Reality of the Mystery – Page 2

Spirit in the Sky

By now you know, Momma has a weakness for a good mystery (especially if it involves Spirits in the Sky, who she can’t see, but believes in, anyway.) And Grandmama was a force to be reckoned with here on earth so why would she be any different in heaven? So grab find a comfortable spot on the bed, it is story telling time.

There are gifts, then there are gifts that appear in inexplicable, mysterious ways. Such is the Story of the Spirit in the Sky. About two months after her Mother-God-Rest-her-Soul winged her way to Heaven (like Enoch, she was. RIP Daddy said), Momma rushed in to the kitchen. It was the Sunday morning after Christmas but before New Years.

Momma noticed the cupboard door was open, again….

You can see very well that the cupboards go up to the ceiling so when you are height challenged like Momma, you need to jump on the counter to get or take things from the top cupboard.

This was a pet peeve of her poor, proper Dutch husband (RIP Daddy) who felt because she was in such a hurry, all the time, he had to be the official family door closer. (Another pet peeve was why Momma would haphazardly throw down a place mat, upside down on the table, so for instance, the flower fell out of the pot or the horse was on its back with its feet in the air and the grass pointing up…you get the picture). Little wonder his blood clogged his arteries, his blood pressure rose. All that because of Momma, ya think????

Momma spied the highest cupboard door open and something that did not look familiar on the top shelf. Since she was the one that was always guilty, she must have left it open. She grabbed a chair, climbed on the counter. Hiding, yet in clear view, Momma found an open bag of her Mother-God-Rest-her-Soul‘s pink, white and green mints that Wonder Boy loved to share with her. Uh………. how exactly did they make it to Momma’s top shelf? Beside the bag of mints, was a separate bag with Wonder Boy’s name written, in Grandmama’s handwriting. Inside the bag was a Christmas mug probably purchased at her last church bazaar and a pair of homemade puppet mittens.

For real - the Christmas Mug (probably bought at the church bazaar, the open bag of pink, green and white mints and the puppet mits knit by Grandmama. — For real – the Christmas Mug (probably bought at the church bazaar, the Christmas mug, the open bag of pink, green and white mints and the puppet mittens.

Momma knew her Mother-God-Rest-her-Soul bought pre-Christmas gifts for her grandchildren and could only assume the last time she visited, unbeknownst to Momma, her Mother had climbed up and put this on the top shelf of the cupboard, away from young Wonder Boy’s prying, all-seeing, all-knowing big blue eyes. Since she had omitted to tell Momma before going to her greater reward, she had to get Momma’s attention, somehow, someway, even if it meant getting her in trouble for not closing cupboard doors behind her.

Momma could only assume her Mother-God-Rest-her-Soul was thinking, if Momma saw it, she would actually give it to Wonder Boy. (Right again) Since the bag of mints was opened already, Momma said she always questioned if her Mother-God-Rest-her-Soul had a premonition that she would not live to enjoy them and so brought them along with the pre-Christmas gifts?

I like to think Grandmama -God-Rest-Her-Soul's spirit would glow all colors of the rainbow, just like this crystal angel — The color of Grandmama -God-Rest-Her-Soul’s spirit.

Since Christmas was already over, who knows how long and hard her Mother-God-Rest-her-Soul tried to get Momma’s attention. All these years later the mints, the cup and the mittens are stored in the China Cabinet, a confirmation of the ties that bind Grandmama’s and Wonder Boy’s relationship.

One day when Momma, RIP Daddy and Wonder Boy moved, her Sister, who was helping, tossed out the bag, with her Mother-God-Rest-her-Soul’s handwriting, not knowing the history. No matter how hard Momma looked, sadly, that bag was just like her Mother-God-Rest-Her-Soul – Gone, Baby, Gone.

Now when Momma sees she has once again left a door open in haste, she wonders, is her Mother-God-Rest-Her-Soul trying to send another message? What do you think my Four Footed Friends?

