March 2016 – Hot Dog Cool Cats

Super Star, That’s What You Are

So…that’s the thing about Momma….she has so many pokers in the fire, it fair makes your head spin…take yesterday or today or even tomorrow for that fact….she told me I was a Super Star, that’s what you are…like in the sky, Momma? No, the Hollywood type with expensive tastes, ungodly addictions and various predilections, not to mention heads so big they couldn’t fit through the front door….is that suppose to be a compliment, Momma? Sure doesn’t sound like it…

Momma is the kind of ‘all in’ person, committed to whatever cause suits her frenzy at that particular moment and space in time. She is very hard-headed, stubborn and that might be her strong points…

Look at me. Teeth brushing bones held firmly in place by my furry little paws. And check out how good I look, now that the bath is done, the fur on my ear flaps perfectly blow dried - God Bless Momma. — Teeth brushing bones held firmly in place by my furry little paws. One of my **Super Star** pics.

I mean, not only do I notice it but so does Wonder Boy and he is always right…that’s why I love him more than anything in the world but then again, salami sticks definitely are an almost too close to call second, but Momma, well, you know, she feeds me, she talks to me, she goes the distance but the heart goes where the heart goes and mine goes to Wonder Boy….but it is all good…Momma’s not the jealous type.

Somehow, sometime, somewhere without lifting a furry little paw I managed to get plastered all over this blog, even the pictures where I look smug, sanctimonious, bored and sometimes even happy. Was that good enough for Momma? No, it wasn’t. She had discovered a fantastic web site where you could download and use free photos (which she did / does, ALWAYS giving recognition to the Website and the photographer). Then, because of her judgemental Virgo qualities she decided to upload some of her and Wonder Boy’s shots that she considered to be as good as some she saw on the site. (NOTE: ONLY SOME. Momma is no great photographer, not even an amateur in training. Every once and awhile, you just get lucky). Truth be told, I am incredibly cute and cuddly looking.

Gen and Jakita. BFF's. — **Gen** and **Jakita**. BFF’s.

When I pair up with my BFF Diva Calico Gen, we make people’s hearts melt, we do… I’m just saying, it’s the truth, really. Does the truth really set you free? Ask the Trumpster and the Cruzer…though they seem to be clueless on what constitutes stepping over the invisible lines of life, says Momma.

One day, Momma literally stumbled across an app from a world-renowned-you- just-got-to-have-photo-checker. Simple as ABC. Hit the camera, upload your photo and in the snap of whip, any web page using your photo will pop up. And I won… I’m not bragging…I did. Momma and Wonder Boy had photos of gems, butterflies, sunsets, flowers but most of all, the pictures of me are featured on the World Wide Web.

Don't do this - you'll get pain in your old age. — Don’t do this! Also **a favorite**!

I represent different vets, a few animal protection agencies, anti allergy sites (Havanese are hypoallergenic for allergy sufferers), translation web sites (Spanish to English), Health Archives for pets and Christian Devotions in many different languages…sweet or what.

When Momma told me, I was a Super Star, I asked, ‘I’m a what? Does it get me more treats?’ But I been giving some thought since then and no harm in preparing my speech for that Academy Award for Canine Contribution Oscar.

Hey, maybe I need an agent… Who gets to vote? Is there a bribe that works? I am SO on it.

We’re Together Again…. Dream

It was a normal day. The sun came up, the sun went down. I was walked by Momma, the cats were let in, then let out, by Momma. And somewhere as the night settled in, the Sandman came, sprinkling that magic sand, setting a family scene so heart warming, yet bending and distorting time, as only dreams can.

Jakita & Momma - seems Lovie inherited Momma's wild hair. — **Jakita & Momma** – seems Lovie inherited Momma’s wild hair.

On to the stage stepped RIP Lovie who had been a decade older than RIP Braveheart in reality (or as we knew it). However tonight RIP Lovie was a wee damsel of four or five years, her long, curly blonde hair flowing down her back and RIP Braveheart was a handsome young gent of about twenty-five, resplendent in his kilt and dagger. Funny stuff, those dreams.

Momma claims it was like an Arabian night, where the full moon was high and the stars hung low, twinkling, beckoning all takers to reach out a hand and pluck them from the sky.

At center stage was Momma’s niece, RIP Lovie and nephew, RIP Braveheart and to the side was a beaming RIP Daddy, proud that he had time travelled them, so nothing else mattered…WE were together again.

