Author: housekeeping

Welcome to Jakita’s Neighborhood

Bad fur day...should wore a hat, Momma.
Bad fur day…should wore a hat, Momma.

Out of the cemetery and down the street Momma and I march. We meet up with that friendly couple who have cats (I won’t hold that against them) but always have time to discuss me.

Next we pass the big red Canada Post Box that Momma drops envelopes in. I am not sure what that is all about. She explained its use one time but I was eying a brilliant yellow buttercup patch with a white Butterfly hovering over it – should I lunge and snap? Uh, nah, bad Karma, especially around Momma.  ‘Let nature run its inevitable course’, she says, she does.

Finally we are at the corner and turn left, where a little Mom and Pop Store sell all those lottery tickets, as well as baskets of flowers every summer and odds and sods that are going no where fast.  I wonder about this enterprise because I heard Momma speculate, that maybe it is a front for some illicit den of iniquity because they do not seem to sell enough to stay in business. The store opens when the owner shows up and closes when he feels like calling it a day. It is not a very reliable schedule for the customers, least those who are just trying to buy milk for their kiddies’ cereal.   Even the homeless are perplexed about how it stays in business since it never seems to be open when they pass by. I know this because one day, a customer, new to Brampton asked Momma, what gives, what time does the owner show up?  All she could do was shrug apologetically (she is Canadian, after all) and say, ‘You got me on that one. No one has a clue….least of all the owner.’

As we mosey on down the street I see The Hat Lady coming, long before Momma recognizes her.  My tail starts wagging, a Friendly, Momma will stop to chat.  The Hat Lady’s property also backs on to the cemetery. As a matter of fact, she can go outside and wave at RIP Daddy, she is that close to his gravestone. She lives in the old homestead, built by her father, over sixty years ago.  The Hat Lady is a devoted Presbyterian. ‘What’s that, Momma? Oh, yeah, a do-gooder with a different umbrella, hers being under the Presbyterian banner. Didn’t some of our ancestors march under that, till they broke away and  merged with another Church?’  Water under the bridge, water way under the bridge.

Although The Hat Lady seems to approve of me,  she doesn’t have time for a pet, in her life.  As they chat, I tire of the wait, and start complaining in a mournful warble, to Momma who, understands and chooses to ignore me.

Finally we are on our way, and  cross the road. ‘Oh, there is Ms. Portugal, you know, her property backs on to ours – let’s talk to her, for just a minute, Jakita, I promise’, says Momma.  ‘Mr. Portugal (her husband) is fine’, says Ms. Portugal,  ‘But he still drives me crazy, wanders all over, someday, he will get himself killed in the traffic’,  she says, she does. So true, we have seen him absolutely totter across four lanes of traffic, cars changing lanes on the fly, to avoid  hitting him, horns blaring, no one stopping, least of all Mr. Portugal who apparently is on auto pilot and angel wings. I am so glad I have not been assigned to be his protectee.

We say farewell for today, see ya tomorrow, and move on, turn right at the corner, past our neighbour to our left, who are always in

Downtime Don't come between a dog and her bone, especially now, since I figured out how to hold it!
Don’t come between a dog and her bone.

transition. We can not figure out who the owners are, who is in and who is out.  It seem to be a never-ending parade of unfortunates.  But it is all good because now we are, home again, home again – and there is no place like home.

Get out of my way kitties. I am on a mission to find a place for some water and some downtime.

Just give the dawg  a bone!

Email: housekeeping@hotdogcoolcats.com

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Charlie Gets A Life

Look at Me. I am not vain (well, hardly) but have you ever seen a kitty with so many shades of green in her eyes?
Look at Me. I am not vain (well, hardly) but have you ever seen a kitty with so many shades of green in her eyes?

Oooohhh, I love Momma, I love, love, love Momma.  Every day I still ask myself, what possessed me to behave so radically, when I could have had a life of ease?  Maybe my brain waves became scrambled from breathing the rancid air in the crawl space . I  believed I could tuck myself in to secret crevices where the Two Footed Foe could not even find me.

Then there was the all knowing Kat Mandu, who kept me captive and believing.  How was I to know I was a classic Stockholm Syndrome victim?  It makes me shutter to think that the only reason I would approach Momma, dear, sweet Momma, was to have her go to the door in the middle of the night to let that self-serving little Mandu back in the house to sleep with me.  But Mandu passed and along with her went her stories of horror from her life on the Moraine where she was abused, starved and rejected by both the Two and Four Footed that walk among us.

No. Charlie will not back down. Andy, you are out-of-here.
No. Charlie will not back down.

Give me a break. Tell me to shake my head a time or two.  When did a Two Footed abuse you, you may ask?  I have to admit…..well, never.  They fed me, brushed me, petted me, looked disappointed when I hissed, horrified when I would emit a deep-throated growl at other cats and totally mesmerized when I purred.  So what exactly made me believe a psychopath cat?  Maybe because she mothered me – she looked out for me and she played the best chess game of divide and conquer, winning each game but losing the  battle to live in harmony with all that share the earth plane.

The very day Mandu got sick, I dragged my solid body supported by my arthritic legs, upstairs and started to survey the lay of the land.  I had a feeling I was going to have to be not only the Quarterback, but the whole team.

