Month: May 2016

Super Star, That’s What You Are (Part ll)

That Super Star gene.  It is hard to attain….but even harder to restrain….I mean, I can not help myself.  I am what I am… Momma claims (very lovingly, you understand) that I am pig-headed (somewhat stubborn – I will own that fault…as in one of today’s cool, but irritating catch phrases) and big-headed.  Don’t get me wrong.  The size of my head is just perfect now, not like when I was a little pup with a big head and a small body.

As a Super Star, I also play, 'She shoots, she scores', because I am a Canadian doggie.
As a Super Star, I also play, ‘She shoots, she scores‘, because I am a Canadian doggie.

It is just that, well, I think highly of myself and my God-given (to tell the truth) abilities to be an Einstein Super Star which takes brains, management abilities and of course, don’t forget, my good looks and athletic abilities.

You see, having an almost old world mind of  Socrates, I realize where would Momma have been without me, in her life, pestering her, annoying her – the yin to her yang or the yang to her yin.  In truth, I was the first little seed, buried deep in the rich earth that Momma tended, watered, fed, talking to me until I pushed my head out of the ground, towards the light of the sun.

What is that?  You want scientific proof?  Why can’t it be like the Good Old Days when a dog’s paw shake and tail wag was her bond, never to be broken, So–Help–Me–Dog.

So for your Doubting Thomas’ (and Thomasinas’), I know Hot Dog Cool Cats, though buried in Momma’s subconscious, never saw the light of day, until I gazed in to her eyes and commanded, ‘Do it. Just Do It.’…..and I did not even have to give her a treat for her to comply.  I guess Momma takes direction better than me! But don’t let that go to your head, Momma.

Only A Super Star could wear a Purple Polka Dotted Scarf.
Only a Super Star could wear a Purple Polka Dotted Scarf.

Through the process of osmosis, gazing deep in to my eyes (let it be underlined, ME first, then those Cool Cats, amazing wildlife, inanimate (not Ruby, she’s alive, I pinkie swear) and all those other tales dripped out of Momma’s fingertips, to the keyboard and in to posts.

Super Star though I am, it is still hard for me to imagine that my Plan, Check, Do Process actually achieved its long-term goal.  I am ready to be a Chief Executive Officer (CEO) of a Fortune 500 Company. Proof is in the pudding. I can develop, implement, all the while making life and death decisions. Oh, and I don’t need a contract or break the bank bonus, whether the company is profitable or not, just food (I have an Executive’s mind. I eat the cats’ food but I have a restraining order against the cats getting anywhere near mine), treats (small and soft), dog bones (only certain types), and walks (It’s ‘Good for Me.’ Brings down my blood pressure).

I'll do anything to fiesta, even wear this itchy pink tutu that Momma and her guests thinks I look adorable in!
A Super Star suffers to be beautiful!

Still, it is hard to convince Momma that I am a Super Star because she is very stubborn.. the curse of  Scottish blood.  She says I am so vain that I should be doing a Novena, to beg for mercy because I am so conceited. Apparently vanity is one of the Seven Deadly Sins. I mean, private or public prayers repeated for nine successive days in belief of obtaining special intercessory graces. A bit harsh.  I mean, we are not even Catholics.

Seal you a deal, Momma.  I will be modest when you can come up with a better explanation the genesis of Hot Dog Cool Cats….

Till then, I am plastered all over your blog and too many websites to count, so I am a Super Star …Not What YOU Are.  Deal with it!

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

Yes, that would be Mother Nature, a bird’s Curse and a bird’s Blessing….She brought us back to our nests each year, and or helped us find the twigs and straw to make a new one.  Then, out of the blue, she would snatch them away from us, even the very tree the nest resided in…And no one can agree on what happened that day. It was a severe thunderstorm, no, it was a twister, looked like a cyclone…I mean if the good Two Footed did not have it straight, pity the poor Bird Brains.

Just a hint of light in the grey skies.
Just a hint of light in the grey skies.

Let me tell you what I remember of that fateful day…well, from the perspective of a limited bird brain.  The day was hot and muggy.  I had to keep flapping my wings to cool down my three little Little Peepers, keeping a wary eye on the sky, looking for answers to what to expect next.  I had my hands full, I tell you. 

