Month: September 2015

We All Get Together On A Saturday Night

A dog’s life, they say…what exactly does that mean, huh? One sure thing is I am busy, busy, busy, well, when I am not sleeping, you know. I have a lot of responsibilities, having three cats in the house, as well as one feral cat who is in and out, besides all the Four Footed I come in contact with here on Planet Earth.

Let’s start with Bad Boy Andy Cat because Charlie is no problem and Gen, my BFF,  just needs to be tattled on when she jumps on the table or cupboard. Andy is getting grayer and scrawnier every day. You would never believe he and Gen are from the same litter, as she gallops around like a miniature racehorse.  On one hand, I get Andy’s leftovers, so I am happy he eats like a bird.  I can see his lack of appetite and if it is visible to me, well, Momma, who thrives on worry, I sometimes think, agonises over keeping Andy healthy.

Calico Gen looks dominant while and Black and white Andy seems passive. Trick photography. It is Andy that other cats do not want to meet in a dark alley.
Calico Gen and Black and White Andy.

Now there is a routine in the summer that after Andy’s last feed he goes out in to the night, to perform his nocturnal proclivities with the understanding that he is on the front step, ready for breakfast, the minute Momma opens the door in the morning.  One day last week Momma prepared the food at the different station, opened the door.  There was no Andy.  Oh, it was a long, tiresome morning as Momma looked for Andy and I sat watch in the sun porch window, just willing Andy home.

Hours later, Momma went out, came home, put her car in the garage and Ker plunk.  Andy jumped from the rafters onto the roof of the car, slid down the windshield and waited for Momma to carry him into the house. Apparently he had slept in, but was still too exhausted to walk  five meters to the front door.  Cats don’t do that – I do, not the cats. I did not know whether to be mad at Andy for worrying us or glad he was safe and sound.  When Momma brought him in, I sniffed, air kissed and nuzzled him, so relieved.  What would I do without Andy?  After all, he still protects me when Momma vacuums.

Then there is the wildlife.  Did you know, true story,  they party on Saturday nights?  Maybe it is just the critters in our part of the world. It might be because we live close to the Legion and they have been dumpster diving – totally, off topic, but it is a fact.

Anyway, it was Saturday night, very dark outside but the porch light lit up the driveway.  I could see both Andy and Gen but what was that four-footed critter?  It was black and white like Andy but the white marking seemed to start at the nose tip, travel down the head, back to the tail.

Jimmy the Skunk comes to join the party. From Morguefile.com skunk.JPGBy ks42day
Jimmy the Skunk comes to join the party.
From Morguefile.com
skunk.JPGBy ks42day

Oh, yeah, I had been warned about them – a real live skunk.  Sure it was a baby but still… I could read Gen’s tense body language as she edged towards the door.  Quick! I had to alert Wonder Boy to let the cats in.  I barked, sharply enough to get attention without startling the guest in our presence.  Wonder Boy came running, opened the door.  Gen was inside in a flash while Andy who was closer to the skunk, instinctively yet unobtrusively as possible, made his way past our uninvited guest, without startling him. After all, little Jimmy Skunk, saw black and white Andy and probably thought they were first cousins, twice removed. He really was just looking for someone to frolic with.

Like, who knew  Andy was an inclusive right-wing conservative, not a bleeding heart centre liberal, or worse a left-wing NDP that would embrace an outcast in their midst? Well, of course, I knew because, I’ve been cursed with a bit of the conservative.  Doesn’t mean I don’t go left-wing, when it suits me.  It is something to do with being a Canadian, Momma says.

Always on the watch to protect those who can not help themselves.
Always on the watch to protect those who can not help themselves.

I’d be happy if I only had to keep the Four Footed  safe but those Two Footed can also have agendas. Momma takes me for long walks so I meet up with all kinds.  Since I am so highly sensitive, I can feel bad vibes as succinctly as I see and hear.  Stay tuned.  There are some live ones in our neighbour hood… and I have every intention to tell you about them because I not only tattle, I gossip.

Life in the Country is Kind of Lay-back

Country folk, you know, they play the long game. You won’t see them posting incriminating pictures or videos on Facebook or Instagram.  No Twitter feeds for them.

Bank in gnarly tree roots where dirty deeds are stored for perusal if you catch me in a dire circumstance. Bank in the Wild Woods From Morguefile.com IGP2125W.jpgBy earl53
Bank in gnarly tree roots where dirty deeds are stored for perusal if you catch me in a dire circumstance.
Bank in the Wild Woods
From Morguefile.com
IGP2125W.jpgBy earl53

No, they see you, catch you dead right or wrong, in some compromising circumstance and they file the indiscretion, in their Dirty Deeds Bank so that they are one up on you, like a Guaranteed for Life Threat, hovering over your head, but hey, who is counting?

