the other cats were conspiring to bring her to ruin and the Two Footed trio would be her down fall. Charlie was an amazing soldier – she followed and executed orders, without any questions.

Meanwhile, having a bird in the bush, I once again awakened like a Phoenix, rising from the ashes.  It started at 8:00pm everyday when I would complain to Momma to feed me.  Then at 9:00pm I would insist both the kitchen and the front door be opened. Also, I would not venture outside until all the Two and Four Footed stood back and I had a clear, unfettered path out in to the night. Only then, would I scoot out to the front garden to watch the fairies dance.

Look at these tiny little Garden Fairies, relaxing before the Circle of the Fairy Dance has them twirling on their toes, to music only they can hear.
Look at these tiny little Garden Fairies, relaxing before the Circle of the Fairy Dance has them twirling on their toes, to music only they can hear.

It was most important to not come in contact with any pets or people. I especially had to keep an eye on Jakita, the family dog who might give me, like, who knows, dog-a-tude. In any case,  she was far too pure bred for me to appreciate her.   By 10:00pm, I came back, I  hopped up on the bench, waiting for Momma or Wonder Boy to open the door so I could go to sleep with Charlie in the basement. If I didn’t get in, Charlie would actually pad over to Momma’s bedroom door and meow to remind her ‘Mandu needs in’ – shy little Charlie would do that for me.

I loved Charlie like my own flesh and blood. Sometimes, when there was a full moon, on a summer night , once Charlie had gone to asleep, I would sneak outside again,  when Wonder Boy was around to help me in my Nocturnal Adventures.

Now that I have been forced to review the error of my ways, I realize how my sociopathic, ritualized behavior affected Charlie. She became obsessed with the food dishes, hovering menacingly at the top of the stairs, hissing at the other cats if they came near. She ate too much, out of boredom, and became  overweight, making it a problem for her legs to support her portly body.  I noticed in the last year, that she laboriously limped as she dragged herself from the basement, up the stairs, to the food dishes.  Then there was the crawl space I insisted she explore. Her calico fur became matted– the curse of the double coated, thick bristly outer hair and soft undercoat but she could no longer groom her self. She began to resemble a raccoon, with distinct camel humps of fur, instead of like a domesticated cat.

I, Charlie, admit I do look a tad racoonish but look at the exquisite calico markings. Please be polite and ignore my camel humps of fur - just beware, that is what comes from one to many nights in the Crawl Space with Kat Mandu as my Mentor.
I, Charlie, admit I do look like  raccoon but NOTE the exquisite calico markings. Please be polite and ignore my camel humps of fur – just beware, that is what comes from one to many nights in the Crawl Space with Kat Mandu as my Mentor.

Truth be known, no matter my poor attitude, I had a great home even if I had to reside with other cats.  The month before I passed, Calico Diva Gen was sick but Momma & Wonder Boy realized (because she let them know her).  No one could tell I was even sick because I successfully kept them at bay.  But I could sense it,  so I went back to hopping on Momma’s bed two or three times a day, Diva Gen at the top, curled in a calico  ball, me at the bottom, curled in a smaller calico ball, like two skeins of blended colors of wool. By this point I was the weight of a feather, according to Momma.  Special food  was brought to the bed for Gen to restore her health. I would wait till the Diva had her fill, then polish off the rest, trying to communicate to Momma, ‘I’m sick too’ but duh, she did not get it. Still Momma  could make me feel so good, kind of reminding me of my Baby Mama so many ages ago, as she brushed and combed me, till I slept in heavenly peace.

So I get it, I made Charlie paranoid, patrolling the top of the stairs, hissing at all takers so she could have all the food, all the water (I was always allowed complete  privileges). All the cats knew the basement and crawl space was just for her and I.  It is beyond me why she did not exercise her right to a free will (no, no, no, not free Willie).

Don’t be so quick to condemn me for my self-serving ways because sitting on my little pink fluffy cloud up in Pet Heaven, I am watching over Charlie Cat – and wouldn’t you know. She has reinvented herself. She is not as preoccupied with food and is upstairs all the time, no more hissing or blocking the staircase so the other cats now can eat or drink and wander around the basement, at their leisure. Oh, and the crawl space has been closed off,  so it is off limit to all takers. Anyway, Momma never liked me or Charlie enforcing law and order, Kat Mandu style  and well, we all live to please our Momma.

Mandu pondering the self serving Changes in Charlie's life.
Cat Mandu pondering the self-serving changes in Charlie’s life.