Momma was no problem.  She did what all good Momma’s do, combing me, scratching me, talking in a loving manner. However, sneaky Momma had a plan to keep me upstairs.  A month or so after Mandu passed, Momma had someone close off the crawl space.  Not only did that keep me out, it kept all the cats from being sucked into the vortex whenever they were sick or in a moody mood.  It was not a popular choice at first for any of the cats who felt their privacy was being invaded.  However, in the long-term, we have come to recognize the wisdom, in this decision, Momma, since isolation leads to neurosis be it Two or Four Footed Critters.

Still, I had some mending of fences with the other cats since I had routinely denied them access to food dishes, the water and even the staircase, like the Troll under the Bridge, refusing safe passage. I hissed, I snarled and even attacked the other cats when they had the nerve to enter the basement, my sanctuary.

I kept a wary eye on Puppy Jakita.  She was so sweet-natured, while still very protective of all the household and it menageries, that I quickly felt comfortable around her.  We played a game of keeping our eyes down yet inching closer and closer to each other as we fell asleep, both trusting in this new  relationship.

Brave Charlie now shares Momma's bed with a kitty's best friend Ruby, the Exquisite Stuffed Monkey.
Brave Charlie now shares Momma’s  bed with a kitty’s best friend Ruby.

Now that I did not have a crawl space, I wanted a comfortable  place to wile away the hours, where I could see what was going on, without having to part of the action.  I chose the bedroom of my RIP Daddy, laying my head on a  pillow, my body on the duvet, which I routinely burrowed beneath, to stay toasty warm.  And that was good but I was starting to want to have more time with Momma.  All day long she ran around, doing this and that, so it did not matter where I slept, she was constantly in and  out and  all about.  However, at nights, she slept in her bedroom with Jakita – no problem – Jakita and I were buds, weren’t we?

So I devised a plan to share the inner sanctum. I laid at Momma’s bedroom door. I pushed my paw under the bottom of the door, trying to miraculously open it, but that was a no-go. Guess I had the wrong tool box. Then I threw my solid body at said door, until, like ‘Open Sesame’ the  knob complied and I rapidly skittered in. I hid under the bed, then in one leap, sprang out on top of Momma, waking her from a deep sleep,  sending  her into shock and awe, all at the same time.  I was so proud of myself.  I purred so loudly, that Jakita, at the foot of the bed, whined at me to settle down.

 

Let Sleeping Dog Lie, Charlie!
Let Sleeping Dog Lie, Charlie!

Rule Number One, if I was sharing the bed – Jakita  was not like the cats, napping all day. She had a lot of responsibility, so she needed her rest at night….so settle down, already! 

Okay, okay, I get it, I will settle down for now but I got some plans Jakita, we’ll talk in the morning……

 

Senorita Jakita and The Graveside Walks

Here I am, out at the cemetery, resting as I watch those cemetery squirrels dart up the trees.
Here I am, out at the cemetery, resting as I watch those perpetually in motion squirrels dart up the trees.

So truth be told, it being stranger than fiction, but all was well with a daily romp in the cemetery, until, Daddy, well, you know, died.  Then all bets were off the table. I think just last winter, I taught Momma a lesson.  Remember, how I complained that she dragged me down to his grave, deafening me as she punched holes in the crust, sinking in to thick snow, because she had to fix the flowers and windmills she so lovingly left. She is so proud (isn’t that one of seven deadly sins) of the amazing silk bouquet of tulips and roses and then that Christmas Bough with cream lilies, adorned with silver ornaments on an evergreen branch because:

1) There were no other footprints in the snow so Momma must love Daddy better than other people who never visited their loved ones (at least not in the Arctic Vortex Season),

2) Momma’s bouquet with windmills that spun merrily, and stood out so succinctly, would ensure everyone knew that you must be Dutch, Daddy.  As you used to say – ‘You’re not much, it you’re not Dutch‘ – uh, where does that leave our Momma, Daddy?

The ice storm had left the grave yard like a war zone, branches falling 150 feet from two hundred year old trees, which up to this point in history had stood the test of time.  It must have been frightful in the cemetery that night as trees and branches crackled, laden with ice, falling heavily to the ground, uprooting the tributes, such as bouquets and Christmas boughs.  At Daddy’s site, the Christmas Evergreen, thick with ice, was left lying horizontal in front of the gravestone.

You Praise God. RIP Daddy's flower arrangement.
You Praise God. RIP Daddy’s flower arrangement.

So on this day.  Momma became distracted, trying to manipulate the Evergreen Branch upright again. I saw my opportunity and, I disappeared. She can lead the cow to water but she can not make her drink.

Who knows how many minutes had passed before she looked around for me?  At first she called my name, in a relaxed manner.  I never go far, I must just be behind a gravestone or a monument or maybe crawled under a bush. Momma laughs and says I walk like I got my mosey on more often than running these days. (What is my mosey Momma?).  She says it is when I walk like Stockard Channing  in  Grease,  with a slow-moving hip swivel, to gain the attention of the John Travoltas’ of the world). Huh?

Then from my vantage point I could see Momma move to where kids were playing with a big dog on the other side of the cemetery fence. Had they seen me, she asked? Like I would hang around where kids were screaming and another dog was barking. Give your head a shake Momma. You should know me better than that.