Still, this was top-secret…..so secret that one of your family or even you, may be aware of its existence, but you never divulged your knowledge not to your mother, father, sister, brother, best friend, the local police or even the parish priest.  You had the burden of the secret because the powers that had been given you….. the gift of scrying (or the curse),  the ability to see what was and will be,  depending on which way you tipped the kaleidoscope.

And so it came to be that when Misfit Mollie passed on, the bucolic country doors were flung wide open,  by the volumes and volumes, meticulously  written in cramped handwriting about the art of scrying and the members of the community who were involved, like the church deacon, the kindergarten teacher, the family doctor and the judge, who put your second cousin, twice removed away for twenty years on trumped-up charges.

The courthouse where the judge is king. All hail the king!
The courthouse where the judge is king. All hail the System!

Maybe the poor judge had been under the influence of the mirror image pool. Maybe, when he gazed in to the pool, he saw strange, inexplicable moving shapes. Maybe he thought his real calling in life was to help the hopeless move to a looping netherworld to await rescue by the Secret Society of Scryers and Oddballs.

 

Homemade bench where the SSS meet before going to their Mirror Image Pond. No one is allowed to go alone because translating images is a team effort.
Homemade bench where the SSS meet before going to their Mirror Image Pond. No one is allowed to go alone because translating images is a team effort.

It was shocking, unbelievable but…..where was that mirror image pool? Maybe it was time to take a gander, to see what all the fuss was about, you know…..because no one really believes in those back woods ways, do they?

Misfit Molly, well, that was understandable, no one in the town had much to do with her.  She needed something to fill her days…..but the judge, the deacon, the teacher, the doctor.  ‘What is this world coming to?’ they wondered.

Once the town police got a hold of the story, it was up to them to decide if a crime had taken place.  Could charges be laid? Did money exchange hands?  On the surface, it looked like no harm, no foul, but what about the judge and the second cousin twice removed?  Was his sentence more divination than interrogation?

The first step was to approach the SSS (Secret Society of Scryers ) listed in Misfit Molly’s ledgers and ask for the location of the mirror image pool.  It was like the members had all been struck with amnesia.  They all gave a different location and none of them led to a pool, a brook or a teaspoon of water.

Look deep into the water. Do you see your past, present or future? Try squinting. That helps sometimes.
Look deep into the water. Do you see your past, present or future? Try squinting. That helps sometimes.

Seemed they had taken an Oath of Silence (that’s what Secret Societies do) and would rather face the local jailhouse than betray the cause.  Oh, there was a lot of digging to be done in impregnable territory before the truth (if the truth) would rise like a Phoenix and satisfy  the largely curious, yet mystified inhabitants who could not believe such chicanery had taken place without their knowledge.  But even more important….Could anyone actually see their past, present or future in a pool?

If it were so, just get out of my way.  Oh, lots to learn, lots to tell.  Country folk can be so conniving!

 

 

You’re-Out-Of-Here

By now you know, I just can not shake that call-of-the-wild.  Still, I want to be fed when I show up.  I like a good head and chin scratch, enjoy rolling around your ankles every blue moon or so and I can abide it,  if one of the Indoor / Outdoor cats nose kisses me, especially the Gorgeous Diva Calico Gen.

Take me on, at your peril.
Charlie’s slit eyes read, ‘Take me on, at your peril.’

Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte (Charlie) gives me the Deep Six and avoids me at all times.  It is like there is a restraining order in place. I am not to come within a hundred yards or she will call 911. Who knew? She growls and hisses so ferociously that I am startled in to retaliation.  Bad Boy Andy has a tendency to sneak up from behind and sniff my tail, which causes me to feel vulnerable for an attack and react as if he had thrown me a live hand grenade – not a sight Momma approves of, you can be sure, especially when I extend my right paw and smack his face.

That’s   the thing about Momma.  Pretend as she does that she is all understanding-compassionate, she knows a thimbleful (maybe) about wild cats.  We are in high gear attack mode 24/7.  Who knows what innocuous deed can turn in to a threat?  I mean, I want to live in PEACE but I am a feral Tom Cat.  We have our own Code of Ethics (not written about in Jakita’s Procedures and Policies for All Creation). All I ask for is respect like Jakita gives me.  I have no fear of her.  We can read each others’ minds and work in tandem.  But domestic cats?  I am clueless.  I understand domestic cats have played a lot, been loved a lot and I should not over react but what is it with Bad Boy Andy?  Andy, Gen and I can all sit and wait on the step, outside the door and file in without any confrontation, when it is opened.

