It is with great sadness that we tell you that on Sunday August 4, 2013 @6:30pm approximately Caseyjoined Cat Mao and Cat Manduin PetHeaven, where puppies do not snarl and kitties do not hiss.
Here I am, no scars, clean eyes, my fur no longer patchy. I am a fine-looking fellow.
Casey left behind his new Best Friend Forever Jakita (even though she nipped him when he was shooed from the table). How was a feral cat to know that was considered bad manners…tell me, how?
Casey will also miss his kitty family, new pal, Bad Boy Andy, his sometimes Ally, Beaudepending on the day of the week it was, and Diva Calico Gen who would even sleep on the same bed as him, and of course, all his Cat Colony friends, especially Seven.
So, I have only been inside two weeks but I know what a pillow is for.
More importantly, Casey knows he left a tiny hole in Momma, and Wonder Boys’ heartsbecause Momma said, she did, that he was the most amazingly easy feral cat to become domesticated.He will always cherish having a home to claim as his own and feeling beloved, even if it only lasted two and a half months.
No flowers, but next time you give to the SPCA, think of Casey – he had 2.5 months of bliss. Your every little contributions and kind deeds help make stray cat lives, no matter how short, better.
FYI: Caseywas fine Saturday, even ventured outside twice. He refused to eat food Sunday morning, which totally baffled and worried Momma. He would not leave the room. By the afternoon, Casey heard Momma and Wonder Boy in the kitchen and inched himself forward on his belly, to be with them in the kitchen. Momma picked him up and took him wherever she went. At suppertime, sensing Casey needed quiet, Momma shut him in his bedroom, (away from curious, pesky Jakita), snuggling him in a clothes basket, lined with comfy towels. Like a lamp that dims as it runs out of oil, he left the earth realm.
Pretty Little Cat Mao
Miss Mandu .
Casey was greeted by fellow Angel kitties, Cat Manduand Cat Mao at the Golden Gates. He has reached his eternal rest yet we believe he will still keep an eye out to see what we are up to down on earth.
So, if he can be of any help, just call him. He’s waiting………
I am a fine-looking Tom Cat, with various shades of gray to charcoal to black.
Postscript from Momma: Poor precious, brave Casey. Although only between two to three years old by the time he was rescued, he had been too famished for too long and battled too many diseases to be able to have a normal span of cat life. Our vet warned us not to get attached but the heart, like the wind, goes wherever it wants to go.
Caught in the act. Mr. Grey Squirrel heads to the top of our birch tree, swings on to our roof and then takes squatters rights to a new level of intensity.
Previously I had let you know how Mr. Grey Squirrel, cheeky and capricious, had persevered until he was successful at setting up residence in our attic loft. Whenever he heard Momma or her family go in to the shed room, he would pop out of the trap door, high on the rafters and eyeball us, chattering non stop, to make sure we knew, he had won.
One day Super Boy came over and went out to the Shed Room to get a soft drink. He came back to the kitchen, asking, “Uh, are you supposed to have a squirrel in your Shed Room?” Sister-Itty-Bitty, her friend, Wonder Boy, Daddy, Momma and I all went trooping out and there he sat on his haunches, front paws folded as if in prayer.
Daddy explained to our bemused family that it was okay, we would drive him out once the spring came. We heard, but never saw Mrs. (Black) Grey Squirrel. That is not till ‘that’ day – the day she had a mission. Apparently Baby Black Grey Squirrel decided to explore the home he lived in. How do we know? They were caught in the act. RIP Daddy had gone out to get drinks for his cooler. Mrs. (Black) Grey Squirrel gave him a “back off look” – walked right over his feet, with something in her mouth. When Daddy bent over and looked closer, he was amazed to see The Sequel – Baby Black Grey Squirrel, (obviously his mama was doing the rescue of a kid gone bad). Then she nonchalantly did a Spider-(wo)man crawl back up the rafters, though the little door to the attic.
