Month: October 2014

Senorita Jakita Arrives

Finally, we have arrived at our destination, the Cemetery, a Gated, (from Sunset to Sunrise) Security Patrolled landscape of headstones, monuments, angels and flat stones of all sizes, and various ages, starting some 200 hundred years ago.

The massive trees, that provide shade, conceal bird nests that are filled with chirping peepers every spring. There are paved streets, like a giant maze, that go around and around, then dump you back out to the streets.

In an attempt to ban the industrious Ladies of the Night that have been known to ply their trade in dark corners,  every Entrance / Exit has huge iron gates that are closed and padlocked every night at sundown.  I can not say for sure, but do you think the gates keep the dead in or the live out?

The Cemetery, padlocks on wrought iron fence, after Sundown, before Sunrise. See the stones and monuments of various ages, sizes, colors. Look at the massive old trees that are home to the birds and squirrels.
The Cemetery, padlocks on wrought iron fence, after Sundown, before Sunrise.

Of course the graveyard has lots of benches, set up in the shade cast by the thick foliage of the leaves of the trees, where you can sit and recollect your past and plan your future.  The benches are sometimes occupied by the Homeless or those with Mental Health issues,  in our midst. Where else do they have to go?  They have breakfast, lunch and supper at the local Soup kitchen.  It is not like they have money to go shopping or family to visit so a bench in the shade works fine during the long, hot summer.  At night the shelters open their doors to give them the dignity of a bed to sleep in. The next morning, the process starts all over again.

Sometimes after complaints from the families of those occupying the plots, the Cemetery Security tell the Homeless to keep moving.  Ah, it is always a struggle between the Law-and-Order-Right versus the Do-Gooders-to-the-Left. What are we again, Momma?  Oh, yeah, we are Radical-Center-of-the-Road (like everyone should be). I note Momma nods to them, but no talking, to show respect for their privacy, she tells me. I don’t look at them or even wag my tail. Better to be ships that pass in the night, rather than to reject them, (true story, I am so ashamed but I feel their fear and uncertainty and back away if they reach out to pat me) or for me to intimidate, or frighten them. Best case scenario, I am invisible to them.

There are reams of huge, medium, and small flower beds to bedazzle your eyes which are full of plants, flowers, grasses of every size and color that attract butterflies, humming birds and tiny glowing fairies that sparkle like jewels in a crown. (I know they are there, I saw them).

So here I am, in the Cemetery, taking a rest between chasing squirrels - see all that different, stones and monuments, some hand carved. Also note the massive trees that had limbs torn from their trunks during the ice storm , leaving birds without nests and some benches with less shade.
So here I am, in the Cemetery, taking a rest between chasing squirrels – see all that different, stones and monuments, some hand carved. 

In the midst of all this paradise, the squirrels live, scampering from tree to tree, up the trunks, swinging from branch to branch. I mean, I believe the squirrels are begging me to bring it on. It keeps them in the game,  all dashing, flying and shrieking, ‘Nana, nana boo-boo…..you can’t get me’ and they are so right, I can’t.

There was not one inch of that graveyard I did not sniff Pre-Daddy-God-Rest-His Soul.  Like the wind, I moved from one section to the next, the world my oyster, sniffing and pawing, well, until, you know…Daddy went to Heaven and Momma  wanted him close to her and home and I just can not do that, Momma.  I can not tell you what it is, do I smell him, do I sense him, you ask?  I do not know what it is but it is too sad for me. I can go to any other part of the cemetery, please Momma, don’t pull me down there.  But Momma has a hard, practical head so we are here, let us visit Daddy, her will be done. Like in the poem, ‘In Praise of Older Women’ she bends over Daddy’s grave, willing to wash the limbs of her dead, feel the pain of others by the process of osmosis, and endures forever, hoping in some way to connect with that which was, and ever will be.

OK, I get it Momma, but I am not there yet. I am too young, and far too sensitive. It brings me pain and it brings you pain,  so I cannot condone it.  I am the Protector, you are the Protected. I will visit anywhere else in the grave yard.  Just don’t make me lay by Daddy’s grave. I am sorry. Maybe I am shallow,  but I am not like that little doggie that spent his days and nights at his master’s grave.

PS:  I read my Job Description carefully and my duties included serving the living.  There was nothing about graveyard vigils.