Momma feeds each one of us in our own dish, at our own station.  Everything is super cool and organized.  Once I am finished eating, I sit on my haunches, wait for Andy to be finished and leave, so I can go to his feeding station and eat his leftovers. He sees me, (he sees everything, Brainiac that he is), appears to shrug his shoulders and meows to be left outdoors…then he sits and waits for me…

In case you are interested, my home away from home. I cross the street, have woods to hide in, wildlife to catch, water to drink, slabs of cement to lay out on, in the sun. What else could a feral want?
In case you are interested, my home away from home. (Etobicoke Creek Flood Diversion Channel). I  just have to cross the street, to hide in the Cat Colony, There is wildlife to catch, water to drink, slabs of cement to lay out on, in the sun. What else could a feral want?

The very minute Momma leaves me out, the chase is on. I try to slink down the steps, out of his peripheral view but out of the corner of his eye, he catches my movement and it is on – down the gateway, across the street, under the fence, down the hill…oh, wait, might as well stop. Bad Boy Andy has already turned back and is sitting on the front bench, glowering at me for making him run so fast….  I know, I know, Andy will never catch me but still, why can he not lighten up?  The message I am getting is, Andy is the baseball umpire and I-Am-Out-Of-There.  It is like he is saying ‘Room, No Way – Board, Okay.’  Think I am on to something?

This is my absolute safe spot, where Andy ignores.
This is my absolute safe spot when I am inside, where Andy chooses to ignore me.

So Readers, help me repair this relationship or is it beyond hope?  Is there an advice column feral cats can write to about domestics?  Let me know.  I am tired of being on the run!

Ruby, Will You Be Mine?

When we, the Inanimate  yet clearly Animate,  are left to our own devices, totally deserted by the very team that depend on us to deliver love and comfort, we often have our own little parties, sharing tales of days and life times long since.

Case and Point. While I am telling a riveting tale, Gen is wound like a calico ball of yarn, her head pressed against me, sound asleep.
Case and Point. While I am telling a riveting tale, Gen is wound like a calico ball of yarn, her head pressed against me, sound asleep.

That does not happen very often because it seems that Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte (aka Charlie) and / or Diva Calico Gen spend the whole day sleeping on Momma’s bed, curled close to one, the other, or all of us.  When they tell stories, we listen with interest but when we tell stories, like Jesus’ disciple, waiting for sunrise, in the Garden of Gethsamane they can not keep their eyes open.

Now even the  inanimate  need a club to join (or  a union, if we were getting paid) to protect our rights and promote our longevity.  In order to be legitimate with Canada Revenue, we needed a club name.  I voted for The Ruby Club but apparently all members had one vote so that name was rejected.  How about The Monkey Club?No again. Let’s call it The Get Stuffed Club. No, apparently it had to resonate even with Miss Piggy. Let’s see, we were a monkey, (Ruby), a puppy (Babby), a tiger (Tigger), a pig (Miss Piggy), the most recent member, a moose (Moosie) and

Dark Brown Darby Bear and Wonderboy's Lightbulb, always carrying his posie of flowers.
Dark Brown Darby Bear and Wonderboy’s Lightbulb, always carrying his posie of flowers.

sometimes two Teddy Bears, (Darby and Lightbulb). Picky, Picky, Picky! That’s it. We would call it the Tall Tales Club. You’d be right.  It took me, the Incredibly Wide Eyes (Wise) Monkey Ruby, to come up with that moniker.

Now, as only fitting, we all had a role, but of course being wise and wide-eyed, it was only fitting that I chaired the The Tall Tales Club. Miss Piggy can always entertain, so we all enjoyed the mayhem that she had lived through over the years, especially when little Zanny was still with us.  Zanny would take Miss Piggy outside on occasion and leave her there, expecting the Mothership to rescue her.  It did not always happen that way because, well, the Mothership was Momma, who was working ten to twelve hours a day, helping the Two Footed who could not help themselves, so sometimes it took Momma days to realize Miss Piggy was missing. One time Miss Piggy says she was there for days, well at least hours and a family of squirrels came out, encircled her, jabbering away, in squirrelese.  Then they sat on their haunches, little paws clasped together and screeched for back up.  A couple of more families came and then, out came Mr. Head Hauncho Squirrel. 

You can see I am pink, no fur but not exactly a squirrel, especially with those finger nail polished hooves and bright yellow ears (what's that all about?).
You can see I am pink, no fur but not exactly a squirrel, especially with those finger nail polished hooves and bright yellow ears (what’s that all about?).

‘What is this?’ they asked.  ‘It is pink, with no fur, like a baby squirrel but it is too fat to be one of ours.  Do we take this poor critter home or leave it to its own devices?’ 

‘No,’ said Mr. Head Hauncho Squirrel, ‘It is like Little Bo-Peep’s Sheep – leave it alone, it’ll get home, wagging its’ tail behind it.’ Then they all darted back to finding acorns to bury for the winter or what ever else squirrels do, leaving poor Miss Piggy all alone and desolate.