Another generation of squirrels to stake claim to the house. It would not hurt so badly if they would be kind enough to contribute to the mortgage payments. But I am thinking that in today’s economy, it would be hard for a squirrel to get a job. It is even tough for Momma and you know how versatile she is:
BEFORE Momma was: Climbing a rickety imaginary corporate ladder trying to break that elusive glass ceiling (not so successful).
NOW Momma is: Climbing a wobbly aluminum ladder to paint the stucco ceilings (successful), even if she falls off and lands in the paint tray, bruising her tail bone, as a consequence. (I tell her, I tell her, DO NOT CLIMB LADDERS. I can not be responsible for her inability to listen).
Maybe some day the city will start paying the squirrels for cleaning all the chestnuts that fall to the sidewalk from my neighbors’ massive tree.
So these are the kind of trees Mr. Grey Squirrel and Family zip up and down, knocking treasures to the ground for winter safekeeping.
Should that happen, Mr. Grey Squirrel, maybe you can contribute to the household expenses, at least enough to repair the holes in the roof you create. Till then, let me warn you, Mr. Grey Squirrel and Family, your number is up – I know spring is here already and we have not made a move. But just wait till it gets warmer. As the Baseball Umpire says, ‘You’re out of here’. This we promise you.
Ok, I don’t ‘do’ the dog park – far too many tail wagging, slobbering, barking and humping canines for me. Anyway, my Vet said it is off-limits because I can no longer get vaccines (because of my unstable immune system). However, worse case scenario, if I bit a person or another dog, since I did not have my Rabies Shot, I would be quarantined. So much for my Life of Riley. But forget-about-it, I do not bite and I’m not keen on Dog Parks anyway because well, you know, I am Superior.
Here I am, with my favorite bone on a leash just in case I do a ‘Jack Rabbit’.
It really doesn’t matter because I live by a huge park, with enormous trees, green grass for kids to romp on, a fenced in baseball diamond, tennis courts, and walking paths. You can stroll for miles. I am ashamed to say, once Momma took me there a few times and being brilliant and adventuresome, I soon knew the way by myself. When I was young and foolish it was one of the areas that I would do a ‘jack rabbit’ to, with Momma and Daddy in hot pursuit, trying to woo me with treats, coaxing me to come back and well, I always did, once I had my fill of running, just gasping for breath, my tongue hanging on the ground. I know, I know, I am lucky I lived to tell the tale. I could have ended the same fate as Zanny.
Tall Trees, Giant Tiger Lilies for Butterflies and Colorful Ground Cover. So much to explore, sniff and route in.
What a great place to wander around, sniffing the trees and grass, seeing all the teeny, tiny bugs that scoot around on the ground, the bees and butterflies hovering on the flower petals. In this Shangri-la, Momma & I meet up with many dogs from around the area and their owners. Some I make friendly with but mostly I just stop and give them my ‘get out of Jakitaville’ stare. It is not like I cut all dogs dead. There are a couple of Border Collies on our street. I like them, they like me, we greet by sniffing each others’ noses, there is no power struggle. However a Husky dog we meet often is kind of freaky – pale green eyes, plops down in front of me and stares straight through me. Her Momma can not move her. It is like she becomes a frozen statue. Then there is that little black dog, smaller than me, younger than me and meaner than me. I don’t get it, he was so sweet the first couple years of his life, then his Momma died and over night his personality changed . I mean, Daddy died and I did not turn in to a weirdo. Help him, quick, get the Dog Whisperer.
One day when we went for a walk in the park, Momma and I saw something so sad, I still have nightmares about it. It was in the winter, very cold, wind chill factor of maybe -30 degrees. Momma and I could not believe our eyes. Tied to a bench was a German Sheppard Dog, definitely a candidate for frost bite, probably hungry and so sad and dejected. We could not go near, Momma said, because the poor dog may attack us, from fear. Momma and I went right home and called the animal shelter and here is the amazing thing. Not only were we the sixth call about this abandoned dog, one of the callers volunteered to take him. Momma said that is the neighborhood we reside in, good souls surround us, looking out for those who cannot look out for themselves. Don’t you wish you lived here?