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    Sir Clem-Ka-Diddle-Hopper

    Hey, it’s me – Sir Clem-Ka-Diddle-Hopper. You knew you would be hearing from me sooner or later because I have been scoping out the Kitty Club Med location and I have rights too. For now though, no one else is staking out this freezing garage with the leaking roof so I have put in my claim for squatters privileges. I am fully aware  and well versed in property  management law 101. It is up to owner to evict a squatter who does not have a signed agreement in place and does not pay rent – with what, I ask you? Knowing that liberal leaning Two Footed Momma,  it is not too likely she would take me to Kitty kangaroo Court.

    Here I am, getting the rays on the porch veranda, still an Outside Only Cat. At this point, I was friendly. Momma was allowed to pat me, brush me but I would not enter the home of the Two Footed, Of course Momma, crafty as me, seduced me with food and water. She kept moving the food dish closer to the door, then in the door and the borders gradually evaporated. As long as I could make my escape back outside in the twinkling of an eye, I was and am a Happy Camper - does that make me an Indoor/Outdoor Cat now?
    Here I am, getting the rays on the porch veranda, still an Outside Only Cat. At this point, I was friendly.  As long as I could make my escape back outside in the twinkling of an eye, I was and am a Happy Camper.

    Let’s start by telling you about my coloring. I am a sleek grey/white/ black/ginger/red glinting highlights (in the sun) cat with black pinstripes interwoven and scalloped throughout my thick coat. I have  a full bushy tail ringed in grey, black and white flecks with a black vertical line running from the tip to the base of my tail and up my back. I appear to wear a white bib, that travels from my belly to my jaw with creamy white paws and mouth.

    It started late last fall, me, following the Kitty Club Med from the Cat Colony  to their home.  My buddies from the Colony would follow me, a tungsten  grey and white cat,  Seven and 24601,  my Baby Daddy, (named after the Les Miz prisoner), a once handsome long-haired grey striped tabby . Now he has chewed up ears, gashes out of neck, big wads of fur missing,  and drags himself around on three paws. Also a pretty, dainty grey and white neighbor’s cat who had a home but loved the night life, would also join in the parade.

    Fall turned to winter, rain to snow, to a massive ice storm, back to an Arctic Vortex, then more snow on snow.

    If every picture tells a story, Momma's birch tree bows down to that it can not control. Thousands of tree limb snapped, crackled and popped while we Colony kitties huddled together, petrified to stay in case a tree fell on us, terrified to run and be buried in flying debris. That we made it to the other side is a miracle. No wonder I went looking for a stable, long term resident. The Colony was a tad short on protection, be it Wild Cats, Forest Freaks or Mother Nature on a Rampage, oh and light on food during the winter months.
    If every picture tells a story, Momma’s birch tree bows down to that which it can not control. The Colony was a tad short on protection, be it Wild Cats, Forest Freaks or Mother Nature on a Rampage, oh and light on food especially during the winter months.

    I do not have the words to explain the depth of the cold endured, as the temperature plummeted and stubbornly stayed below all past norms. The Kitty Club Med disappeared into the very bowels of their home, sometimes venturing out if the sun was out and the temperature hit zero or above while I shivered and sheltered to avoid death by exposure to the elements.  It was time for me to put a Survivor’s Plan in place.

     

    I looked around at my environment.  I noticed that Momma parked her car in the garage.  In the warm weather the Indoor/Outdoor Cats jumped on  the hood of the car (I could do that), then scrambled on to the roof and hoisted themselves up to boards that ran along the ceiling of the garage, where they settled down, twisting their necks in order to spy on the neighbor hood. (I could do all of that). What I would not do was encourage Seven and 24601 to join me – in fact I would run them back to the Colony as I ran the neighbor cat home.Unfortunately we learn at our Baby Mama’s breast, it is a dog-eat-dog world in a Cat Colony.….so I am short on the Golden Rule of  ‘doing on to others what you would have them do to you.’

    I have got to start practicing that if I want to live at the Kitty Club Med where I notice how they are polite to each other, no hissing, no snarling, no biting, no scratching allowed.  It seems I have a lot to learn.

     

     

     

     

     

    Mr. Grey Squirrel

    You have heard from a Hot Dog and various Cool Cats but now I will speak up. As the first order of business, I, Mr. Grey Squirrel, will chastise Momma. Seriously, I mean, look at how Momma so carefully covered every flower with a thick layer of compost leaves, protecting them from the deep frost, snow and ice of winter.  All of the Garden Angels have been taken inside.

    The Legendary wise Mr. Man Chu carrying, Puff, the Magic Dragon. See how their backs face the steps so when the side door opens, they are bathed in warmth come winter, air conditioning in the summer. Tell me again, why do we squirrels have to be scavengers both for food and shelter. Is any one listening out there?
    The Legendary wise Mr. Man Chu carrying, Puff, the Magic Dragon. See how their backs face the steps so when the side door opens, they are bathed in warmth come winter, air conditioning in the summer.

