Month: April 2016

If Only You Believe

You know, I love thinking there are Angels and Fairies that make our world a better place…oh and sometimes, I may be naughty because of those little red devils with pointy ears, long tails and pitch forks  that lead me astray, a bit.  Now there are no devils in Momma’s front garden (well, that I have actually seen) but one time we had a swarm of insects, straight out of the book of Exodus.  However, Angels and Fairies…we have them in plain sight, or hiding under flowers, even peeking out from behind the rocks that bleed rivers of silver, in the sunlight.

Surrounded by Garden Angels, I ponder Momma's dreams and Heaven. Look at the Angel of Beauty on the left, holding a Baby Angel blowing bubbles. At the bottom see another Little Angel, fast asleep. See all the other pensive Angels. I believe I fit nicely in to this picture.
I believe I fit nicely in to this picture.

I know what you are thinking.  Those Angels and Fairies… are man-made not heaven divined.  You would be correct, of course. That is why, I was so stoked the day Momma told me that  one night at midnight, we would watch the Circle of the Angels and Fairies Dance, sitting right on our front step because 1) it was summer,  2) the moon was full and  3) the Angels and Fairies had auditioned, practised and were ready to give a performance of a life time…..if only you… ‘Believe.’ I believe Momma…Yeah, I’m a Believer (not so much Belieber …but he’s okay).

Round about midnight, when the moon was high in the sky, the Believer Team consisting of Bad Boy Andy, Diva Calico Gen, myself (Jakita) and Momma walked out to the front step to get a first row seat.  Out of the shadows came Call of the Wild Clem to join us, not really sure why we were there, but willing to give it a try.

So we waited, and waited, then waited some more.  The cats were ready to leave, I was bored and Momma kept cajoling us to just have patience.  We waited some more…I am so ashamed to tell you but like the disciples in the Garden of Gethsemane, I found myself drifting off to Never Never Land.

Clem hears the call of the wild.
Clem hears the Call of the Wild.
NOTE TO SUPER BOY: Andy: The Self Appointed Boss Friendly, Non aggressive but sometimes swats to keep other pets in line, usually inside most of the day – outside @ night Gen: The Diva Calico - Sister to Andy - Most Likely: To Clone because of looks, temperament and playability at 11 years old. Loves Wonder Boy's bed at night , my bed in the day but usually goes Out with Andy @ night
Andy and Gen

Wait, what’s up?  Momma is saying, ‘Look, Jakita, Kitties, do you see them?’ I strained to make out anything in the inky darkness but wow, what was that?  An unseen orchestra played a lilting, whirling, twirling melody…..and like a Aurora Borealis light show, I am blinded by a circle of little tiny Angels and Fairies, on pointed toes in adorned ballet slippers, their diaphanous wings and tutus, the subtle hues of the miniature roses and impatiens from pale shades of yellow, pink, purple to vibrant reds and dazzling whites. I could not blink nor breath, for fear the spectacular scene would disappear as quickly as it had materialized.

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.
Garden Angels and Fairies

I sensed,  rather than saw the Cool Cats, as captivated as I was, none of us moving a muscle, caught in space and time as we stared in wonder and bewilderment. Through the fog of mystery and reality, I heard Momma calling my name and in that instance, the bright lights receded, the music faded away, leaving only the beams of faint illumination from the full moon.

‘Momma, Momma, what happened?  Did you see that?  When can we do this again?’  We were so disappointed when Momma said it is a once in a lifetime occurrence to have been blessed with a vision of the Circle of the Angel and Fairy Dance…but scientists would scoff at us, tell us it was just a thousand fireflies, lighting up the night. Best we keep this citing a secret…but we know, truth is definitely overrated because……

This says it all - the description and image of a Fairy Ring, the windmills and the Maple Leaf Forever, protecting the little benched angels and fairies who are resting until the moon comes out again.....
The Angels and Fairies 

If only you Believe, on a Moonlight Night, the Angels and Fairies will reveal themselves, If only you Believe…

These Paws Were Made For Walking

It is so uplifting, when the sun shines.  I love when Momma says, ‘Walk, Jakita?’  I am off that couch double-quick in case she forgets. It has happened, in the span of mere seconds, something else catches Momma’s attention…like the phone rings, the cat meows…it doesn’t take much.