Oh, one more thing, as I look down from paradise the other day, I am almost sure I saw Charlie  sniffing Jakita and rubbing noses with both Gen and  Andy. If you can’t beat them, join them.

I tell you, it’s a strange, strange world, we live in, Master Jack.

Pretty Little Miss Mao Cat

Hey, it is me, Mao, checking in from Purgatory.  I seem to be stuck in a holding pattern like a jet liner waiting for the Air Traffic Control to give  clearance to land safely.  It is not home, nor is it the Pet Heaven that Cat Mandu proceeded to. Maybe she had to go and prepare a place for me before I can touch down.

Pretty Little Black and White Mao (as in 'mow' - rhymes with 'now', not Chairman Mao)
Pretty Little Black and White Mao (as in ‘mow’ – rhymes with ‘now’, not Chairman Mao)

It seemed  the strangest things always happen to me, like losing my tail, or earth-bound one day, in the land of never, never, the next. Now I am perplexed as you are about how, why, and when I got here.  Last thing I remember is making my way down to the creek, and in a blink, I am here. Gives you cause to pause and consider your Bucket List.   As Charlie Cat mentioned, I am her sister, a splotchy, rather than sculpted Black and White, like the Brainiac Andy Cat, and the Muscle Beau Cat.

Unlike Charlie, I was easily rescued as a kitten because I was hungry and tired, tired, tired of living near scrap metal bins, avoiding noisy forklifts with back up beepers  and wheezing air brakes on diesel trucks  that had come to pick up auto parts to deliver across North America.  Any place had to beat that ear drum shattering, traffic laden land of Just In Time mayhem.

Once I was at my forever home, Momma bathed me, using Dawn Dish Detergent to remove the oil. I nuzzled her wrists and batted the water,  to show my appreciation. I was named ‘Mao’ (Not after Chairman Mao Tse Tung, but because of my pathetic little whisper of ‘mow’, not ‘meow’ when I wanted attention.

Momma always told the story about my rescue. She would explain, you know how ‘curiosity killed the cat’ –  that saying was made for me. Having already had black and white cats, she realized, although, not the most appealing to look at, we were definitely friendly and gregarious.  All Momma had to do was put a cat carrier down in the parking lot at her work, with food in it.  I walked in to get breakfast, Momma closed the door.  Momma bragged  you know, she caught me, but no, I got Momma. Cats choose their owners, owners do not choose cats.

I soon let the family know I was born to be an indoor outdoor cat.  I easily made friends with the entire neighbourhood, be it people, cats, dogs or even squirrels or raccoons.

I was the first ‘Dog/Cat’ in the family, always accompanying the family around the block when the dog was walked, or down to the corner store with Dad (God-Rest-His-Soul) for lottery tickets, well before I lost my tail, that is.  When not in the house or traveling the neighbor hood, I hopped on Momma’s car, parked in the garage, then climbed on to the boards perpendicular to the roof, making a secret resting spot on the beams. Sometimes Mr. Grey Squirrel and Mr. Black Eyed Raccoon would also be sharing the accommodation. (And you ever wonder how we get fleas?)  We were our own little gang, hanging out, creating our own fun.

See my luxurious fur, thick black tipped tail and look of wisdom. DSCF1952.JPGBy jak Fr: http://www.morguefile.com/ archive#/?q=raccoon&sort =pop&photo_lib=morgue
See my luxurious fur, thick black tipped tail and look of wisdom.
DSCF1952.JPGBy jak
Fr: http://www.morguefile.com/
archive#/?q=raccoon&sort =pop&photo_lib=morgue

Momma found out when she heard a thump at the side door, early one morning.  When she opened the door, (Let the Cat in, Let the Cat Out Routine), there stood Mr. Black Eyes Raccoon. We will never know who invited whom to the Tea Party, but we were Best Friends Forever. I got up, stretched and padded out the door and we went, on our own mission, down the sidewalk, single file, across the road to the creek. We would splash in the water, dreaming  of catching gold-fish but only managing to  scare the little ducklings who were fiercely protected by Momma Duck. We considered our selves great hunters but we never got near those ducklings because Mama Duck had an annoying quack and a wing that seemed to expand in size  to create a wall we could not penetrate.  Mr. Black Eyed Raccoon and I would then lie on the cement creek wall in the sunshine, dreaming of other fish to fry.