But still, I confess. I prefer the Two Footed any day over dogs. They feed us, walk us, play with us, love us. Sometimes our Masters need training to come around but still, would a Four Footed Dog be able to meet all of our demands, I ask you? Not likely! It doesn’t take a Rocket Scientist to figure this out!
Sometimes I am in awe when I look at the sky to see a plethora of rainbow shades coloring my world. The Rocket Scientists would know what this is all about.
Momma is at it again – flirting with a stray cat that she promises me will be an Outside cat. Where did we hear that before – oh, yeah, Casey and it did not turn out well. He drove a little stake in Momma’s heart, creeping closer every day, until he reached the front door but even so, it was Momma (blame Momma) who actually carried him through that doorto the horror of all the Indoor, Indoor / Outdoor Cats and me.
Oh why, oh why must this happen again? Is there a sign up down at the Cat Colony, Homeless Shelter for Stray Ferals, with a picture of Momma and arrows pointing the way to our house? Probably not. It is just when Momma realized that we had non paying guests seeking shelter in our garage, in the sub-zero winter weather, she did what all good hostesses do.She put out food. Now one of them for sure is a sibling to Casey, a luxurious striped tiger gray,wearing a white tuxedo shirt. But the stray who has the most staying power is a hard-headed tortoise shelled cat withtortitude, not willing to succumb an inch to the members of the KittyClubMed. Me, he ignores, as if I am invisible, in his cat-i-tudeworld.
Too late to shut the farm door! Clem already is an inside blissfully asleep, gasp! on Momma’s bed? Where was I? How did this happen? I demand answers!
Oh why, oh why can Stray Cats not be like Roman Catholic Secular priests and nuns used to be, wearing far-reachinghabits that would cover their frost-bitten ears, their matted fur and starving bodies with bones sticking out.That way, only their eyes would be revealed to show their desperation. (Ok, don’t freak, I know very few Orders still dress that way today). You know how Momma can not abide suffering, even for the ugly old slugs in the basement. I believe if Momma could not see what dire straights the strays were in, she would not go in to rescue mode.
Indoor, Indoor/Outdoor Cats, I promise we will do our best, trying to scare that stray back to the Colony but this one is clever and getting nervier – even with me barking annoyingly and Andy Cat hissing, snarling, and caterwauling, it is flipping its’ tail at us and standing his ground,like a Floridian we all heard about – showing up more often, waiting for his food and water bowl to be filled, biding his time while the glow from the pine, makes a fool out of me. Next thing you know, Momma will be setting up a comfortable place for him to sleep with a pillow and a heating pad, in the garage. Will she never learn?
Let’s Play Ball!
PS: Andy Cat is so two-faced – I told you, I told you, dogs and cats are day and night. Here I am trying to run the stray off, using techniques Border Security employs between the United States and Mexico, (though I don’t have guns and detention lock-ups), thinking I have full feline support on my side. However, as Momma opened the door today to take me for my afternoon walk, there sat Andy Cat with the Stray Cat, like two steps from inside. There was no hissing, no snarling, just two cats, finding a patch of sun to snooze in.
I will be conducting a full investigation and filing a complaint with the Federation of Worldwide Registered Canines and Felines. We are not going to take it any more!
So long ago, Gen, when Moses was a pup, Momma lived on the old homestead, in the country, far away from the hustle and bustle she faces today, with her UrbanSuburban life. It was not better, it was not worse but it was radically different. Do you have some time, you want to hear, Gen, oh, you too, Tigger and Ruby? You’ll enjoy this.
Ground Zero for Momma. Not everyone is born in deep forests with rainbows casting shades that change as the sun rises and sets.
Jack Jack was a local character, born in the back woods, that even today’s Google Car would have struggled hard to locate and map.He was beloved by the adults and children alike. There were so many Jack’s in every family,Big Jack,Little Jack, Peg Legged Jack, One Eyed Jack…you get the picture. His fathers’s first name was Jack so it was only befitting he be anointed Jack Jack and so he remained till death did he part.