When the walk is done, I wait patiently for paws to be cleaned, sweater and leash removed.
Patience is no virtue of mine!.

I tell you, I am a pro at putting up with things….for instance wearing a doggie sweater or coat, waiting patiently to get my paws cleaned when the walk is over, having the leash almost yank my ears off when Momma removes it, all the while standing on the mat.

Yesterday was no exception.  It was a cold one for April yet the sun was high in the  blue sky, radiating warmth, urging me to trot faster, reach my destination so I could sniff every burgeoning blade of grass in the cemetery. Momma says, ‘Not so fast, Jakita.  We have to stop and talk to the Keeper-of-the-Cemetery-Lady, whose front window faces the graveyard and RIP Daddy’s plot.’

I understand it is the Keeper-of-the-Cemetery-Lady’s job to report to Momma if she sees RIP Daddy roaming around.  But today the talk between Momma and the Keeper-of-the-Cemetery-Lady started on politics, griping about the city councillors, the mayor, the premier…with so many questionable decisions handed down on a daily basis, it would take ages to get to my grass sniffing….so I tugged the leash, gently at first, continuing with more force, warbling, then whining…next thing they’d be on to the prime minister…I could not let it dissolve to that!  I had things to do, places to go, NOW!

Eventually, I won and we were on our way, enjoying the day and all if its hidden treasures, like a twig, a stick, a squirrel high in the tree, shrieking away at me. What is with those squirrels? They are as shrill as poor Hillary Clinton. No matter, I still would vote for her. It was so fabulously marvelous.  Who knew, cute Little Rascal Reilly would be free, adding to the excitement?

Our adorable Fidel (RIP) ...that is who Little Rascal Reilly looks like.
Our adorable Fidel (RIP) …that is who Little Rascal Reilly looks like.

As Momma and I meandered home a little white and black fluff ball came tearing across the street, looking to make friendly.  I stopped dead in my tracks.  This was not good.   I knew because when I was a puppy, I was just as wild and free, taking off any chance I could get.  The only difference was in my world, poor Momma and Daddy chased behind, trying to catch me (in vain, I confess).  It seemed Little Rascal Reilly had no one that even knew he was missing.  What should we do Momma?

Which home had he escaped from, Momma and I wondered?  We knew the dogs up and down and all around, but never had met up with this little puppy before.  Time to knock on doors, said Momma.  We will ask if anyone knows who this sweet, scatter brained puppy belongs to.  Sometimes, it is just plain, dumb luck and playing the process of elimination. We knew most of the people on the street so figured it had to someone we had not yet met.  Still, it was a eureka moment to actually knock on the right door the first time.

As soon as the door opened you could see they had been so preoccupied with their new-born baby that they had not even realized Little Rascal Reilly had made his Great Escape. Probably this cute little fluff ball, always demanding and getting all the attention, was feeling under appreciated and overwhelmed with the presence of competition in the form of a precious, yet squawking baby whose every sigh was met with adulation.

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. Begs the question…Keeping the living out or the dead in?

At different point in our lives, it gets complicated.  Though I am not making judgement today about how Reilly made his get away unnoticed, I’m just saying, I am keeping an eye on it…just in case we got a situation, on our hands.  I  am trusting that by helping Little Rascal Reilly go home, (somewhat like Lassie?) that I gained some good Karma t,o make up for some questionable deeds in my past.…because in life you spend faster than you save…at least I do.

Oh, and you know me. I love a happily ever after ending!

You Have Got To Be Kidding!!! (Part ll)

So you think you have a hard life? Think again, you indulged kitties and lap dog puppies. Oh, no I am not done yet…all you wild life who walk freely among the Two Legged and Four Legged. Yeah, yeah, yeah, you too have to scrounge for food but does a gust of wind pick you up like you are Toto in the Wizard of Oz transporting you to the land of, you know, Oz.

The Wizard of Oz
The Wizard of Oz

Like, we are not in Kansas anymore. More often than not we don’t even get to Oz but are catapulted head first in to a building, a tree or a pane of glass…Now that is bad news for the superstitious Two footed, unless we are just stunned, shake our heads, flap our wings and take off again.