    Even the Sun Dial and the awesome Mr. Man Chu have been moved just outside the entrance, so that every time the front door opens, they are bathed in heat.  The Fairies that appear on a Moonlit Summer Night are hibernating in the crevices of the stones that bleed a river of gold and silver, in the sunshine.  (One day when the sun was high, I swear I saw them peek out at me).

    Yet those of us, like squirrels, raccoons and the lonely old possum are abandoned by Momma during the winter months.   I mean, my family, used to be able to live in Momma’s attic because of the big holes in the roof, that the previous owner allowed.  As a matter of fact, generations of my family lived in the attic, chasing each other over the beams, to the chagrin of those who tried to sleep below.  Without consulting me, Momma replaced the roof.  We were locked out, off the island, gone baby gone. Isn’t there a law against that????

    Even more challenging, the family had the utmost nerve to bring home a Yorkie puppy, Zanny, who must have mistaken us for a rats.  Sometimes, when I was minding my own business, just trying to retrieve something from the vegetable garden and she would descend upon me, all spit and vinegar. With her yappy bark, she deafened me, driving me to the safety of a nearby tree trunk or a fence.  Thank God Zanny could not manoeuvre climbing trees.

    But six cats. What’s that all about?  Isn’t that a bit extreme?  I know there is a law against that! I just have to let city hall know! Yes, yes, they are all good-natured in comparison to that yappy dog.  Those cats, they actually chase me up the tree, jump on the roof of the garage, get their fat bodies through the holes and knock the chestnuts I worked so hard to gather for our very next meal, on the floor, then out the door, for a game of road hockey.

    How ever will my family and me survive another a cruel Canadian winter? It is not like there are Food Banks out there for squirrels or is there?  It is a miracle of the Blessed Baby Jesus that we live to tell the tale, so to speak.  Momma, can’t you do something?

    Check it Out! Look how long and full my tail is, how alert my eyes and ears are. I am perched on the sundial (Note: location near the porch) while that beautiful Garden Fairy, hands folded in prayer, is facing the front door so she is protected from the environment each time the door opens. But hey, what gives, look at me, I have praying paws as well, but so far, I still have to scrounge to eat and find shelter. When the world order changes, we will not forget this indignity visited upon the Squirrel Nation,
    Check it Out! Look how long and full my tail is, how alert my eyes and ears are. But hey, what gives, look at me, I have praying paws as well, but so far, I still have to scrounge to eat and find shelter. When the world order changes, we will not forget this indignity visited upon the Squirrel Nation.

    Momma says, ‘I hear you, Mr. Grey Squirrel.  But even so, with all of this adversity, you are looking good, your body is robust, your tail is majestic and as well attuned as our yappy Yorkie.  When you shriek we just think, ‘Yada, Yada, Yada’ but when you sit on the roof and cry, Momma must admit, it reaches into her hard heart and makes her wonder if she should re-organize and prioritize her beliefs and responsibilities to all of God’s creatures and critters.‘

    Momma knows, she knows, Mr. Grey Squirrel, she is the daughter of Her-Father-God-Rest-His Soul, who invited squirrels in his living room, enticing them with peanuts, strewn haphazardly on a path that led to him. She will not be following suit and opening the door wide for your flea-bitten family to infest her indoor pets. However, Wonder Boy, now he is a different story – like his grandfather before him, he is a squirrel charmer, his voice a haunting flute that entices them to follow him, even barefoot through a bed of hot embers.

    However, fair is fair.  Momma has talked endlessly to the cats and the Yorkie, about showing deference, being sensitive to our plight but when Momma tried to present the tale from a squirrel’s perspective, she suspected, like her, they also think, ‘Yada, Yada, Yada’, till she pinches the tip of their ear, to get their undivided attention and respect.

    However, after an Emergency Pet Conference, chaired by Momma, attended by Zanny and six kitties, I was given the following resolutions that will be in place immediately. ‘Mr. Grey Squirrel’,  I was told,  ‘We have the utmost admiration for you and your family because you have taught us the importance of looking, listening, and learning.

    Zanny took Tigger to wherever she was headed…. and lrft him there….

    And how responsible and giving you are.  We noticed what you did – bringing chestnuts to our puppies’ stuffed toys, Babbie and Tigger who Zanny so recklessly abandoned in the back yard. You are such a good sport about it all, making sure that nourishment is provided to all, even to the least worthy, like a Karl Marx soldier, on his best day.’