 

My beautiful turquoise eggs...only three made it! Fr: Morguefile By: Taliesin File 000313526538
My beautiful turquoise eggs…only three made it!
Fr: Morguefile
By: Taliesin   File 000313526538

Although I had laid four tiny, perfect turquoise eggs, only three of them hatched.  Two of my Little Peepers were perfect, (like me) always staying close by their Mama but the third one was a regular Daniel(a) Boone.  She chirped first, gobbled the worms first, flew out of the nest first…a frontier explorer.  I couldn’t decide if it was because she was too smart or too dim-witted to understand the wisdom in caution.

As the day grew more ominous, my Perfect Peepers clung to me like velcro, my Daniel(a) Boone Peeper strained to see what was happening. She flew out on a limb and scanned the horizon, refusing to return to the safety of the nest and her Mama’s wing.

I can’t say for sure, did the rain come first, or if it was the deafening thunder, the blinding lighting, followed by the high gusts of winds that lifted roofs off houses, picked up cars in its path and splintered centuries old trees, ripping them and their contents up, sending them sailing in all directions… like they were toothpicks, I tell you. So Wizard of Oz.  Since a picture is worth a thousand words, see for yourself.

Where were my Little Peepers in this devastation?
Where were my Little Peepers in this devastation?

One minute I had a home, and a family….the next I had joined the legions of the destitute, seeking shelter under a felled but still leafy tree branch.  But where were my Little Peepers?  I stretched my neck out, listened, scanned as far as my eyes could see, willing the wind, the rain, the thunder and cracks of lightning to cease and desist.

As morning broke, so did the freak of nature storm – surely no Mother (Nature) would sanction this.  I stepped out cautiously, from under the leafy branch, trying to interpret the chirping, deciphering the humming-bird, from the blue jay, to the black bird, to the dreaded crow…It was them, I was sure.  With great joy, I flew towards their little chirps.  There were my two little Perfect Peepers but where, oh, where was my Daniel(a) Boone Peeper?

Mama Robin surveys the damage. Fr. Morguefile By: Castlelass File P1040833
Mama Robin surveys the damage.
Fr. Morguefile
By: Castlelass File P1040833

I would like to tell you a happily ever after story but the truth is, I never saw my Daniel(a) Boone Peeper again.  I choose to think, she had a safe landing and at this very moment is telling her own Little Peepers about the storm of the century. 

But you have to help me…If you see her out there tell her (like E.T.), Daniel(a) Boone Peeper, CALL HOME!

 

 

Should I Stay Or Should I Go?

Like the first night at an AA Meeting, I must confess.  Hi, I’m Clem-Ka-Diddle-Hopper and I am Feral, by choice, not design.

Oh, I am so torn.  It would be so easy, joining the Kitty Club Med, just being an Indoor / Outdoor Cat,  eat a few kibbles, go outside, lay in the sun, hop on the bench, wait for Momma to open the door and leave me back in like dozens of times a day.

Look at my picture perfect strands of color. No wonder I have tortitude.
Clem at the door,  on his way out.

What is stopping me, you may ask?  Momma and Wonder Boy fuss over you, every time they see you, feed you, stroke you, brush you.  I have Diva Calico Gen wrapped around my grey and white Tabby paw-paw.  Even Bad Boy Andy gives me the respect I deserve.  He air kisses me when we meet up, either in or out doors.  When I come in and he is at his food station, he saunters off, as if to say, ‘Hey Clem, help yourself.’  But the big one, really big one, is if I am asleep on a dining room chair, he will hop up on the chair beside me, and fall asleep which tells me an Ally Cat like Bad Boy Andy, trusts me.

Jakita, well she always respected me.  I won’t go within a country mile of other dogs, but Jakita is Special.  That leaves Charlie Cat, who skulks around, ready to hiss at the drop of a hat…well not at Jakita or Diva Calico Gen, although, she will extend her white-tipped calico paw and smack them across the face if she feels injured at something she perceives they did to her…Yet, she will let them be on Momma’s bed, on one condition…If Momma is there, Charlie is the only one allowed to be wedged against her. Law abiding as they are,  Jakita and Diva Calico Gen put up no fight because they know, well Charlie is Charlie.

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?
My home away from home.