A towering monument by a big old tree to mark the prominence of some long gone family, with the pointed end of the pillar pointing the way to heaven.
A towering monument by a big old tree to mark the prominence of some long gone family, with the pointed end of the pillar directing traffic to heaven.

I saw as Momma  went one way, then another, like the cemetery is a huge place that a little dog like me could stay hidden for a long time.  As I have said, I have those bionic ears, I can hear the butterflies in Africa and could easily read the panic and desperation as Momma  plowed  her way through the snow, dreading the thought of going home,  and telling Wonder Boy that she had managed to lose me, her Jakita-Boo-Boo.

I was not lost.  I was waiting.  I know Momma like the back of my paw.  I made my way back to the paved driveway where I knew Momma would exit,  I laid down on the road, head resting  on outstretched paws, waiting for her. Because of my size in comparison to the high snowbanks, I was hidden from her line of vision.  I may never understand the level of relief Momma felt when she saw me there waiting, waiting patiently for her to return.  It was a good life lesson, my eyes told her. I would never desert her but there comes a time in life, when No-Means-No, Momma.

It was a somber march home.  We exited on Church Street, hung a left, greeted the couple whose property back on to the cemetery. They are so fine and polite. He is a Union  Man, Momma tells me, with his work boots, blue jeans, plaid shirt and lunch box while she teaches pet grooming at a local college. I don’t believe she teaches manners (at least to her dogs) because her little Jack Russell mix  barks, snarls and growls his way through life. Oh, and  don’t get close, he bites as well, admit the embarrassed owners. Now what possible use is a dog like that?

I must bring him a copy of my Policies and Procedures between the Doggies and All Other Creatures That Inhabit Earth Plane.

Email: housekeeping@hotdogcoolcats.com

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Senorita Jakita Arrives

Finally, we have arrived at our destination, the Cemetery, a Gated, (from Sunset to Sunrise) Security Patrolled landscape of headstones, monuments, angels and flat stones of all sizes, and various ages, starting some 200 hundred years ago.

The massive trees, that provide shade, conceal bird nests that are filled with chirping peepers every spring. There are paved streets, like a giant maze, that go around and around, then dump you back out to the streets.

In an attempt to ban the industrious Ladies of the Night that have been known to ply their trade in dark corners,  every Entrance / Exit has huge iron gates that are closed and padlocked every night at sundown.  I can not say for sure, but do you think the gates keep the dead in or the live out?

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.

Of course the graveyard has lots of benches, set up in the shade cast by the thick foliage of the leaves of the trees, where you can sit and recollect your past and plan your future.  The benches are sometimes occupied by the Homeless or those with Mental Health issues,  in our midst. Where else do they have to go?  They have breakfast, lunch and supper at the local Soup kitchen.  It is not like they have money to go shopping or family to visit so a bench in the shade works fine during the long, hot summer.  At night the shelters open their doors to give them the dignity of a bed to sleep in. The next morning, the process starts all over again.

Sometimes after complaints from the families of those occupying the plots, the Cemetery Security tell the Homeless to keep moving.  Ah, it is always a struggle between the Law-and-Order-Right versus the Do-Gooders-to-the-Left. What are we again, Momma?  Oh, yeah, we are Radical-Center-of-the-Road (like everyone should be). I note Momma nods to them, but no talking, to show respect for their privacy, she tells me. I don’t look at them or even wag my tail. Better to be ships that pass in the night, rather than to reject them, (true story, I am so ashamed but I feel their fear and uncertainty and back away if they reach out to pat me) or for me to intimidate, or frighten them. Best case scenario, I am invisible to them.

There are reams of huge, medium, and small flower beds to bedazzle your eyes which are full of plants, flowers, grasses of every size and color that attract butterflies, humming birds and tiny glowing fairies that sparkle like jewels in a crown. (I know they are there, I saw them).

So here I am, in the Cemetery, taking a rest between chasing squirrels - see all that different, stones and monuments, some hand carved. Also note the massive trees that had limbs torn from their trunks during the ice storm , leaving birds without nests and some benches with less shade.
So here I am, in the Cemetery, taking a rest between chasing squirrels – see all that different, stones and monuments, some hand carved. 

In the midst of all this paradise, the squirrels live, scampering from tree to tree, up the trunks, swinging from branch to branch. I mean, I believe the squirrels are begging me to bring it on. It keeps them in the game,  all dashing, flying and shrieking, ‘Nana, nana boo-boo…..you can’t get me’ and they are so right, I can’t.

There was not one inch of that graveyard I did not sniff Pre-Daddy-God-Rest-His Soul.  Like the wind, I moved from one section to the next, the world my oyster, sniffing and pawing, well, until, you know…Daddy went to Heaven and Momma  wanted him close to her and home and I just can not do that, Momma.  I can not tell you what it is, do I smell him, do I sense him, you ask?  I do not know what it is but it is too sad for me. I can go to any other part of the cemetery, please Momma, don’t pull me down there.  But Momma has a hard, practical head so we are here, let us visit Daddy, her will be done. Like in the poem, ‘In Praise of Older Women’ she bends over Daddy’s grave, willing to wash the limbs of her dead, feel the pain of others by the process of osmosis, and endures forever, hoping in some way to connect with that which was, and ever will be.