Momma says no one knows for sure, till: In the sweet by and by….When we meet on that beautiful shore….(Hymn)

Keep Me Searching For A Heart of Gold

First please understand, I, Jakita, was not even born when Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His Soul was alive. I knew he and Momma were tight, from what she had told me, like white on rice. Even in death, Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His Soul had a strong spirit, that cast a long shadow. One night he came to me in a dream and implored me to tell this story so other widowers would not unintentionally bring pain to their children. He had thought a companion would alleviate his loneliness and make him less of a burden to Momma and RIP Daddy, who called daily, and dropped by at least four times a week. They were busy people. He did not want to be an albatross around their neck.

You can only imagine Heart-of-Stone Lady had a misshapen, irregular heart, like this stone. From Morguefile.com P8070076.JPGBy doctor_bob — You can only imagine Heart-of-Stone Lady had a misshapen, irregular heart, like this stone.
From Morguefile.com
P8070076.JPGBy doctor_bob

Momma always said they were largely perplexed why their family had to encounter Heart-of-Stone-Lady. To look at her she was your typical Senior Citizen, always dressed suitably for her age group. You’d never guess by looking at her that she was a cougar on the prowl..…….and Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His Soul, was the hunted.

First Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His-Soul told the family she was a friend of their Mother-God-Rest-Her-Soul but that did not fly. Finally they confessed. The Heart-of-Stone-Lady had an ad in the paper that Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His Soul had seen and contacted her. Or did he have the ad and she contacted him?

Right from the get go, Heart-of-Stone-Lady said she was financially stable and just longed for companionship since her husband had died two years earlier. What was not included was that Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His-Soul was to be Husband #3. Husband #1 had left when she got involved with the man who became Husband #2. She told us she had no children, which was correct….after Family Services got involved. She had omitted a tiny detail. She had five children with Husband #1 that had been taken away from her. When Husband # 2 died, she got the estate, his children got the shaft (actually Momma still has Husband #2’s toolbox in our basement, if anyone is looking for it.) As time progressed and stories piled up, the family was highly skeptical of everything she told them.

Momma said the family noticed how adeptly she could manipulate their Father-God-Rest-His-Soul. Heart-of-Stone-Lady was taken out to eat all the time and had hired help to clean the condominium once a week. She couldn’t wear a cloth coat; Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His- Soul bought her a fur coat, befitting her new position in life.

It was no surprise to the family that one week after the wedding, Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His-Soul’s will was changed, naming her as the sole beneficiary, with the talk of her being financially stable and looking for companionship only, tabled for ever.

Six weeks after the marriage happened, the family was told, Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His Soul had been on his way downstairs, when he had a stroke, fell down and concussed his head. Some of the siblings wondered, did the chicken come from the egg or the egg come from the chicken? No one will never know. What was apparent though was that Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His Soul would never walk again, care for himself again or even go home again, since he was catastrophically paralyzed on his left side and one sure thing, the Heart-of-Stone-Lady, who could not cook or clean, would not take care of him.

In order to pay for long-term care for their father and residence for Heart-of-Stone-Lady, the condominium had to be sold . The siblings were expected to pack everything that Heart-of-Stone-Lady did not want and store it in Momma’s basement. Since their Mother-God-Rest-Her-Soul ’s freezer was old, Heart-of-Stone-Lady agreed the youngest sister, Itty Bitty, could have it. In order to move it, they threw out contents, some of which had been labeled four years earlier by their Mother-God-Rest-Her- Soul.

The call came the next morning from the Heart-of-Stone- Lady’s lawyer. She wanted the contents of the freezer or Momma’s Father-God-Rest-His Soul’s children were being charged with theft. Where do these lawyers come from who will action such demands by petty clients? Was the Heart-of-Stone Lady looking forward to entering the place to find pails of melted ice cream and the smell of rotting fish and meat, that she would have to throw out? Go figure. Momma laughed and said, ‘Meet you in court.’ But life is unpredictable. The very lawyer who opposed them that day, did them a solid years later….and we are going to tell you all about it.