Who could walk away, tail in the air, when offered such cool accommodations? A wild cat, with responsibilities at the Cat Colony, that is who. Say what?? You must be having us on.  You are feral, stray, homeless and you are worrying about your cat community.  The world needs to know about you. Even the Two Footed are dismal at giving a hand up or a hand out to their own kind.  Where did a Pussy Cat with a Conscious come from?  You have got our attention. Tell us more.

cropped-The-Family-JPEG.jpegOkay, I will…but ssshhh…keep it a secret…no broadcasting it because I don’t want Momma’s family thinking I don’t appreciate them.  You want a Job Description, I will provide it.  It’s not pretty, but it’s what I do, but never to Momma, Wonder Boy, our Special Jakita or the Kitty Club Med Gang.  Trust me, there is more to tell.  Like Arnold Schwarzenegger, ‘I’ll be back.’

I will let you decide if I should turn left or I should veer right or just follow the same path to gain Pet Paradise at the end of my days.

Life Is Nothing But A Funny, Funny Riddle

Miss. Misfit. Molly. McMatchet.  The Miss was a label.  You hadn’t quite made the grade.  It told the world, (her world), that she hadn’t been able to snag a man.  Who needed one?  Miss Misfit Molly had a roof over her head, food for her belly, the Scryers Club, oh and her truck.  What else does a body need?

Mirrors are so spooky. There is always an image hovering, lurking, breaking through the surface.
Mirrors are so spooky. There is always an image lurking around, breaking through the surface.

Truth was many young farmers came calling ‘in the day,’ but Miss Misfit Molly, had the gift.  She saw right though those suitors.  They wanted the McMatchet Farm, not her.  Anyway, what husband in those days, would put up with a wife going off on a full moon and creeping back when the sun rose?

Everyone knew Miss Misfit Molly in Momma’s little town.  They heard her boxy old  1940’s something classic black Ford pick up truck coming, long before she arrived…and if a chicken crossed the road, at the exact moment, she would engage her ship-like horn  that could be heard in seven counties, so the story went. Now, not too many women were driving in the 1960’s and certainly, if they were, they had a car, not an old pick up truck with a sumptuous cab, classic truck bed and white wall tires.

Ah, but those country folk, they smirked when they saw her coming.  They kidded her unmercifully about her mechanical skills. What woman could change the oil, put on tires, fix the engine of a pick up truck? Miss Misfit Molly could….and she would do yours as well, if you could stop laughing long enough to ask her.

Miss Misfit Molly’s passion was the Scryers Club which she had managed to wangle a front row seat, as a child,  many years ago. Having a Teflon Brain, she would race home after every meeting and record minute detail of the images on the mirror pool,  of who said what, the plans going forward and the results to date. 

Misfit Molly's MagicTeapot and what do you know.... Is that her image on the silver tray?
Misfit Molly’s Magic Teapot and what do you know…. Is that her image on the silver tray?

Then it started happening to her.  Miss Misfit  Molly started having visions, seeing things, not only in the mirror pool but in a teacup….a suitcase meant, you were going on a trip, a star, you would be honored before your peers, a heart, you would receive a marriage proposal, a black crow, very ominous, get your affairs in order, your days on earth were numbered.

Now the housewives liked to dilly dally in this nonsense, get their tea leaves read but sshh, they did not tell their husbands who would tell them it was all stuff and nonsense. No, they kept it a closely guarded secret, never even telling their mothers or sisters or friends, for fear of being laughed at. Yet Miss Misfit Molly knew and although she never told in life, had legions of ledgers, filled to the brim with the names of clients  from the very families who founded this town. However, in death, when her black crow came calling, she was set free and could divulge all. 

Oh, to be in that place, at that time as the ledgers opened and the secrets poured out.  Kind of put life in perspective….What the world needs is more of the like of Miss Misfit Molly. Yep, those ledgers, like Facebook today, gave more information then we ‘needed to know.’ 

Ruby shares the story with Charlie, Gen, and Jakita using Tigger as a head rest.
Momma shares her story with Ruby, Charlie, Gen, and Jakita using Tigger as a head rest.

Still, the shoe was on the other foot.  The smirking faces went stone cold serious, because like Momma always tells us, ‘The truth can set you free or bury you,’ as it hovers over you, revealed only in God‘s good time.

Be sure your sins will find you out, one day!!!