    Yes, it is true, we can be annoying, we may shriek, we may cry, but we will never move on.   Come to think of it, aren’t we your most favourite outdoor ‘Wildlife Without Borders’ Squatters?   We have plans to continue the stealth takeover of neighbor hoods and family homes by becoming completely domesticated, and lovable like your cat or dog but sssshhhh…it’s a secret.

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      Jakita Tells On Momma (Again)

      Did I tell you about the time Momma decided it was time to better anchor the cabinet which had a kind of, sort of, lean-to it, over the toilet to the bathroom wall? I thought not! It was a disaster, waiting to happen.

      As Momma put her head down to look under to see where the screws were located, the whole cabinet crashed off the wall, on to the bathroom floor, ejecting all the junk collected for the past seventeen years since Momma had moved here.  The floor was knee-deep from hoarding old medications, empty prescription bottles, a rainbow of vitamins, hair clasps, soaps, treasures that should have been trashed long time ago. Momma’s Guardian Angels, the Arch Angels, God and Baby Jesus are the only ones who stood between Momma and a broken neck that day.

      The Praying Angel - one of many who keep Momma safe from herself . At the bottom right see the Chinese dragon being carried in Manchu's arms, offering up more protection for a clumsy mumsy.
      The Praying Angel – one of many who keep Momma safe from herself . At the bottom right see the Chinese dragon being carried in Manchu’s arms, offering up more protection for a clumsy mumsy.

      Miraculously, all Momma was left with was a very bruised, somewhat swollen left arm, a little whiplash, from moving out from under the cabinets’ trajectory that any inanimate object produces. Also a lot more respect and knowledge that there are some things an eighty-five pound weakling should not tackle.

      But then there is the other thing, it almost feels like gossip to report it, you may accuse me of being mean-spirited but it has to be said, if I am going to be allowed to ‘tell all’ that confounds me.  Since the time I was able to walk on a leash, every afternoon, we would cross busy Centre Street (good job I am on a leash because the way the traffic flies past, I’d be meeting Zanny’s fate), and go past the Friendly Lady’s home. I just hope, hope, hope she has her long-haired hamster outside in his cage. It is so much fun to sniff him and watch his long whiskers quiver. Then we continue our walk further, stop to talk to Neighborhood Landlord, with the heels of his shoes held on with thick elastic bands. No, no, he is not poor, he owns many apartments and houses (and by the looks of his various gateways, stuffed with unplated cars, a Curbside Car Dealer)  that make him a good income but for years he got his safety shoes for free, thanks to his union job, and by George, he is not paying for new ones, any time soon.

      Also, even though the Neighborhood Landlord’s son makes a gazillion $ in IT working at NASA Johnson Space Centre, down in Houston, Texas, he goes down every year to renovate his home – no use paying for it when Dad can do it for free. No wonder our economy is floundering. Anyway, an elastic works just fine, well, maybe, he conceded, not so good when it rains because his feet get wet but the home improvements for his son gives

      Just sitting here, ready to go. Like the post man - rain, sleet, or snow we walk . Rain Coat Check, Rain Bonnet check, Leash check
      Just sitting here, ready to go.
      Like the post man – rain, sleet, or snow, we walk .

      him a reason to go to Texas every winter.  Not like his life had been easy, with his wife, the mother of his son being killed in a car accident when the lad was barely seven years old.  I tell you, I sit and listen, trying not to whine and get impatient. Everybody has a story.  What they need is someone to tell it to. That is where Momma comes in.

      Up  we go, past The Dog Lady’s house and I run up to the steps for a cuddle from her and a romp with her SPCA Black Poodle Rescue Dog, Princess, that surely has the life of Riley. Now The Dog Lady has taken in a long-eared, sad eyed beagle dash hound mix pup that no one else wanted – she is a good woman.  But don’t get any ideas, Momma.  I am not as good-natured as Princess. Remember, everything is mine, mine and mine and I don’t share…with other dogs.

      Finally we have reached our destination – The Cemetery – the gated rolling acres of well nourished, maintained professionally cut grass, each blade seeming to be the same length and the same color of green. (It belongs to the City and Momma pays taxes ….as well spent over $12,000.00 for a plot ….so it should be well-kept).

       

      GravestonesThere are headstones, monuments, angels and tombstones of all sizes, and various ages, starting some 200 hundred years ago. The massive trees, that provide shade are brimming with bird nests that are filled with chirping peepers every spring. Like a maze, there are paved streets, that go around and around, then dump out to the streets. Every night all the gates, every entrance, are locked. I can not say, for sure, if it is to keep the dead in or the live out. I am keeping an ear to the ground….I will let you know more when I know more. Pinkie Promise.