Anatural-born raconteur of tales,he talked a form of Gallic. An entrepreneur bachelor before his time, he invested in a Dream Team, two horses, Nessie and Nestor,who were both large, and placid, chestnut brown coats with long, black, feathery tails and manes that gleamed in the sun. Jack Jack went from farm to farm in the district, plowing and planting gardens, than gathering the hay, and finally cutting and storing the harvest for the long winter months ahead. The Dream Team and their owner, just reaping what they had sewn.
Descendants of Nessie and Nestor!
They would hear him in the fields calling, ‘Gui up a ha, Nessie,Gui up a ha, Nestor’ and the horses would respond in kind, plodding slowly but unquestionably forward, hauling plows, or what ever wagon or farm tool was needed, for the job at hand. Come Christmas, on a moon lit night, Jack Jack would put bells around Nessieand Nestor’snecks, hitch a sleigh on his Dream Team,and take all the neighborhood kids for a ride back the snow packed alley wherein they sang all the season’s songs, at the top of our lungs, waking the dead from their peaceful slumber.
However, just like Our-Favorite-Uncle would say, ‘There’s always something to take the joy out of your living.’ To that end, even in Shangri–La some mean-spirited person lurked, who would take a run at him, but Jack Jack would more than likely put him in his place, right smart. Such was the occasion when Jack Jack went to the local store and the owner, Fred, decided to tease him about being a bachelor all these years, like it was a disease to be treated before it killed you,so every time he’d ask, ‘Getting married soon, Jack Jack?’ Jack Jack caught the eye of another shopper. ‘Fred’, he drawled with a dead pan face, ‘I was wondering, was there any more of those long toothed hags, where your wife came from, that I could marry?’ No one ever heard Fred ask Jack Jack about his marital status again.
On Halloween night, after finishing trick or treating, all the neighborhood kids would go back to his house and beg him to tell ghost stories. As they sat around his kitchen table, the candle light flickering, casting long shadows, on the oil table-cloth and the cosy kitchen, he would tell of the disasters that always occurred when any one saw the Headless Horsemen, as it galloped through the meadow to disappear in to the black of the forest. Floods, failed crops, loss of life followed in the Headless Horsemen’s track. It was a common denominator among them that would not go looking for any Headless Horsemen to invite havoc in an already chaotic life.
Jack Jack recounted a legend passed down through the generations about his Great Aunt Matilda, how she buried her pot of gold, then died the next day and to his knowledge, it had never been found. He swore if they went back the alley, across from the Half Way Brook, in the field to the right, where they planted their potatoes, up the hill to the quarry they would see her routing around the blue berry bushes, looking for her pot of gold. But don’t even blink, Jack Jack cautioned, because she may evaporate, before their very eyes, leaving them wondering if it was all in their imagination or maybe, just maybe, there were unknown realities that they had to glimpse, just to give them a yearning to see more.
Paradise awaits you. From Morguefile.com ruined_doorway.jpg By hotblack
Momma says that they all sat there, transfixed yet addicted to the tales, knowing next year, the very same stories would leave them wondering again if Jack Jack was not just a simple farmer, but maybe a graduate of higher learning from another dimension of the world, that they fervently believed ‘wasoutthere‘.
Jack you were Special… We did not know it then…We’ll see you up in Heaven….Where stories never end!
Here I am, under the cherry tree, in the Rock Garden, looking for and hiding my chestnuts.
They (the Two Footed) knew it was bound to happen because, I, (Mr. Grey Squirrel) and my kind are doggedly persistent in all we set out to achieve. No way would some fly by night homeowners with our long-established squatters rights, keep us out. The difference was we were here for eternity. They were here until they tired of us,sold the property and moved on.
I cased the joint. I traveled every inch of the roof and awnings to find the most strategic point of entrance. I found a couple of places that when I put my eye to a thin crack, I could see the unfinished attic, a paradise for winter living. The first place I gnawed at day in and out for three days (but who is counting, what else does a squirrel have to do?). However, when it came time for evaluation versus effort, I had to admit I had not made any headway through the plank. Maybe those demon Two Footed creatures who constructed this home, had put in steel two by fours, just to discourage squirrels.