Well, Miss Piggy admitted, it may not have really happened just like that.  Momma spied with her little eye, a flash of pink in the back yard and fashioned a rescue….she asked poor RIP Daddy to bring in Miss Piggy next time he was in the back yard.  No rush apparently.  Miss Piggy would have sworn that she was a priority, but the good news was, it rained for three days so all of Zanny’s slobber got washed away. It is self deprecating stories like this that endear all the Tall Tale Club Members to Miss Piggy.

Here is the Tall Tales Club - back row, left, Tigger, then me, Ruby, on right, Babby; fronnt row to left Miss Piggy and in middle Moosie. The Teddy Bears were busy that Day.
Here is the Tall Tales Club – back row, left, Tigger, then me, Ruby, on right, Babby; front row to left Miss Piggy and in middle Moosie. The Teddy Bears were on a picnic without us, that Day.

Still, all the members of the Tall Tales Club have a tail to bring and a tale to tell.  There is so much more to tell. Every one of them, like me, have been there, done that, you got to trust me on that one.

Living in a Strange New World

Now the Cool Cats and I were born in a civilized time, I would say.  Imagine not have television with modern resolution, quicker imaging, full cable service, and the best yet, Netflix. That is why I know, without a doubt, Momma is old, because when she was born, the radio was the entertainment box where you listened for weather, some skits performed by faceless actors, news, both local and world, a variety of music from diddly to country to current (no Top Ten at this time, in this region), oh, and the local death announcements.  How bizarre, how bizarre!

On Saturday nights we could tune in to WWW.Wheeling, West Virginia to hear those sad honky tonk songs. From Morguefile.com Radio stare 2.JPGBy mzacha
On Saturday nights we could tune in to listen to WWW.Wheeling, West Virginia to hear those sad honky-tonk songs.
From Morguefile.com
Radio stare 2.JPGBy mzacha

Therefore, it was no wonder it was a very big deal indeed, according to Momma,  when the first television arrived in homes, especially in the country, when the only fun happened on the radio or at the church social, back in the 1950’s.  The idea of having a box in your living room that showed people, and programs from all over the world, was more than a country brain could comprehend.

When one of the small community  got a television, the ‘have not’ children (or so they thought) were pea green with jealousy and curiosity.  They would wait till it grew dark, walk down the road and surreptitiously, peak in the living room window.  The lights were off, but they could tell that the TV was on because the room was bathed in a blue hue.  The lady of the house, (a June Cleaver double),  always saw them (and probably heard them) standing out at the window, so would graciously usher them in, tell them just take off our shoes and go sit on the couch to watch TV.

In those days, television stations that were accessible came from the Maritimes.    Most of the day, the screen had a test pattern, with news and shows only in the evening.

We could sit and watch snow on the screen for hour. Somehow it made us feel connected to the rest of the world out there. From Morguefile.com IMG_0240.JPGBy preetnan
We could sit and watch snow on the screen for hour. Somehow it made us feel connected to the rest of the world out there.
From Morguefile.com
IMG_0240.JPGBy preetnan

Overjoyed by the ringside seat, they would go and sit in awe, watching ‘snow’ or a silent Test Pattern of a First Nation’s Chief Brave, in full Head Gear.

 

 

 

A few minutes later, the neighbor lady would tell them they’d better leave now, or their mothers would worry about them, so the children would thank her and walk back home, dissecting what they had seen and how was it even possible.  No one at school ever taught them anything that was relevant in the world they lived in.

By the time most families had television, the TV stations had full programming. By now, it was old hat, so they no longer questioned the why’s and the wherefore’s. Yet still it was very gratifying at the end of a day to tune in to some one else’s reality and dream of being anywhere accept the place you lived.  It was food for the soul.

Changes were rumbling through the world and you’d better believe, even the country folk, had no intention of being left behind…………

Now it is not like changes stopped once television was born.  No, it has evolved at a fever pitch intensity so Baby Boomers have just had to get with the program…or be left behind.

 

Here I watch National Geographic Channel intently, where silky chickens befriend two legged puppies, and cats ride around on horses backs. This is the world as it should be, according to my Policies and Procedures for All Creation.
Here I watch National Geographic Channel intently, where silky chickens befriend two-legged puppies, and cats ride around on horses backs. This is the world as it should be, according to my Policies and Procedures for All Creation.

I am so glad Momma has stepped up because it is so relaxing to grab a spot on the couch and watch another world…the only thing that bothers me, well, two things, actually.  I hate when dogs bark on television.  Am I under attack?  Are they right here in the room with me?  And when the door bell rings on television.  I am fooled every time.  I super charge, out to the door, to drive those pesky interlopers off my property with my ferocious bark and Momma laughs at me.  I am never convinced she has full respect for what I bring to this family.

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!