But life is about changes and one day my BFF disappeared.  I heard Momma tell RIP Daddy there was a raccoon, dead on the road and do you suppose it was Mr. Black Eyed Raccoon? Apparently it was, because he never came around again. Like Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, we were – we ‘clambed the hills together.’ Without him in my life, I had no more adventure, no more sun bathing at the creek.  I felt lost.  When the sun was high in the sky, I would sit on the neighbor’s fence. I swear, I would squint my eyes, and I could see Mr. Black Eyes Raccoon, scurrying under the big fir-tree – but in a flash he was gone and I was alone, again.

Who knew that the outdoor life I cherished so, would be my downfall? A few years back, Momma and Wonder Boy noticed they had not seen me all day.The Search was on.  I heard them call but was too weak to respond. When I had recuperated enough, I limped back, dragging my broken tail behind me. Again you may ask, ‘Mao, how did you do that?’ I have no idea because like getting to Kitty Purgatory, I do not remember. I take the Fifth Amendment. Momma said maybe I got caught in a trap or maybe I was rolling on the road, which I did quite often, silly me, and a car drove over my tail .  Maybe the Forest Freak got crabby one night .  I do not know.

Look into this deep forest of twigs, vines, birch, maple, and cedar trees, so innocuous in one hundred shades of green. But you know and I know the secret. It is the Home of the Forest Freak.
You know and I know the secret. It is the Home of the Forest Freak.

After unsuccessfully splinting my tail for a few days, the vet, removed it surgically.   Although I still went outside, I spent more time on the back of the couch in the sun room. My personality went from outgoing to withdrawn, almost antisocial.  Who knew how much a cat needs a tail? To be truthful I was always a bit clumsy but having no tail only added to the equation, making me even more wobbly.

Also that Andy, The Brainiac made my life misery – Momma thinks he is a Cat-a-Stein – I considered him a ‘Back Street Bully’, always exploiting any weakness he can find in any cat that doesn’t share his DNA (which means Beau Cat and Diva Gen get a pass).  But he is sneaky – he doesn’t do it in the presence of Momma.

Sometimes now, when the fog thins, I get a glimpse of home, I see Charlie’s neat metamorphosis from a caterpillar into a Butterfly, any memory of me seemingly expunged.  I see Andy Cat actually sniffing noses with her – but then again, only when Momma is in the room…….

So, when I exitted earth, headed to Pet Heaven, I had to leap over a blue cloud to my pink fluffy landing pad, where I can survey 'our Kingdom come' 24/7. I am watching you as I count the days, the hours and the minutes for the rest of my family to catch up with me.
There is my pink cloud now!

PS: I will keep you updated on my progress in Kitty Purgatory. Meanwhile, pray for my deliverance. Who knew I was a practicing Catholic Kitty? I just want a fluffy pink cloud to sail on just like our Cat Mandu. Come to think of it, I can not wait to see her.

PPS:  Is that you, over there in Pet Heaven, standing beside our Cat Mandu, Mr. Black Eyed Raccoon?  Help me get out of Purgatory and over to your side.  Are there any gold-fish in Pet Heaven?

 

Sir BB as in Black Beauty, Blue Beard or Beastie Boy

 

Relaxing on the couch at Chez Momma after my initial stay at the Vet Clinic to be rejuvenated and re-hydrated. See the little patches of white, scattered amongst the gleaming black fur. Also note the numerous scratches and patches of fur missing. Life was good, never better. If only....
Relaxing on the couch at Chez Momma. Life was good, never better. If only….

BB – That would be as in Black Beauty, (just a streak of white underbelly, with a white star under the chin) or Blue Beard (the one-eyed pirate as suggested at the vet clinic), Beastie Boy (around Clem) or Beau Baby in Momma’s arms.  I had history, unfortunately, a lot of it way negative, my energy attracting cat fights that I never won. I was covered in scratches, big gouges ripped from around my mouth, my eyes, all over my skinny black body. I will never forget the night I went home to Momma, crying all the way, with only one eye functioning. Was it my nemesis or Clem or the Forest Freak, whoever it was, got me good, clawing the right eye, to the extent that we had no  idea if I would lose my sight permanently  or get partial sight restored. What could poor Momma do? It was beyond her meager skills of feeding, watering and nurturing.  It was time to take me to meet Dr. C.

You can see, this was one ugly wound even after healing for a week. The perpetrator should be charged with assault, with a deadly weapon (clawed paw, possibly?). It is time for me to start a Kitty Court, all Judges to be black cats with a touch of white patches. All other cats can be Lawyers, Prosecutors, Jury, Victims and the BAD GUYS. Justice for the Abused!
You can see, this was one ugly wound even after healing for a week.