OMG 2I know, I know, like me, Ms. Robin Red Breast, you are always being hunted….but if you are careful and ahead of the curve, you can go incognito, hiding from the enemy. You know, all of us beautifully feathered flying fowl, have a reputation of being well….bird brains. That is just so discriminating. Like some of us got ‘em, some not so much…

You know the ones I mean. The birds that think it is safe to swoop down and pick worms out of Momma’s garden….big mistake, I tell you. Bad Boy Andy, RIP Beau- Beau, even Diva Calico Gen are sitting on the fence, eyes slit, tails just flicking, biding their time to pounce. All signals point to, ‘Oh, Ye Of Little Brains, Be Gone or Ye Be History.’ Now, I’d do anything for a fat, juicy, worm but I won’t do that.

Angel Praying HandsThen just like in the days of Pax Romano, you always have to worry about your very own species robbing your nest, especially those shiny black crows who would trade their soul for a delicate turquoise robin’s egg. The good thing about crows is they are so noisy, other birds can hear them coming and fortify against the inevitable skirmishes. Then, then there are hawks. Oh, yeah, you can see their brain turning as they plan their silent vicious attacks, swooping down, robbing, plundering and departing in swift order. In my Heaven, all hawks are grounded with one foot, no beaks and dependent on their prey to bring them a worm, everyone in a while….not too often, you know. A bit harsh, you think? Uh, did they ever steal your loved one?

A Safe Bird's nest
A Safe Bird’s nest, in a gutter, not a tree.

Still Mother Nature is the best friend yet most feared enemy of all wild life. There is so much more to tell and it is coming very soon so don’t go to sleep like those disciples in the Garden of Gethsemane. Pray, stay watch till it comes……

The Buck Stops Here

Yes, I, Bad Boy Andy, am an Indoor/Outdoor cat but I am not stupid.  When Jack Frost comes calling, it is time to find a cozy corner and hunker down.  I mean you don’t have to be a rocket scientist, just look at the window panes strewn with frosty icicles rivers and tributaries, diamonds, circles and stars – to die for beauty, especially when the winter sun enshrines them in a golden haze.

Jack Frost is about. See the roads, rivers, tributaries and diamonds. Time to hibernate.
Jack Frost is about. See the roads, rivers, tributaries and diamonds. Time to hibernate.

Besides when  Jack Frost paints our windows in the deep of an Arctic vortex, I feel it in my thirteen year old arthritic bones.  Oh, I can still put the fear of the Good Lord Almighty in to all the cats in the neighbour hood and our Indoor Cat Charlie but I know, I am failing fast when it comes to terrorizing (but  sshh…that is our secret).  Here at home, they haven’t noticed and everyone knows, what you don’t know can’t hurt you, right?

Now, my dear sweet sibling, Diva Calico Gen doesn’t read window panes or feel it in her bones.  No, she coddles herself.  I think she follows the calendar and reacts accordingly because early in December, even before winter descends, she hibernates inside, getting in to all kinds of mischief because she is full of unspent energy, still as agile as a kitty, while wily like a fox which means every once in a while, when Jakita is asleep (she runs interference for her Best Friend Forever, Gen) and Momma is busy, I board Gen to put her in her place because, well, Gen doesn’t seem to know she even has a place.

Gen and Jakita. Hour after hour spent, close to you.
Gen and Jakita. Hour after hour spent, ‘close to you.’

Yeah, yeah, yeah, she is pretty, a great fisher of things out of wicker baskets, a tried and trued Olympic Hockey player but she is not as discerning and bright as me.  How can she be if she will curl up beside that poor demented Charlie?

What’s that you are saying?  Okay, you are right, I am a bit psychotic, purring one minute, prowling and snarling the next but I am no fool.  I am very loving with Momma and Wonder Boy and all of the guests that come over – well, except that one time, when Momma’s Sister-Who-Taught-Her-Most-The-Things-She Knows, slept over.  I mean, she slept on the couch, my bed, so I had to slap her with my paw, across the cheek, just to wake her up, so she’d move you know.  Instead, I got pushed in an embarrassing heap on the floor.  Momma would never do that to me.  Not all Two Footed are created equal. 

Bad Boy Andy, sitting in the sun porch, catching the rays, pondering on a winters' day.
Bad Boy Andy, sitting in the sun porch, catching the rays, pondering on a winters’ day.

Live and Love.  That’s my motto.  Too bad no one took the time to teach Momma’s Sister-Who-Taught-Her-Most-The-Things-She Knows.