OK, I get it Momma, but I am not there yet. I am too young, and far too sensitive. It brings me pain and it brings you pain,  so I cannot condone it.  I am the Protector, you are the Protected. I will visit anywhere else in the grave yard.  Just don’t make me lay by Daddy’s grave. I am sorry. Maybe I am shallow,  but I am not like that little doggie that spent his days and nights at his master’s grave.

PS:  I read my Job Description carefully and my duties included serving the living.  There was nothing about graveyard vigils.

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Sir Clem-Ka-Diddle-Hopper

Hey, it’s me – Sir Clem-Ka-Diddle-Hopper. You knew you would be hearing from me sooner or later because I have been scoping out the Kitty Club Med location and I have rights too. For now though, no one else is staking out this freezing garage with the leaking roof so I have put in my claim for squatters privileges. I am fully aware  and well versed in property  management law 101. It is up to owner to evict a squatter who does not have a signed agreement in place and does not pay rent – with what, I ask you? Knowing that liberal leaning Two Footed Momma,  it is not too likely she would take me to Kitty kangaroo Court.

Here I am, getting the rays on the porch veranda, still an Outside Only Cat. At this point, I was friendly. Momma was allowed to pat me, brush me but I would not enter the home of the Two Footed, Of course Momma, crafty as me, seduced me with food and water. She kept moving the food dish closer to the door, then in the door and the borders gradually evaporated. As long as I could make my escape back outside in the twinkling of an eye, I was and am a Happy Camper - does that make me an Indoor/Outdoor Cat now?
Here I am, getting the rays on the porch veranda, still an Outside Only Cat. At this point, I was friendly.  As long as I could make my escape back outside in the twinkling of an eye, I was and am a Happy Camper.

Let’s start by telling you about my coloring. I am a sleek grey/white/ black/ginger/red glinting highlights (in the sun) cat with black pinstripes interwoven and scalloped throughout my thick coat. I have  a full bushy tail ringed in grey, black and white flecks with a black vertical line running from the tip to the base of my tail and up my back. I appear to wear a white bib, that travels from my belly to my jaw with creamy white paws and mouth.

It started late last fall, me, following the Kitty Club Med from the Cat Colony  to their home.  My buddies from the Colony would follow me, a tungsten  grey and white cat,  Seven and 24601,  my Baby Daddy, (named after the Les Miz prisoner), a once handsome long-haired grey striped tabby . Now he has chewed up ears, gashes out of neck, big wads of fur missing,  and drags himself around on three paws. Also a pretty, dainty grey and white neighbor’s cat who had a home but loved the night life, would also join in the parade.

Fall turned to winter, rain to snow, to a massive ice storm, back to an Arctic Vortex, then more snow on snow.

If every picture tells a story, Momma's birch tree bows down to that it can not control. Thousands of tree limb snapped, crackled and popped while we Colony kitties huddled together, petrified to stay in case a tree fell on us, terrified to run and be buried in flying debris. That we made it to the other side is a miracle. No wonder I went looking for a stable, long term resident. The Colony was a tad short on protection, be it Wild Cats, Forest Freaks or Mother Nature on a Rampage, oh and light on food during the winter months.
If every picture tells a story, Momma’s birch tree bows down to that which it can not control. The Colony was a tad short on protection, be it Wild Cats, Forest Freaks or Mother Nature on a Rampage, oh and light on food especially during the winter months.

I do not have the words to explain the depth of the cold endured, as the temperature plummeted and stubbornly stayed below all past norms. The Kitty Club Med disappeared into the very bowels of their home, sometimes venturing out if the sun was out and the temperature hit zero or above while I shivered and sheltered to avoid death by exposure to the elements.  It was time for me to put a Survivor’s Plan in place.

 

I looked around at my environment.  I noticed that Momma parked her car in the garage.  In the warm weather the Indoor/Outdoor Cats jumped on  the hood of the car (I could do that), then scrambled on to the roof and hoisted themselves up to boards that ran along the ceiling of the garage, where they settled down, twisting their necks in order to spy on the neighbor hood. (I could do all of that). What I would not do was encourage Seven and 24601 to join me – in fact I would run them back to the Colony as I ran the neighbor cat home.Unfortunately we learn at our Baby Mama’s breast, it is a dog-eat-dog world in a Cat Colony.….so I am short on the Golden Rule of  ‘doing on to others what you would have them do to you.’

I have got to start practicing that if I want to live at the Kitty Club Med where I notice how they are polite to each other, no hissing, no snarling, no biting, no scratching allowed.  It seems I have a lot to learn.

 

 

 

 

 

Mr. Grey Squirrel

You have heard from a Hot Dog and various Cool Cats but now I will speak up. As the first order of business, I, Mr. Grey Squirrel, will chastise Momma. Seriously, I mean, look at how Momma so carefully covered every flower with a thick layer of compost leaves, protecting them from the deep frost, snow and ice of winter.  All of the Garden Angels have been taken inside.

The Legendary wise Mr. Man Chu carrying, Puff, the Magic Dragon. See how their backs face the steps so when the side door opens, they are bathed in warmth come winter, air conditioning in the summer. Tell me again, why do we squirrels have to be scavengers both for food and shelter. Is any one listening out there?
The Legendary wise Mr. Man Chu carrying, Puff, the Magic Dragon. See how their backs face the steps so when the side door opens, they are bathed in warmth come winter, air conditioning in the summer.