Plaid Rainbow dance apparel. Can you see the kilt, the silver / gold flapper, the soft pink colors. — **Plaid Rainbow** dance apparel. Can you see the kilt, the silver / gold flapper, the **soft pink colors**.

It seemed RIP Daddy’s task was to line up the music because RIP Lovie, in her long, gold flapper dress, with tassels of entwined silver and RIP Braveheart, in his blazing kilt and black topcoat were ready to dance a jig, even jump over a sword, so happy they were to be together again… And Momma, of ‘come dancing’ fame, dressed in the lightest pink dress with layer upon layer of tulle, joined in, whirling and twirling in wild abandonmentt.

Grandmama & Grandpapa, their yout restored. — **Grandmama** & **Grandpapa**, their youth restored.

Now, Momma’s not sure, but still just for a few seconds she swore, when she squinted her eyes and opened her ears, she saw a young RIP Grandmama and RIP Grandpapa standing in the shadows, smiling with joy, clapping as the music filled the night air, pregnant with the promise of tomorrow.

Bad Boy Andy Wants Out — **Bad Boy Andy** Wants Out NOW.

And all it took was Bad Boy Andy, padding in to Momma’s room, emitting a dangerous 90 decibel meow to make the music halt, the RIP Party fade in to the star-studded night as the dream crashed like a meteorite, separating the known from the unknown, our world without end. Amen.

But nothing else matters. They were together again, briefly, but still, together again.

Next time take me, okay Momma?

And the Beat Goes On…for Ruby

We all know life is like a highway through the mountains, with twists and turns – terrifying cliffs on one side, a body of water on the other, both beckoning you to your doom. Comparatively speaking, now that I am no longer living in a Jungle but on Momma’s bed, life is easy…e-a-s-y….almost boring in its repetitiveness. You know what to expect every day, just from how the shadows form, disperse, then gather in, to close off another night. I am not complaining but monkeys live for, die for, action.

Ruby listens to plush friends living on top of cherry wood armoire. — Ruby listens to her plush friends living on top of cherry wood armoire.

Yes, we monkeys live fully and let the chips fall. Instead, I have turned in to a stodgy historian of sorts, telling how it was and hearing from the family pets what goes on beyond these bedroom walls….and it is not exactly tale worthy. However, you might find a lesson to be learned in this particular anecdote.

High up on the cherry wood armoire live a legion of animate yet inanimate plush souls (so far, so true) who long to be freed from their tight, restrictive quarters yet they admit it is far better than the dungeon they had been assigned to, once upon a time.

At this point in the story, Diva Calico Gen jumps in to caution Ruby, the Incredibly Wide Eyed Monkey. ‘No sad stories, Ruby or I have nightmares. I cry when I hear sad stories.’ Happy to have an audience and absolutely ignoring Gen’s logic, Ruby continued as if she had never been interrupted.

Once upon a time when Wonder Boy was a wee lad, he had a collection of stuffed animals that would rival Prince William’s, born the same year, all of which he nurtured with a passion. But time passed and his plush friends became, almost passé so to speak…a Greek Tragedy (without a Greek). So what does Momma do? She can not throw out, give away or even sell such loyal companions in a yard sale. No, she lovingly emptied an old trunk in the basement, passed down through the generations, storing Wonder Boy’s friends from ages past, large on the bottom, smaller ones on the top. It was rather confining, grumbled the plush, very dark inside that trunk but at least they were all together…again.

As you can see, Momma never could restore trunk. — As you can see, Momma never could restore the trunk.

See Care Bears, puppies bunnies, teddy bears & Humpty Dumpty all jammed together but safe from floods. — See Care Bears, puppies, bunnies, teddy bears & Humpty Dumpty, all jammed together, but safe from floods.

All was good….until the flood in the basement, that is…when the trunk rose and set sail on the impending tide, like Noah’s ark. Once again, Momma to the rescue. She brought all Wonder Boy’s once beloved stuffed friends upstairs. She washed them once….still musty from the dank water that had seeped inside the porous trunk. She washed them twice, three times, dried them on low, with Bounce Sheets….a ton of them…then Momma found them a new home, on top of the cherry wood armoire where the flood waters of life will not suck them in….unless a Hurricane Katrina passes through our Jakitaville.

Ruby tells Gen story of the Plush...Gen looks sceptical...never know when to believe a monkey. — Ruby tells Gen the story of All Things Plush…Gen looks sceptical…**never know when to believe a monkey.**

So day by day, night by night they peer down at me, reports Ruby, still traumatized but beginning to tell their individual stories. Like Pa Kettle. ‘I’ll get around to it’….that is telling their individual stories as only a monkey can, part truth, part exaggeration but always with a tinge of sadness followed up with a punch line because life is pointless unless you can laugh…. at situations beyond your control, at others, at yourself. Kind of like the Irish we are, without St. Patrick to guide us because…. that’s monkeys for you!