So I went to my second choice – second because it was on a slippery slope and it was hard to get a grip, so to speak. Many times as I gnawed, I lost my balance, fell to the ground, had to climb the tree and start all over again, but by golly, that is life and they were not keeping me out. Finally I had made an opening that I could flatten myself like a pancake (a blessing from the Higher Power who realized squirrels need a roof over their heads too, especially in those frigid months from December to April) and squeezed in.
Mrs. Black (Grey) Squirrel Fr: Morguefile By: AcrylicArtist
And once in the home I invited my Significant Other to take up residence with me– a shiny black bushy-tailed Mrs. (Black) Grey Squirrel. The owners of the home would have had to be deaf not to know that they had free loading borders in their attic. They could hear us scurry, no, run to and fro, to and fro. The Two Footed Family tried to fall sleep in vain as we set up housekeeping.
Then there was the bowling balls that we, the Grey Squirrel Family chased down the timbers. Chestnuts, that I swear sounded like they weighed ten pounds which we had harvested diligently, all summer long, for winter staples. On top of that was the usual moving in noises. You know – the dragging and positioning of furniture for our abode to be more comfortable. What furniture, you ask naively? Well, Momma had left a corrugated box high up on the rafters.
Spoiler Alert for the Home Channel Marble Counter Top Millenniums. You may have nightmares after seeing the ceiling of a Shed Room. Just look at that Knob & Tube wiring, we can swing across.
Once in the attic we could access our Shed Room in all of it’s’ splendor. Momma saw that box, disappear, one corner at a time, as our sharp teeth ripped and our able paws dragged it away, in pieces.
Sometime, Somewhere, Somehow,Momma managed toTRASH Comments that had been sent since the beginning of January.She is very sorry and vows to be more careful going forward.
Many of you had questions which she intended to address.Some of you gave your insights, opinions, and even praise, which is truly appreciated.If you could be so kind and send them again, it would be greatly appreciated because readers:
You’re Da Bomb.
Senorita Jakita
Official Record Keeper
and Creator of
Policies and Procedures of All Creation
Who’s the Boss?
PS: I had a stern talk to Momma and set up a time line to ensure compliance.She seemed to listen attentively and accept my improvements to the system, but you know our hard-headed yet tender-♥’ed Campbell through and through and out the other side Momma.(Is that where I get it from?)
We all draw a lot, or spin a wheel or engage in some other game of chance that decides our fate. That Momma decided to take me, when my two other brothers looked just like me,was the first random act of luck.
Look at my earnest eyes! How can a kitty so handsome be so vindictive with poor, helpless Mao and Mandu? And, trust me, I didn’t mess with Charlie. She was bigger and more menacing than I was..
There were five hungry little kittens but it was the cries of Andy, The Brainiac that alerted a couple of Two Footed (the General Manager and his Assistant), that a Rescue must be arranged. We were fished out of a deep and wide automotive parts bin, trundled in the office and passed to any takers.No one wanted or needed us.Kittens under four weeks are a lot of maintenance.Momma stepped up to the plate and volunteered to take 3 – she snapped up Diva Calico Gen and The Brainiac, Andy then looked at the three left. It was like we were triplets, with our marking so similar – thick black shiny fur, white toes with a white star at our neck, a broad zigzag blaze of white down our bellies.
Yet instantly I felt Momma’s inner spirit and knew, I had to make her realize, Two Footed or Four Footed, we were soul mates. So sad to say but my other two triplet brothers were not so fortunate. They were taken in by the receptionist, who was very kind but after a week, or so, because of a volatile personal relationship, took them to SPCA, so their fate is unknown. It satisfies me to think that they were adopted by Momma clones. Or maybe they were adopted by eccentric billionaires who feed them caviar from crystal bowls.
Life was good. At the very beginning, there was talk about finding us Forever Homes with other families once we were eight weeks old. However as a willing adoptee came forward, Wonder Boy evaluated and eliminated all takers.They were too young, too old, too lazy, too shiftless.No one fit the bill of prerequisitesthat Wonder Boy had crafted.