Happy Days! Our Mother-and-Father-God-Rest-Their- Beautiful-Souls. Note: Taken a year before our Mother's unexpected death. — Happy Days! Our Mother-and-Father-God-Rest-Their- Beautiful-Souls.
Note: Taken a year before our Mother’s unexpected death.

But… never underestimate the power of a woman. to protect her children. Trust me, their Mother-God-Rest-Her-Soul would find a way to right any wrong because….she was powerful upset and that is what good Momma’s do!

It’s All In The Game

I got to tell you this story about Momma because you know we are all a part of and a result of, this massive puzzle of life.

The Puzzle of Life where we either fit or don't fit (til you find your very own missing pieces. From Morguefile.com Puzzle.jpgBy FidlerJan — The Puzzle of Life where we either fit or don’t fit (til you find your very own missing pieces).
From Morguefile.com
Puzzle.jpgBy FidlerJan

So by now you know Daddy and Momma (who has no sense of direction) had been around the block, well, at least twice. So let me tell you Momma’s odyssey of finding Daddy in the Cardiac Care Unit (aka CCU) at The Big Smoke Cardiac Hospital.

The ambulance from the local hospital delivered Daddy to CCU so Momma had no clue where to start, except a room number that any reasonably functioning brain could find…..you’d think! But first, Information told her that she had to get the elevators that took her to the Cardiac Floor. Security said, ‘No, not these elevators, take a left, pass two entrances, take the third elevators to your right. Follow the yellow foot prints on the floor till you find a CCU Waiting Room.’ Sounded simple enough. How could anyone go wrong?

Well, it seemed the Security Guard couldn’t count or maybe, he said three doors. Finally, Momma found the elevators, went to the correct floor, followed the yellow foot prints…till they suddenly stopped, in the middle of what, from the stillness, might have been the morgue. There was no one, anywhere, just rows of doors, no numbers and no names. Five or ten minutes later (Scout’s honour) a door opened, out came two orderlies, chatting away, oblivious to the fact they were pushing a freshly toe tagged corpse. When Momma asked for help, she was so unnerved, she barely concentrated on their response. Surely they did not mean to send her to another hallway that definitely looked like mankind had been swooped off to some unknown dimension. Momma went north and south, east and west, zigzagged left, right, forward, backwards till she ended up in the same spot where she had seen the orderlies.

Shining floor, deserted hallways. Where do you go from here? From Morguefile.com IMG_2999.JPGBy ArielleJay — Shining floor, deserted hallways. Where do you go from here?
From Morguefile.com
IMG_2999.JPGBy ArielleJay

Finally, like a mirage in the desert, a Volunteer appeared. He delivered Momma to the CCU Waiting Room (hey, the yellow footprints on the floor had reappeared, like a path in the Wizard of Oz.)

Let me tell you about Momma’s interpretation of the CCU Waiting Room. First line up, wait your turn. Spell your name, then the patients’ name. They look at you suspiciously, check with his nurse. They instruct you to take a seat. The nurses must always delay entrance by ‘preparing’ the patient, call back, give entry consent. Therefore many Visitors are lulled by the monotony of the long, dastardly hard waits, by playing the Waiting Room Game, I-Got–the–Sickest–Loved–One.’

There were rules to follow: 1) Everyone must participate. It was bad manners to do otherwise. 2) Everyone must fully commiserate with the strangers in their midst. 3) When your loved suffered a crisis, you must dish out the details so the listeners could recall about the battles fought and won by their loved ones.

Finally her name was called. Momma went in to visit Daddy. She pushed open the door to find a nurses’ station in the centre, a massive beeping computer monitoring system manned by nurses, interns, doctors from cardiologists to surgeons just ready, set, go for the next emergency. As Momma sat down she got a good view of the unit across from Daddy’s. Everything was identical. Hospital bed with a wan, semi-comatose patient, CHECK; monitors, tangled IV’s, CHECK; computer to left of patients bed so doctors had history, present condition, and test results at their finger tips, CHECK; television, mounted on wall to alleviate pondering their condition should patient actually wake up, CHECK and of course, the signature Crash Cart at the bottom of the bed, just in case the patient flat lined and need a little persuading to return to Planet Earth. CHECK.