Love, Love Me Do

Poor little Spookie Cat. I don’t know whether to run him off the property or nurture him, so help me please. He seems so…abandoned somehow, big chunks of fur missing, his back paw skinned to the bone, one ear with puncture marks, a scratch under his left eye…Our cats are In and Out, In and Out but they look well fed with thick shiny coats of fur, no battle scars so…… When, where, how, why did it go so wrong for little Spookie Cat?

A new family moved in to the neighborhood a while back. They seemed okay…They didn’t have two heads or three eyes, just a friendly Mom, two sweet kiddies and a father figure who went to work early, came home late, always with nary a smile, but some folk are just like that, said Momma. They had a ratty tatty cream colored cat that spent a lot of time in the front window.

Spookie's Angel watching over her. — Spookie’s Angel watching over her.

One day, when Momma was talking to the Friendly Mom, a second cat, grey and white, little Spookie Cat, came and wound himself around their ankles. The friendly Mom said that when they moved Spookie had been disoriented, ran away and now two months later the Animal Control had phoned them that their cat had been found, did they want it back, because another family would keep it. The story sounded plausible, a happy ending. Momma bought it because she likes to see the good in people, don’t we all?

Who knows, who knows? A couple of months later their ratty tatty cream cat was found by a neighbor, obviously done in by one of those drivers who believe they are in a Formula One Race on our residential street because of its hill, twists and turns, we believed. So sad. Since the Friendly Mom was not home, Momma and other neighbours called Animal Control, in a bid to save Ratty Tatty’s life. Unfortunately all the Friendly Mom and the Father Figure got was a bil,l since Ratty Tatty had succumbed to his injuries. So sad.

Look how thin Spookie is, with with chunks of fur missing. — Look how thin Spookie is, with chunks of fur missing.

Still the family had little Spookie Cat until sometime this winter…No one knows the why’s or wherefores…what we know is poor little Spookie Cat appears to be homeless. Sometime this winter, Wonder Boy, who sees, feels and even hears the unspoken, called Momma to see his condition. He was skin and bones, and severely beaten up by the Ferals, maybe even the Forest Freak. He hounds us to come inside, to pet him, please love him.

Thankfully, our Bad Boy Andy and Calico Diva Gen do love him so will spend hours in the sun beside him…but Clem-Kadiddle-Hopper, not so much. Remember, Clem has spent years trying to break the inner circle so for him, little Spookie Cat better wait in line. Charlie, well she abides Gen, but hisses at any other cat. She would frighten poor little Spookie Cat even more than he is right now and he is a hot mess.

So what to do about our little Spookie?…I could handle another cat but I can not endure hissing, snarling and all round bad vibes. Thank goodness we have a nice little garage he can live in. Meanwhile, I will work on Momma and Wonder Boy, both of whom have tender hearts and one day soon, paw toes crossed, when I see little Spookie, I can say, ‘Welcome to Kitty Club Med.’ I am on it. Trust me.

Dream, Dream, Dream

You know how it is, always was and ever shall be….Everyone and I mean everyone wants uplifting dreams that forecast a perfect future, no obstacles…like the psychics deliver….sometimes.

Honest Engine...True. — Honest Engine…True.

Now Momma seems to know her fair share of dead folk, very close family members, who drift in and out of her dreams regularly…. Like Grandmama and Grandpapa, who show up, sit beside her, chat away amicably, no drama, no hidden agendas. These are most peaceful dreams. Why, heck, even Grandpapa’s second wife (after Grandmama went to her greater reward), the Heart-of-Stone-Lady dropped in one night. In the dream she called Momma in a panic because she was being held captive at the Valhalla Inn (on the airport strip, no less) and Momma was to pay her ransom. Oh, this was too rich. Momma and her siblings chortled away, like they would rescue the Heart-of-Stone-Lady from anywhere….they just wished she was in a hotter place, if you know what I mean.