Well, that was just dandyfor us because, you know Momma, RIP Daddy and Wonder Boy had lots of experience with cats. They were more than willing to let the cat in, let the cat out (once we were spayed or neutered). It made for a better adjusted, mentally happy cat who spent most of the out time on the front steps, in the back yard on comfy chairs or in the garage. Then of course we would take a walk on the wild side when we crossed the street to go to the ravine, where we lay out in the sun, on slabs of cement. We had full exposure to the sun, water to drink, and even better, we could see the Colony Cats, hiding in the bushes. Looking back, we were a hoity–toity threesome, with me having the most attitude because it was my job to keep The Diva and The Brainiacsafe from all takers.
Are we not the sweetest, most innocent kitties ever. Do you wonder why everyone wanted us?
But at night, when we were all inside the house, I could revert to the baby kitty I had been when I first met Momma (albeit a scheming baby). When she sat on the couch, trying to read the paper cover to cover, I would use my head as a battering ram and knock the paper out of Momma’s hands. That competed, I buried my head on her lap. Purring contentedly, I would lay on my side, begging Momma to rub my belly, don’t stop,forget the paper,the news is too distressing to take seriously anyway. But Momma, you were mentioning, you had read, pets bring down the stress level in humans. If only they could learn how to do that with their fellow felines.
Iknow, like a giant tiger in the jungle, or maybe just a bully, I gave, both Black and White Mao and Calico Mandu a life of terror, hiding under bushes, dive bombing them, while I emitted frightening snarls. They were both small cats, who I easily could pounce on, gaining complete control. Looking back that was not a period of my life worthy of celebrating. Although I never actually fought them, there were no scratches or bite marks, just emotional scarring, shame on me. I would never do that to Andy The Brainiac or Calico Genor Phantom Charlie, or even Senorita Jakita. I ♥’ed that puppy.
Look at us, Jakita deep in thought, me with slit eyes pondering sleep, both of us drawing near to soothe the other.
And like it begins, so it must end and after ten fun-filled years of life, in a matter of a short week, all of the sand, ran through my egg timer. With my Momma at my side, I grabbed the first blue cloud and sailed to heaven, into Daddy’s waiting arms.A forgiving Mandu and Mao were standing on either side of Daddy, with flip charts and overheads.
Apparently they have lots to teach me to ready me for my next life. I’ll keep you posted.
It is a ritual. Every night after supper, it is outside time for me. Once I come back in, Momma cleans and cleans my paws and tail and belly and back and head, with baby wipes, then rubs me down with a fluffy towel, while I lick her fingers. Gen waits patiently for this routine to finish because, once Momma is done with me, it is play time for Gen and I.
I chase Gen around, she hides under the bed, I follow, then as I tire of the wait, she jumps out at me. I shrug her off, chase her round and round the kitchen, down the hall, to the living room, all the while barking and complaining.Gen comes to a complete halt, I somersault over her and pounce on her back, chewing on her ears. Girlie style,Gen emits mournful criesthat brings Momma running, ready to protect the victim, and eject the antagonized. I jump on the couch out of harm’s way.
Every night, same routine, Momma admonishes me, and comforts Gen,who jumps up beside me on the couch, lays down, her head resting on her milky white paws, purring and sidling closer to me to show she has no hard feelings.
After the nightly chase, Jakita rests on the pillow and Gen snuggles next to her.
Now you know Momma is open to possibilities and holds dear the thought that she will one day be united with her loved ones and her hot dogs and cool cats, inheaven.
You will not believe me but I swear I see RIP Daddy in the living room on occasion, putting his hand on Momma’s shoulder. He has even patted my head on occasion. I can see him but it is quite apparent Momma doesn’t. Matter of fact, she says she has never seen a ghost but she heard one, she says, she does.
Apparently, it was a well-established fact that my Grandmama grew up in a hauntedhouse. They were told that the owner of the home, Paddy was on the roof with his hired help, when a fight broke out. Somehow Paddy either slipped or was pushed off the roof to his death. From that day forward he hauntedthe home, bought at a (killer…LOL) good price, since no one else would go near it. Paddy would turn on and off lights,kill flies with an invisible fly swatter and continually, relentlessly hammer shingles on the roof, trying to complete his task before the first snow of winter flew.