Heard it All in a Small Town

Way, way back, when Moses was a pup, Momma was bred, born and brought up in a Franglish settlement. Say what?  You know French and English….best place in the world to start cutting your teeth on politics, different faiths for One God, oh and hockey, their reason to be, French or English. It helped to have a self-deprecating sense of humor to survive the slings and arrows that may be heaped upon you if you dared cross that invisible line.

Buddy at the front, busy, busy Momma to the left holding chair, her brother behind her, her sister to her right. I know, Buddy looks as tall as Buddy here but it is an optical illusion.
Country Kids! Momma to the left holding a chair with her brother behind her, sisters and Cousin Buddy (Uncle WW 11 Sergeant’s Son in the front).

That is what made Momma what she is today…one foot on this side of the line while her other foot, just her toe really, creeps across the other side, always looking  to make sure no one notices her boldness as she strains to see and understand the other side.

Small town life was good.  The French and English had learned to live side by side  in peace, intermarrying, sharing common family values although there were a few citizens who seemed to be still entrenched in the Battle of The Plains of Abraham.  Some hard-headed Franglish refused to acknowledge the existence of the war or the changes that ensued, especially around land deeds.  This, of course was a great source of amusement to the First Nation Mi’kmaks to whom the concept of owning Mother Earth was preposterous.

Dark clouds hovering.
Dark clouds hovering.

However, in Momma’s day, all that had been resolved.  They only dark clouds on the horizon was a group who wanted to form their own country but truth be told, they never were much interested in country hicks.  No, they went to the inner city to stir up excessive devotion to their culture and language. Farmers, fishermen, lumberjacks, mill workers, small business men….the likes that lived in our town, well, once they put in a day of hard labour, had no time, patience or even stomach for worrying about stirring up a kettle of trouble. Besides, they liked their neighbours, their friends, their community just the way it was, imperfect though it may be to an outsider looking in.

Yup, it was Shangri La…but not without slings and arrows.  Sometimes the mindset of her own kin had Momma scratching her head. Momma’s sister, The Queen was about to marry the love of her life…who just happened to be so dear, so beloved and so French (aka as B-I-L: brother-in-law).  One day B-I-L-To-Be was at a local bar and Momma’s uncle, WWII Sergeant came in and sat beside him.

B-I-L recognized Uncle WWII Sergeant and started a casual conversation.  All of a sudden, looking for some stranger sympathy, Uncle WWII Sergeant said, ‘You know what.  Can you believe it? My lovely niece is marrying a Blankety Blank (well, something like that). B-I-L-To-Be said, ‘Yeah, I know.  She is marrying me.’  Never one to back down (Uncle WWII Sergeant had helped win the war, no less) said, ‘Huh, guess you are not so bad…for a Frenchman.’ Then, he chugged his beer and left, head high.

In active duty: Uncle Cool, Calm & Collected (on right) & Uncle WW11 Sergeant in middle with a friend.
In active duty: Uncle Cool, Calm & Collected (on right – the polar opposite) & Uncle WWII Sergeant in middle with a friend.

No doubt about it,  Uncle WWII Sergeant was a curmudgeon.  When The Queen worked at a Government Agency, Uncle WWII Sergeant would pass through three towns to come her office to apply for Unemployment Insurance every winter because no one else knew ‘nawthing about nawthing.’  When the other office workers (French or English) saw him coming, they would all go in hiding, calling out to The Queen, ‘Hurry. Quick.  Your uncle is here.’   No one surfaced until he left because he could bawl them out in French, English and a bit of German and Italian mixed in, just to confuse them.  After a while Uncle WWII Sergeant asked Momma’s sister if everyone else had been fired (justifiably so, he thought) because his niece, The Queen was the only one who could get those idiots at the Ministry to part with the money he had been robbed of, when he was working.

Ruby and Charlie listen to Jakita as she tells them about Aunt Marilyn Munroe.
Ruby and Charlie listen to Jakita as she tells them about Momma’s small town.

Trust me.  Life is a lottery, says Momma.  It is not like she stuck a pin in the globe and said, ‘I want to live there.’ No, sometimes, just like me and all our cats, you just get lucky.

Hasta La Vista, Baby….you never can tell….maybe you will get lucky too.