Even the Sun Dial and the awesome Mr. Man Chu have been moved just outside the entrance, so that every time the front door opens, they are bathed in heat.  The Fairies that appear on a Moonlit Summer Night are hibernating in the crevices of the stones that bleed a river of gold and silver, in the sunshine.  (One day when the sun was high, I swear I saw them peek out at me).

Yet those of us, like squirrels, raccoons and the lonely old possum are abandoned by Momma during the winter months.   I mean, my family, used to be able to live in Momma’s attic because of the big holes in the roof, that the previous owner allowed.  As a matter of fact, generations of my family lived in the attic, chasing each other over the beams, to the chagrin of those who tried to sleep below.  Without consulting me, Momma replaced the roof.  We were locked out, off the island, gone baby gone. Isn’t there a law against that????

Even more challenging, the family had the utmost nerve to bring home a Yorkie puppy, Zanny, who must have mistaken us for a rats.  Sometimes, when I was minding my own business, just trying to retrieve something from the vegetable garden and she would descend upon me, all spit and vinegar. With her yappy bark, she deafened me, driving me to the safety of a nearby tree trunk or a fence.  Thank God Zanny could not manoeuvre climbing trees.

But six cats. What’s that all about?  Isn’t that a bit extreme?  I know there is a law against that! I just have to let city hall know! Yes, yes, they are all good-natured in comparison to that yappy dog.  Those cats, they actually chase me up the tree, jump on the roof of the garage, get their fat bodies through the holes and knock the chestnuts I worked so hard to gather for our very next meal, on the floor, then out the door, for a game of road hockey.

How ever will my family and me survive another a cruel Canadian winter? It is not like there are Food Banks out there for squirrels or is there?  It is a miracle of the Blessed Baby Jesus that we live to tell the tale, so to speak.  Momma, can’t you do something?

Check it Out! Look how long and full my tail is, how alert my eyes and ears are. I am perched on the sundial (Note: location near the porch) while that beautiful Garden Fairy, hands folded in prayer, is facing the front door so she is protected from the environment each time the door opens. But hey, what gives, look at me, I have praying paws as well, but so far, I still have to scrounge to eat and find shelter. When the world order changes, we will not forget this indignity visited upon the Squirrel Nation,
Check it Out! Look how long and full my tail is, how alert my eyes and ears are. But hey, what gives, look at me, I have praying paws as well, but so far, I still have to scrounge to eat and find shelter. When the world order changes, we will not forget this indignity visited upon the Squirrel Nation.

Momma says, ‘I hear you, Mr. Grey Squirrel.  But even so, with all of this adversity, you are looking good, your body is robust, your tail is majestic and as well attuned as our yappy Yorkie.  When you shriek we just think, ‘Yada, Yada, Yada’ but when you sit on the roof and cry, Momma must admit, it reaches into her hard heart and makes her wonder if she should re-organize and prioritize her beliefs and responsibilities to all of God’s creatures and critters.‘

Momma knows, she knows, Mr. Grey Squirrel, she is the daughter of Her-Father-God-Rest-His Soul, who invited squirrels in his living room, enticing them with peanuts, strewn haphazardly on a path that led to him. She will not be following suit and opening the door wide for your flea-bitten family to infest her indoor pets. However, Wonder Boy, now he is a different story – like his grandfather before him, he is a squirrel charmer, his voice a haunting flute that entices them to follow him, even barefoot through a bed of hot embers.

However, fair is fair.  Momma has talked endlessly to the cats and the Yorkie, about showing deference, being sensitive to our plight but when Momma tried to present the tale from a squirrel’s perspective, she suspected, like her, they also think, ‘Yada, Yada, Yada’, till she pinches the tip of their ear, to get their undivided attention and respect.

However, after an Emergency Pet Conference, chaired by Momma, attended by Zanny and six kitties, I was given the following resolutions that will be in place immediately. ‘Mr. Grey Squirrel’,  I was told,  ‘We have the utmost admiration for you and your family because you have taught us the importance of looking, listening, and learning.

Zanny took Tigger to wherever she was headed…. and lrft him there….

And how responsible and giving you are.  We noticed what you did – bringing chestnuts to our puppies’ stuffed toys, Babbie and Tigger who Zanny so recklessly abandoned in the back yard. You are such a good sport about it all, making sure that nourishment is provided to all, even to the least worthy, like a Karl Marx soldier, on his best day.’

Yes, it is true, we can be annoying, we may shriek, we may cry, but we will never move on.   Come to think of it, aren’t we your most favourite outdoor ‘Wildlife Without Borders’ Squatters?   We have plans to continue the stealth takeover of neighbor hoods and family homes by becoming completely domesticated, and lovable like your cat or dog but sssshhhh…it’s a secret.

Email: housekeeping@hotdogcoolcats.com

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Jakita Tells On Momma (Again)

Did I tell you about the time Momma decided it was time to better anchor the cabinet which had a kind of, sort of, lean-to it, over the toilet to the bathroom wall? I thought not! It was a disaster, waiting to happen.