The haunted??? house? From Morguefile.
Momma said she well-remembered, when she stayed overnight at my grandparent’s home, sneaking in bed with Aunt-Second-Sister, knowing she was the only person in the home with her, yet hearing the persistent hammering on the roof. Bewildered by what her eyes could not see, but her ears could not deny, somewhere near dawn, Momma drifted off into a restless, troubled sleep.
Momma is told, even today, Paddy is still keeping her cousin’s family awake, as he works to finish the roof before the first snow of winter. The roof has been re-shingled many times since your death, Paddy. Everyone will long remember your existence and pass your story on, for generations to come.
How about it, Gen, should you and I urge Paddy to ‘go in to the light’. He has surely earned passage to his eternal rest. Meanwhile when I am staring in to the distance, my tail wagging, it probably means I can see RIP Daddy, big smile, bending down to scratch my ears. I just wish Momma could see what I see.
Jakita & Gen, eyes wide open, staring in to the unknown. Do they see RIP Daddy or are they listening to Momma discuss the Mystery of the Reality?
So, what do you think Gen? Oh, you ‘want more’ as Wonder Boy said, at fourteen mouths old – ‘more – want more’. No worries, I got lots to tell . You wonder if we should share this with the other cats. No, Brainiac Andy, would scoff at us and Charlie would hide away in the basement for weeks, not wanting to embrace the ‘unknown’ since the ‘known’, is even more than she can handle.
But we could tell Ruby, the Wide Eyed Monkey. She is so wise and all-seeing.
Trust me, I have heard plenty, so listen up, okay?
Here I am, cute as a button, the Ruler of the Free World, NOTE TO SELF: Female, of course…or is that more like the Ruler of My Own World of Felines and a Manipulator of Others,able to sashay around with tail held high, as I purvey the world through my glittering green eyes.
Gen shows her pretty white belly with a black belt separating the north from the south, the splotches of various colors weaving a map in her rich fur.
But there are things I was born without. Still, it is easy in this world of ours, to build your own war chest (and other kinds of chests that plastic surgeons provide) paid by, you got it, plastic cards with outrageous interest rates and credit limits. Still there is one thing I ache for and mean to have one day. It is long, thick flower petal eyelashes, (hot pink would do) with silver and gold sparkles to accentuate my pea green eyes. It would be so amazing.I could start a trend.
Any venture capitalist’s interested in bank-rolling start-up costs – let’s say an 80/20 split? I am sure I can talk Momma in to donating to the cause. She is such a pushover for a well thought out, profitable Five Year Business Plan.
Also, after realizing the Two Footed wear shoes which protects their feet as well as glamorize them, I have put my creativity to use. What else would accentuate the Diva Calico Gen’s individualism, but a pair of itty-bitty-kitty, bejewelled high heels so I can prance coquettishly on the Cat Walk, capturing and keeping the attention of all living creatures.
Again it might be a jackpot of an idea in a world troubled by recession, if lots of kitties, what the heck, maybe even some puppies, what about birds and butterflies, all ordered itty-bitty-kitty high heels,and pink petal eye lashes,paid for with a plastic card by the Millennium public for their Millennium pets.
I know, I know they are not for everyday wear, mercy, I might blind myself or break my pretty diva neck if I had them on when I am having a game of tag or being Canadian, playing a round of floor hockey, with my buddies, but I want them, okay.
The Five Year Business Plan Gen considers options to get those pink petal eye lashes and itty-bitty-kitty high heels.
And I will leave it up to the Alpha, High Alert – Type A Personality, Ultimate Mother Earth doglet, Senorita Jakita (my BFF) to come up with any necessary additions to her Policies and Procedures for All Creation – I mean, don’t tell anyone, Jakita may have a higher IQ than me, still, I shouldn’t boast, but I am a creative genius.
So think about it. If you want to set up crowd sourcing, (kidding) let me know. I want ideas to find the best way to move forward. I am ready to take suggestions – and remember, for copyright purposes, you heard about pink petal eye lashes and of itty-bitty-kitty bejewelled high heels for the Four Footed HERE first.