But RIP Daddy, he mostly drops in with a message that has to be deciphered…Even dream books do not seem to theorize on what takes place in these vignettes, designed to baffle and discombobulate poor Momma. Take a for instance……

So Momma and RIP Daddy are just arriving home in the car with their two tailless? (no idea why) mice…one was Momma’s, the other belonged to RIP Daddy. Oh, and did I mention…each mouse had a little metal studded collar, attached to a little leather leash…how bizarre, how bizarre. Now Momma loves the four-footed but not so much the mice and rats….she is not that person who holds a little mouse in the palm of her hand and let it run down her arm, across her shoulders, down her other arm….not so much. This is one of the reasons Momma needs help trying to make sense of the meaning.

Anyway, RIP Daddy flung open his car door, did not pause to close it and bolted up the steps, flew open the door and disappeared in the house, his little pet mouse at his heals. Meanwhile, watching in horror, Momma lost sight of her mouse and feared it too had run outside and would be battered to death by the family cats, who then triumphantly would lay them, intact at her feet, as a trophy. It is a far bridge between liking mice and liking to see them terrorized. So Momma got on her hands and knees, peering under the seats, no little mouse with a collar and a leash.

Momma went tearing in the house, letting RIP Daddy know her mouse was MIA (Missing in Action) and where was his? Nonchalently RIP Daddy says last he saw of him, his little mouse was under the bed. Momma asked what part of ‘our cats will pulverize it’ do you not understand? RIP Daddy was a what….ever…..Closing scene both RIP Daddy and Momma are unsuccessfully looking under the bed for a little mouse with a studded collar on a leash.

So Momma is calling all Angels. Please give her some guidance. What…ever…. is RIP Daddy trying to communicate to her? If you know, let her know, because this one has my poor Momma just a scratching her head….so if there is a Joseph out there, for the Love of God and King Pharaoh, spill, please.

Beam Me Up, Scottie

Truth be told and pass the biscuits, it is a true blessing to be born in the country, Momma says, because you get up close and personal with characters, shysters, saints, oh, and the Holy Rollers. Do they actually roll or are you pulling my tail, Momma…..again?

And then there was the Who-Knew-the-Truth Family that just seemed to have appeared on the doorstep one day, set up camp and then just disappeared, like thieves in the night. There was a Mr. & Mrs. Who-Knew-the-Truth and supposedly three children, straight off the boat from England, they said, they did, but the eldest sibling, Ms. Cagey looked the age of the Mrs. and dressed decidedly provocatively for small town living, where bosoms were kept covered in loose, not tight-fitting Hollywood Marilyn Munroe attire. Although no birth certificate or passport could be produced, she was enrolled in the local high school where the male teachers, as if hypnotized, drawn like moths to the flame, gazed at what filled her endless low-cut, tight sweaters. The good news was that the younger brother and sister acted age appropriate and slipped in to the community seamlessly, making friends easily.

No, Momma, said, it was Mr. & Mrs. Who-Knew-the-Truth & Ms. Cagey who got the tongues a wagging because if you asked them where they were from (it wasn’t considered offensive in those days), each one told a different story….they were right from England, they were living in Montreal but got wary of city life, they had been living in the islands. One thing true, they sounded like they were straight from England, Do not Pass GO, do not collect $200.00.

The next question in everyone’s mind was how come the little sister and brother looked like Ms. Cagey (all brown eyes, black hair) but none of these three children resembled Mr. & Mrs. Who-Knew-the-Truth, who both who had blue eyes and blonde hair. Some hanky-panky going on or maybe aliens spying on us, getting the lay of the land, so to speak, thinking country folk not sharp enough to notice and question every detail, ad nauseum.

The old schoolhouse: Perfect for hotel, bar restaurant.

Still, give them props, they were a hardworking, enterprising lot who approached school board about a school that was vacant…so many rooms, perfect to make a hotel, add a bar and a restaurant and you are in business. No kidding, the hardest working was Ms. Cagey, changing beds, serving in the dining rooms and the bar (huh, I thought there was a law against 15-year-old kids serving drinks, am I right Momma? Well, just don’t get caught. You know we lived in the land of the local law enforcement sentiment of see no evil, hear no evil, so it was all good.

But one day, cross my heart and hope to die, the country folk woke up and Mr. & Mrs. Who-Knew-the-Truth, Ms. Cagey plus Lil Bro and Sis were just… gone…just gone, no explanation. The hotel doors were open, everything left neat and tidy, like a major housekeeping had just been completed. The lights were on…but they weren’t home.

Did they flee in the middle of the night?Were they kidnapped? Did the Mothership come down and whisk them away? Will we ever know? Every time you see distance light, think of Mr. & Mrs. Who-Knew-the-Truth, Ms. Cagey plus Lil Bro and Sis…There out there…maybe coming to a town near you….anytime…. soon.

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