As Momma put her head down to look under to see where the screws were located, the whole cabinet crashed off the wall, on to the bathroom floor, ejecting all the junk collected for the past seventeen years since Momma had moved here.  The floor was knee-deep from hoarding old medications, empty prescription bottles, a rainbow of vitamins, hair clasps, soaps, treasures that should have been trashed long time ago. Momma’s Guardian Angels, the Arch Angels, God and Baby Jesus are the only ones who stood between Momma and a broken neck that day.

The Praying Angel - one of many who keep Momma safe from herself . At the bottom right see the Chinese dragon being carried in Manchu's arms, offering up more protection for a clumsy mumsy.
The Praying Angel – one of many who keep Momma safe from herself . At the bottom right see the Chinese dragon being carried in Manchu’s arms, offering up more protection for a clumsy mumsy.

Miraculously, all Momma was left with was a very bruised, somewhat swollen left arm, a little whiplash, from moving out from under the cabinets’ trajectory that any inanimate object produces. Also a lot more respect and knowledge that there are some things an eighty-five pound weakling should not tackle.

But then there is the other thing, it almost feels like gossip to report it, you may accuse me of being mean-spirited but it has to be said, if I am going to be allowed to ‘tell all’ that confounds me.  Since the time I was able to walk on a leash, every afternoon, we would cross busy Centre Street (good job I am on a leash because the way the traffic flies past, I’d be meeting Zanny’s fate), and go past the Friendly Lady’s home. I just hope, hope, hope she has her long-haired hamster outside in his cage. It is so much fun to sniff him and watch his long whiskers quiver. Then we continue our walk further, stop to talk to Neighborhood Landlord, with the heels of his shoes held on with thick elastic bands. No, no, he is not poor, he owns many apartments and houses (and by the looks of his various gateways, stuffed with unplated cars, a Curbside Car Dealer)  that make him a good income but for years he got his safety shoes for free, thanks to his union job, and by George, he is not paying for new ones, any time soon.

Also, even though the Neighborhood Landlord’s son makes a gazillion $ in IT working at NASA Johnson Space Centre, down in Houston, Texas, he goes down every year to renovate his home – no use paying for it when Dad can do it for free. No wonder our economy is floundering. Anyway, an elastic works just fine, well, maybe, he conceded, not so good when it rains because his feet get wet but the home improvements for his son gives

Just sitting here, ready to go. Like the post man - rain, sleet, or snow we walk . Rain Coat Check, Rain Bonnet check, Leash check
Just sitting here, ready to go.
Like the post man – rain, sleet, or snow, we walk .

him a reason to go to Texas every winter.  Not like his life had been easy, with his wife, the mother of his son being killed in a car accident when the lad was barely seven years old.  I tell you, I sit and listen, trying not to whine and get impatient. Everybody has a story.  What they need is someone to tell it to. That is where Momma comes in.

Up  we go, past The Dog Lady’s house and I run up to the steps for a cuddle from her and a romp with her SPCA Black Poodle Rescue Dog, Princess, that surely has the life of Riley. Now The Dog Lady has taken in a long-eared, sad eyed beagle dash hound mix pup that no one else wanted – she is a good woman.  But don’t get any ideas, Momma.  I am not as good-natured as Princess. Remember, everything is mine, mine and mine and I don’t share…with other dogs.

Finally we have reached our destination – The Cemetery – the gated rolling acres of well nourished, maintained professionally cut grass, each blade seeming to be the same length and the same color of green. (It belongs to the City and Momma pays taxes ….as well spent over $12,000.00 for a plot ….so it should be well-kept).

 

GravestonesThere are headstones, monuments, angels and tombstones of all sizes, and various ages, starting some 200 hundred years ago. The massive trees, that provide shade are brimming with bird nests that are filled with chirping peepers every spring. Like a maze, there are paved streets, that go around and around, then dump out to the streets. Every night all the gates, every entrance, are locked. I can not say, for sure, if it is to keep the dead in or the live out. I am keeping an ear to the ground….I will let you know more when I know more. Pinkie Promise.

 

 

Sir Casey Expounds

One day when the Kitty Club Med left the Cat Colony Zone, walking single file, I followed them, hiding behind trees, under bushes, scurrying to catch up. I squeezed under the link fence, waiting till they crossed the street and walked up the sidewalk. Still single file, and obviously the Leader, the Black & White with the distinctive Penguin Pattern Colors, from the white around his mouth, continuing down to his underbelly, with white toes, marched forward, not looking to his left or right.

Like their outdoor escapades, always together, sharing the same space, with distance to separate egos - except for BFF Jakita and Calico Gen - I (Casey) had not made it to Momma's bed yet (Andy top left, Beau, bottom right).
See BFF Jakita and Calico Gen – I (Casey) had not made it to Momma’s bed yet (Andy top left, Beau, bottom right).

Next in line was the Calico Kitty, so delightful with a tail ringed in hues from ginger, to black to white with the tip a dark charcoal. No wonder she was such a Diva.  Following Calico Kitty (her brothers ran surveillance, protecting her at all costs), was the biggest and the blackest of the Black and Whites.  It almost seemed like his dark green eyes blended into his fur so you could not tell where his eyes ended and the fur began.  Every once in a while  he would stare behind like he sensed, even if he did not see me as I crept surreptitiously behind, using tree trunks and bushes, as camouflage.