What you should also know about me is I was the LIFO  Cat (Last In First Out) which in inventory refers to the way items are stored.  But I did not know that because, well, I did not know much. One day when Andy had come over to the Cat Colony to lord it over us, I followed him home, meowing loudly, stop, look at me, I am sick, I am hungry, I am so lost and lonely. When Momma opened the door to see what all my caterwauling was about, Andy looked at her with beseeching eyes, ‘Just make it stop’.

Now that was the first time I realized there was something called cat food, poured in a dish, just for you, while the other cats were all given their own bowl. On top of that we all had our own water.  Wow, what a system.  I learned fast. You don’t go putting your nose in someone else’s bowl. You wait till he finishes, then you check out his bowl while the other cat checks out yours, for leftovers.

I bonded quickly with Wonder Boy, I loved his energy, the way the squirrels came right up and took peanuts from his hand.  Momma, well, that took longer, but it was solid once in place.  Then Dr. CK, Dr.WY, Dr.MW and all the staff showered me with love and free call backs over the last two months of my life. Even as much as they cared, I was like Humpty Dumpty with all my catastrophic diseases, impossible to put together again. It was easy to see why I would change my allegiance to  the Two Footed, who bathed me in love, while the Four Footed, ignored or tortured me.

So…it is okay,  Momma, no more tears, Momma, repeat after me ‘It is OK’. I did what you told me to, leaping from your arms to that fluffy blue cloud that catapulted me to RIP Daddy’s warm embrace.

Look at my Launching Pad, the blue cloud, floating along in an inexplicably awesome universe lit by the sun in the day, the moon and the stars at night.
My Launching Pad, the blue cloud, floating along in an inexplicably awesome universe lit by the sun in the day, the moon and the stars at night.

I saw you, Momma, when you arrived home with an empty cage.  Immediately, the love of my life, Jakita ran over, confused. She needed an answer. What happened to BB? And Sweet Gen (who would sniff my nose, to show me I was acceptable in her sight), joined them, communicating in soft meows, ‘Oh wow, Momma, I’ll be good, just please don’t take me away.’  I saw as your tears dripped on their heads as you consoled them.

Just remember, I had three months of food, whenever I wanted it.  I had three months of belonging to a family which meant three months of love.  If I was annoying because I  meowed so loudly and long, I  am sorry.  I know I even deafened myself  by mostly shouting out anguishing wails with volume set to full tilt. For that  I apologize. It was not respectful of the Zen like ambience that turns a home into a paradise. Now I know, you should only hear the flutter of butterflies, the chirps of satisfied birds  and the tinkling bells ring when angels earn their wings. As well, my biggest crime, I drove off Clem, who will tell his own story, I get it.

In the end, I was loved by you.
In the end, I was loved by you.

If I could change anything in my past life, my relationship with Clem would be a re-do. I would make him love me, just like the you, the Two Footed did.

So………..I was not meant for a long time, but in that three months, well you, Wonder Boy, the Vets, especially Dr C. and the Clinic Staff, you all made it a purr-fect time…  And in the end Momma, in the end I was loved by you.

 

Pretty Little Miss Kat Mandu

Shangri la ...as Momma imagines...
Shangri la …as Momma imagines…Fr: Morguefiles By: hot black

OK, you are right, my name – sounds like Kathmandu – the Capital of Nepal.

It was assigned by Lover Boy, Wonder Boy’s friend,  brother-in-arms as well as his drunk and disorderly tank mate – well, at least on one occasion….(oh, was I not suppose to say that)? My Bad…What did Bambi’s Momma say again – oh, yeah, ‘If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.’ Who cares?  I am just a manipulative Sociopath from the Moraine. Who would believe me anyway?

 

But now, well, now,  I am Angel Cat Mandu, gone to my greater reward and I do see the universe and what I contributed to it, well from a panoramic 360 degree wide-angle. Maybe I was a Feline Sociopath with my divide & conquer skills, leading poor Charlie astray, a bit!!  I was the most senior, although smallest feline. As such,  it was expected for me to take charge.  Forget that. As a feral, taken in somewhere around six to eight months old, I already had a well-developed ‘Survival-of-the-Fittest’ in a Tough-Love World.

I always looked like an Angel rather than a little she-devil who endlessly manipulated both the Two Footed and the Four Footed, especially poor, naive Charlie.
I always looked like an Angel rather than a scheming little she-devil who endlessly manipulated both the Two Footed and the Four Footed, especially poor, naive Charlie.