Momma did not even have her book out to start reading when it happened. All of a sudden there were beeps, bells and whistles going off, like one of those Lottery Terminals. In came the doctors, in came the nurses, and in came the lady with the big fat purse. Momma was hustled out the unit to contemplate what she could have done that caused such a commotion. Would they think she was a toxic wife with a Munchausen Syndrome and ban her from in inner sanctum? She sat in a corner, eyes on book to avoid questions.

Five minutes later the door opened and just Momma’s luck, the visitor of the patient in the unit across from Hubby came in. He asked, ‘How is your husband?’ Momma was like a deer caught in the headlights. He went on in a pragmatic yet been-there-done-that’ way, ‘You understand he just flat lined, don’t you?’

Now this caught the ears of all the players of I-Got–the–Sickest–Loved–One. Momma had broken the cardinal rule. She had not shared all so the other visitors could trot out the glory days of their loved ones. Momma felt like a traitor, Peter denying he knew Jesus. She mumbled something, grabbed her purse and took the elevator to the Ground Level and went for a walk outside to sit on one of the benches in front of Legislative Assembly of Ontario, you know, where Premier Dad used to have a job. Nothing much is ever accomplished by the politicians at Queen’s Park, or the Parliament Buildings in Ottawa or even in Washington, DC anyway, according to the daily newspapers.

Older, wiser, still fun Momma & RIP Daddy

Yeah, your right! My Momma and RIP Daddy lived through some ‘been there, done that‘ experiences. It only seems or seemed to strengthen their ability to find the humor hidden along the way because, everyone has some stories they are hauling from Yesterday to Today to Eternity.’

Party Line for Party Time

Got a quick question for you. Is Momma aging herself when she admits to remembering a life with out a phone in her home? Even when Momma’s youngest sister, Itty Bitty, was born, the local grocer was the only person with a phone (businesses got them first) so he delivered the news that it was a baby girl. There was something else peculiar back then. Fathers did not go near the delivery room or even wait at the hospital for the birth to take place. They had things to do, places to be, that safely separated them from the blood and pain that accompanies the birth of a baby. Today, Fathers are the Team Quarterback, throwing the ball, calling the plays. Wow! So, so evolved…lol.

Babies, the same then, as now, so precious. They steal your heart as they take over your life. No one would want it any other way. — Babies ,so the same, precious yet vulnerable. They steal your heart as they take over your life. No one would want it any other way. From:Morguefile.com **newbornbaby.jpg**By **anita peppers**

In Grandpapa’s case, he had to plant the potatoes that day. He had no time for waiting around at the hospital. If the Farmer’s Almanac said you plant today to get a bumper crop, you had better believe today it would be, notwithstanding birth, death or any form of destruction. Babies being born – that was women’s work. But all of this is another story.

In Momma’s part of the country, the phone was a miracle. How the heck, they wondered out loud, did a telephone line transmit a voice from anywhere in the world? Whatever the Reality of that Mystery, everyone lined up to get one as soon as they became available. At that point, you could only get the infamous party lines which were a good lesson in patience and forbearance. Each person on the party line had their own ring – one ring for the First Family, two short for the Next Family’s, one long, one short for Momma’s family.

Probably if you are from the country, you recall what happened. First off there were the hearing impaired senior saints who picked up their phone no matter what the ring. They would say, ‘Hello, Hello, Who is it? What do you want?’ Meanwhile the two people having the conversation would have to say, ‘Hang up, Auntie North, it is not for you,’ several times before she would actually hear and comply.

Then there those who had nothing much to do. They would stealthily pick up the receiver, for the purpose of listening in, whether it was from boredom, or if they thought they could collect some juicy gossip to pass around. Through a process of elimination, and sharing of similar experiences, it was soon discovered which neighbor(s) was (were) guilty.