When I saw the three cats turn into a gate of a little brick house with a detached garage that had seen better days, I hid under the umbrella mulberry bush, where the long flowing branches covered in green leaves, protected me from all prying eyes.  Like who is kidding who? The three of them paraded over to the tree, looked under, the biggest Black & White (aka Beau Cat) gave a low snarl, like this is private property, get off. Then, tails in air,  they turned in tandem to go find their favourite perches till Momma bid them to come inside.

Here I am, no scars, clean eyes, my fur no longer patchy. I am a fine looking fellow.
Here I am, no scars, clean eyes, my fur no longer patchy. I am a fine-looking fellow.

From my vantage point, I could see all.  It was like Shangri–La to me.  There were huge flower beds, with bushes and flowers to hide under. The front yard had been ripped out and a rainbow of flowers had been planted, with stepping-stones so you could sit and help Momma weed.  The huge granite stone porch at the front of the house was made for a kitty to lie down and soak up the sun. What was the most amazing thing for a kitty to understand was this huge flower bed surrounded in different stones from colored pebbles to river rocks to pink and red crushed brick which surrounded squares of shiny white dolomite on which tiny crystals were flung at random – you needed sun glasses to look at it.

Dad's last piece of Art for the minimalist naturalist - pebbles, red crushed brick, river rock and white dolomite that was sprinkled with glittering penny size crystal quartz. Maybe, designed by Momma, but hard labor, Daddy .
Dad’s last piece of Art for the minimalist naturalist –  designed by Momma,  but  the hard labor, all Daddy.

Now I came from a Cat Colony (but my Baby Daddy didn’t, my Baby Mama told me) and I met up with lots of rocks and stones but not micro managed to perfection. Surely it must have been arranged by the Garden Angels my Baby Mama had told us about the night we were all trembling, as the big thunderstorm broke limbs from the trees and the lighting temporarily blinded us.  Living in a place like this would be Paradise! Whoa! No wonder those three Hoity Cats had Cat-a-Tude.

To the side of the house was the actual entrance. The three cats walked up the steps of the porch and found their designated perches by the law of who’s on first.  I noticed the penguin Black & White, always the leader, jumped up on the bench to the left of the door.  Calico Kitty jumped up on the bench, a foot or so down from the Penguin.  The second Black & White Cat, sat to the right of the door anticipating how the door opened, realizing, like how they walked home, they would file in the house because there are rules, and he is The Muscle where Penguin is the Brainiac, and Calico Kitty is the Diva. They all sat with their white-tipped toes folded neatly under them as they surveyed their kingdom.  Still, there was plenty of room for me on that porch – just give me some time and scheming.

Then the door opened, I saw their Momma and I knew, without a doubt I would do everything possible to make this my forever home.  She patted and stroked each kitty, the Penguin she called Andy Cat, the Calico, Diva Gen and the Muscle, Beau Cat – huh, what ever she called me, trust me, I’d come running. She had an ongoing conversation, letting them know how happy she was to see them, how delighted she was that they all came back in one piece. They ignored her chatter, in their quest to get inside out of the heat and humidity. No one told them and they probably did not realize cats originated on hot deserts so can tolerate heat but apparently not these ‘hot-house-cats’. Fine, I thought, I will just lay here under the mulberry bush and sleep till the sun goes down and their nocturnal nature drives them back outside to explore the world after dark.

I (Casey) finally make it to Momma's bed. Calico Gen is ignoring me. Jakita, lays between us, protecting me from Gen's huff. Wide eyed stuffed monkey, Ruby did not seem to be bothered by my presence.
I (Casey – bottom right) finally make it  to Momma’s bed. Calico Gen is ignoring me. Jakita is running interference.

And it happened, like clockwork. The outside light came on, the door opened and out came Andy Cat,  Diva Gen, then Beau Cat who will, I know, tell their own stories.

In the meantime, I am going back to the Cat Colony to find Seven.  Wait till he hears how the other half live!

 

 

Momma Is Back

And so the story goes, Momma and Wonder Boy went off to a wedding (picture below provides proof or is it all just a hoax) in the land of milk and honey, where the freedom bell rings. The bride was so beautiful, so gracious and now by marriage, so Canadian that she is going to be watching hockey every Saturday night. Well, let’s not get carried away, we don’t watch hockey and we are Canadian, but don’t tell…it’s another secret.   Not enough can be said about the groom, an Officer and a Gentleman,  because he is handsome, smart and beloved by Momma and Wonder Boy.

The Proof Picture: When the call went out, this is what Canadians at a Wedding look like. Actually it is what the Symons and Powell Family look like, at a wedding.The lovely bride stands in front of the handsome JAG groom. Wonder Boy, resplendent in his Tux, is in the middle, back row while Momma, in her Wedding dress, as she calls it, stands in 1st row, 2nd from right between her brother and her sister, Mother of the groom.
The Proof Picture.

A big ‘Shout Out’ to Super Boy who did a most marvelous job of entertaining, feeding, and nurturing myself, the Protector of All, whether it is warranted or not, as well as the Kitty Club Med. The Superior    Bad Boy Andy Cat, got in a huff when Momma and Wonder Boy did not return in 24 hours. Diva Calico Gen Cat confiscated Momma’s bed, licking her creamy paws, waiting, because what else does a cat do, and Camouflage Charlie, who ensconced her self in the basement, eyes on the food dishes, dodging  and weaving when a shadow moved until hunger forced her up stairs. However, let’s not forget our Clem-Call-of-the Wild Cat who recognized it was a foreign Two Footed running the Pet Sanctuary.