I exhibited the normal traits of ginger and black, with white trim only, a long-haired calico that was accompanied with a regal bushy tail and white bib and paws. (Momma said it looked like I stepped diffidently through white paint). As a rule, a Calico is generally prone to be withdrawn, and skittish.  However, when I was rescued from the moraine in York Region, I had never even darkened the doorway of a  house before. I had zero interaction with the Two Footed menagerie,  and only ever lived in an outdoor Cat Colony. Therefore, once inside, I promptly bolted out of the carrying case and disappeared for three days.

Poor Momma searched in vain in her small house, embarrassed to tell anyone that she had lost a stray kitten she had ‘rescued….LOL.’   Where was I, you ask? Hiding in plain sight in Momma’s bedroom, no less. The first night, lights out, I stayed put under the bed, behind a suitcase.  I moved an iota, something fell over.  Momma jumped, turned on the lights, got on her hands and knees, peered under the bed, nothing. Must be the squirrels, trying to break in the attic, she thought as she fell back to sleep.  The second night Momma was really perplexed.  She could have sworn some creature swooped on to her bed.  Again when she turned on the overhead light, nothing was revealed so she drifted back to the Land of Snooze, even though she had a missing-in-action feral somewhere  in her possession. Go figure – how could she have missed connecting the dots on that one?  

On the third day, Momma came home from work and was discussing something with Wonder Boy in her bedroom.  Out I jumped. I  had needs. No food or bathroom privileges for three days can even make a feral desperate. Momma held me, talking softly while Wonder Boy got food.  From that day forward I did my own thing, mostly hiding out in the basement but coming up to the food dishes to eat with the other cats in the house.

Within a month I had been trundled off to the vet to get my vaccines and that nasty surgery that meant ‘no kitties’ – that worked for me.  Once over that ordeal, I chose to be an indoor cat, afraid when a door was opened, to cross the threshold.  Then at two years old I followed another one of our cats to the back yard.

Thus started my legacy as an Indoor / Outdoor Cat – for about three weeks.  I would disappear three days at a time, and then sneak back in for a couple of days till the wander lust took over again. I was hooked, addicted to my past.  Finally, I tired of the out-door life and remained inside, stretching in a patch of light in the sun porch or hiding out in the basement.  When two feral kittens were brought home, I ignored them because I now felt Four Feet Bad – Two Foot Good.  I still took comfort  by jumping on Momma’s bed to have an afternoon siesta, choosing the bottom of the bed to sleep on.  But don’t  stretch out beside me, Momma or I am out-of-here.  ‘Don’t stand so close to me’, was my battle song.

The next year, can you believe it, without consulting me, Momma brought home an additional three kittens. Now my personality hardened, it got even more strident.  I not only wanted, but demanded attention, with my annoyingly loud meow. Don’t kid yourself. Life had been a battle field on the moraine, even the Two Foot Good were suspect, breeding us for money, dumping us, if the pet stores did not want us.  And the Forest Freak in Peel Region, easy breezy, in comparison to the  Forest Freak we met up with on the Moraine.

Not where I was actually born but my nest was down the hill, in a forest, under a big fir tree. From Morguefile.com 4 Walk in Mt Jerusalem National Park 10Aug2014.jpg By johnlindsay
My birthplace.  From Morguefile.com
4 Walk in Mt Jerusalem National Park
10Aug2014.jpg By john lindsay

Now, I can’t say for sure but  Forest Freaks up there were rumored to be part wildcat, part coyote with fox and Canadian Wild Geese, that would attack any critter, anywhere, anytime and yes, goes without saying, they love the Moraine. And just  the thought of them scared me (clawed paws, scissor sharp teeth and wings that flap furiously – a nightmare). However, no matter how clever I thought I was, now I never would be able to find the Moraine which was forty kilometres east, even if I was looking, but no,  I wasn’t. This little house of Momma’s suited me dandy, even if I was more wild than domesticated.  The only thing I hated was Momma’s need to nurture strays forcing her to bring home more abandoned kitties.

 

Charlie, under my spell, never far from the basement door then !
Charlie, under my spell, never far from the basement door then!

Although I resisted all friendly overtures from the kitties, I finally decided to choose at least one who would have my back. Naturally, it had to be a Calico, a kitty that looked like me – that would be a ‘no thanks’ to the Black and Whites.   And.. that Virginia, is how I lured Charlie  to become ‘The Phantom…. my power over her, grew stronger yet’ making her choose to live her life in a dark, dreary, damp basement instead of in the sunshine, on the back of the couch, where she could have enjoyed watching the neighbor hood.

 

 

Life in the ‘Hood’ means choosing sides and blind allegiance to  unworthy  leaders  who  needs at least one follower. Ka-ching, Ka-ching, I had one, named Charlie.