There also were families who would engage the line, day in and day out, calling as many people as they could, as long as their was no long distance charges. You could pick up your phone ten times and all you heard was the two parties breathing, (they often were not even talking to each other), just tying up the line. Of course, if it was an emergency, you just had to tell them to hang up, you needed to actually make a call.

You remember, rotary phones. Came in every shade of black, — You remember, rotary phones. Came in every shade of black. In Momma’s day,you did not need to dial. You told the operator the number you were calling. From Morguefile.com **old-fashioned-telephone.jpg** By **the success**

The country finally caught up to the city and everyone got their own private lines but until that came to pass, the challenge was to meet neighbors with a poker face. The Party Lines taught more about human nature than you would learn from earning your Masters in Psychology from any prestigious University.

Today’s obsession is cell phones, always on stand by, so that the public can talk anywhere, anytime. After giving it some thought, I, Jakita think it is downright rude to force others to listen to your dreary conversations that could be conducted in a private setting, later (‘Huh! Did she say not now?’, ask the Entitlement League of Nations). No one wants to hear it, when in line at the bank, or checkout at groceries and definitely not when at church or trying to have a quiet dinner in a nice restaurant. It can wait, honestly, try it, you’ll like it!

Maybe Cell Phone Providers should consider ‘party line’ cell phones to punish obsessive compulsive behavior. Any violation (Read: Over Use in public places) of the rules and the guilty would have to earn their rights to obtain a private connection, in cloud computing cyberspace operations. All we need is a Lobbyist to run the campaign and a petition. Where do I sign?

It is just a thought….

Comments, We Got NO Comment

You know what those politicians say (through their Ivy League Blue Blood lawyer), when found dead center in the middle of a scandal of their own making, ‘We got no Comment.’ Well, neither does Momma. I will tell you why.

Great Minds Think Alike! From Morguefile.com IMG_0862_s.JPG By rosevita — Great Minds Think Alike!
From Morguefile.com
IMG_0862_s.JPG
By rosevita

No, Momma is no Einstein, just a creature of habit with a somewhat scientific, if fanciful mind, who expects today to follow tomorrow in an explicable fashion as long as:

The roof of her house has not caved in…well… recently.
Her computer system has not crashed in any foreseeable way.
No one has cast a bad spell that can only be reversed when the princess kisses the frog or is it the frog that kisses the princess. Momma is a bit muddled about that!

Pretty little Princesses, in breathtaking shades of tulle. May they never kiss a frog. From Morguefile.com mirrormirror.jp By kakisky — Pretty little Princesses, in breathtaking shades of tulle. May they never kiss a frog.
From Morguefile.com
mirrormirror.jp
By kakisky

You see, like most bloggers, Momma had a Spam Plugin so most of the comment spam did not reach her. Still, normally she would get about 25 to 30 spam daily that got past her plug-in, that she would analyse, than accept or delete if she was being enticed to buy purses or pills or adult themed paraphernalia (you hear me), which she ‘d not even know what to do with.

What happened, you may ask? Where does Comment Spam go when it does not hit a blog? Who does not want to know what their faithful followers are thinking? Should the blogger not be able to make the decision, to keep or to delete? Do Spam Plug-in firms have servers full of Spam that will one day dump a lifetime of comments on unsuspecting bloggers?

Momma does not really understand it, but a mere six months ago she would have some spam, and a lot less malicious login attempts. Now the pendulum swings – the blocked malicious logins out rank comment spam. Where is this world headed? What evil forces are trying to enter a G Rated (General Audience – Suitable for all ages) Blog which is only to provoke thought and amusement, since it is not even fact checkable?

We’d tell you send us a Comment if you have the same dilemma, but it probably will not get through. You could always try emailing Momma but, well, good luck with that – they do not seem to arrive alive either.

My own deserted island... From: Morguefile By: pedrojperez — My own deserted island… From: Morguefile By: pedrojperez

We gaze into the Stars, we watch teeny flowers push their little stalks out of the earth in spring, in essence, we see miracles daily. But this Cyber Space stuff, you just got to go figure. We have been in contact with our Spam Busting Plug-in Staff and they are the Best. Yet they are perplexed at why Momma thinks it is not working. They think we should be giving them GOLD Stars for spamming all the comments but Momma is the fretting kind. If it was working before (yup, it was, says Spam Busting Plug-in Staff), why do we no longer get any Comments?