What does that mean?  Well, this Super Boy had to be tthoroughly vetted before Clem-Call-of-the Wild Cat pledged allegiance . After all, when Momma went to the Convention, Clem came in for a quick bite and, what do you know, somehow got locked inside when Super Boy went to bed.

Check it out! Check it out! On my favorite arm, Check! On my favorite knitted afghan, Check! In the sun porch, Check. Back to wall, eyes to front, Check, Check! So bring it on!
Clem’s Check Out Time.

This was a situation.  Colony Cats were depending on Clem,while he was trapped in paradise, (roof over his head, food, water for his belly, and his choice of a soft bed to sleep on). Meanwhile his Colony Family waited in fear, for his safe return.  The solution was to hurdle himself at the bedroom door till Super Boy woke up and opened the front door so Clem could make his great escape in to the dark and dreary night, back to his responsibilities to keep the wild cats and Forest Freaks at bay, bring food for the Baby Mama’s, and stand on guard for thee and thee and thee.  This Super Boy needed some training on the ‘Let the Cat In and Let the Cat Out’ Routine. The Colony’s very existence depended upon it.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, Momma's sister, Itty Bitty had a Royal Prince and called him Super Boy. Many years later he found his Super Girl pictured here with Jakita (who looks like she did not get enough sleep the night before or maybe she wants a silly hat to wear, too). Meanwhile Andy, the Brainiac has found a comfortable perch on Super Boy's leg and he is there for the duration. About all the tired eyes, well, it was a Christmas morning!!!!!!!!!!!
Super Boy, his Super Girl pictured here with Jakita and Andy, the Brainiac.

Other than those learning curves, Super Boy was, well, Super.  He snuggled with me, put up with the kitties and all those food dishes, numerous times a day.  Makes my head spin because it is my job to eat leftovers. He took me on long walks, winding our way, through parks and sidewalks, me on the leash, him on his bike.

Know what?  Don’t tell Momma, she’d never understand, but I kind of miss Super Boy. I will keep you posted….

 

 

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Senorita Jakita Announces Momma’s Plans

Now where did Momma and Super Boy go, you may ask?  To a Political Party Convention. No, I am sworn to secrecy, but it is not hard to establish who passed through the city this weekend.  So, I like Parties, (and I understand there was plenty of parties to attend), why not take me?  Apparently, it would cost $75.00 more to bring a doggie overnight.  Why that is outrageous, even more than paid per person but yet, am I not worth that, I wonder?  What is my real value, monetarily and more importantly, spiritually?  Where do I actually fit in this family paradigm?  Just asking, just asking.

So even though I love Super Kid and he treats me with the respect I deserve, and does a  job on the Indoor Cat (Charlie) , Indoor / Outdoor Cats (Andy and Gen) and Stray Cat (Clem), I felt despondent.

Note to Super Kid Clem, The Stray Cat (2 years???) May or May not show up looking for food Comes inside to eat but mostly Outside Cat - Usually comes calling for food one/day –sometimes more often. Likes some petting but ears flatten and you may get a thump with a fast paw, if you seem too friendly Still abiding by Clem’s Rules of the Wild!
NOTE TO SUPER KID
Clem: The Stray Cat (2 years???)
May or May not show up looking for food  – Comes inside to eat but mostly
Outside Cat – Usually comes calling for food once a day –sometimes more often.
Likes some petting but ears flatten and you may get a thump with a fast paw, if you seem too friendly.
Still abiding by Clem’s Rules of the Wild!

That is why I gave Momma the cold shoulder treatment when she got home.  Wonder Boy, he is gone every weekend and like a stray cat, always comes back, ‘dragging his tale behind him ‘ so to speak.

So that was okay, I understood those parameters, but not Momma.  Is she just going to take off one day and not return? We simply must establish the rules, going forward.

I was just coming out of my huff and then I heard the rumor – Wonder Boy and Momma are off again, across the border, this time. Do they not realize that guns are part of the First Amendment, in that lawless land.  They do, but still, Wonder Boy and Momma are heading south to the wedding of a nephew, a  first cousin and a JAG Advocate – impressive, I am sure he is a most worthy, lovable being but I will be alone and miserable, with Super Kid, who will fuss over me to eat, please eat and I will look at him with sad eyes that say:  ‘Oh, thou has been the cause of this anguish, my Mother.’ (T.Bayley)

Here I will lay and stew and worry until Wonder Boy and Momma are back in the land of gun controls and free health care! Is it fair to have to suffer for others' questionable choices?
Here I will lay and stew and worry until Wonder Boy and Momma  are back in the land of gun controls and free health care!
Is it fair to have to suffer for others’ questionable choices?

And since this is the path my Momma has chosen, (shame on you, Momma) there will be no more posts by the cats or me  until she returns because, well, we don’t do Word. We are the story, she is the vessel that records, checks, double checks, again and again,takes pictures, posts pictures, then posts the final product.

Make sure you all come back in a week or so.  We will have plenty to tell.  After all, our job is to get you looking at the bigger picture, if you have the eyes to see. We take it seriously, not gadding about like Momma, not a care in the world, it seems to me……..

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