If you have an answer Momma truly, sincerely wants to hear from you. She feels all alone on a deserted island. She misses your input.

UPDATE: So happy to report that once again Comments are flowing – well not exactly flowing but at least trickling in at a brisk pace. Don’t ask Momma to explain it. It is beyond her pay scale!

You got to have faith, faith. faith, you got to have faith!

Email: housekeeping@hotdogcoolcats.com

Comments, We Got Comments

So between you and me, Momma prays…a lot. Sometimes she never learns because, well, she always said, she prayed so hard to have Wonder Boy (prayer answered), and that he would be smart (also, prayer answered) but in retrospect, you get what you wish for (sometimes). Momma believes that she should have asked that Wonder Boy be not that smart, because she may have avoided a lot of phone calls from overworked and under appreciated teachers, as he always invented, not re-invented the wheel.

It is Momma’s contention, long after Wonder Boy graduated from Secondary school that she still got a recorded message every day letting her know her son had skipped classes, again! She lived in fear that the Professors would get her phone number when he was in University but once you reach the world of Academia, the rules change. Apparently, it all worked, because he did graduate, with Honors, I am told. Oh, and Momma prays for wisdom. How is that working out, you ask? Not so much, like her memory, it comes and goes, but she was wise enough to take me home.

Ok, Ok, he is cute but somehow, over the years, Wonder Boy has learned to fly without wings!

Once Momma and I started working on this Blog, she fervently prayed again that there would be an appreciative audience because she was so considerate of how much time and effort that her Hot Dog (me), the Cool Cats, the Wildlife and Others, cheerfully contributed without setting any boundaries between truth and well, being out there.

Momma’s no techie. She has lived long enough to see it ‘all’ but by jing, she never anticipated that her prayers would be answered so succinctly. Apparently God opened the skies and poured pages and pages and pages of comments, questions, and input (mostly positive along with, well thought up suggestions) from you, the very glue that makes this venture all worthwhile. There was only one problem. In the dump, your contact information was lost so it is impossible to answer individual questions.

As far as themes, background, design, headers, or photos, blame Momma. She just perseveres, putting down the stories we tell her, cropping, re-sizing, rotating photos until she more or less is flipped herself. It is so boring for me. I lay on the floor, beside the computer as she looks at everything from all angles, auto correcting, readjusting, checking then double checking, until her standard is met. Sometimes, dare I say, often times, it is not exactly our voices portrayed and the images look no better than when the process began. That is the risk you run with a Ghost Writer. Big Sigh!

Stain glass flowers, butterflies and gems of every hue create a house of rainbows.

For all of you that has reached out to Momma’s Four Footed Hot Dog and Cool Cats, we thank you and are thrilled many folks from all corners of the earth plane who share our sense of humor. Keep on keeping on. We love your feedback.

So a Shout Out to all the fine folks from different countries and continents who have reached out to us. Even as we speak, Momma is combing through the pages and pages and pages of comments. And just when you thought your greetings went into the Bermuda Triangle or the feared Black Hole, all of a sudden you will see something that looks familiar and appreciate the power of prayer. Like, who knew?

God's gift to us on sunny days because of Momma's passion for crystals and stain glass. — God’s gift to us on sunny days, lighting up rainbows of all shapes and sizes on the walls, ceilings and floors of our century old+ home, because of Momma’s passion for crystals and stain glass.

So heads up fellow bloggers, don’t despair if you get no or few comments and are wondering if any one even reads your articles. The Hot Dog (me) and the Cool Cats think your number is coming up very soon and you too may get pages and pages and pages of a Comment / Message dump, delivered by the Mystery of the Reality. Hallelujah and pass the biscuits! Remember, you got to find the end of the rainbow to discover your pot of gold.

SOS READERS SOS

Dear Readers

Who Ever You May Be

Where Ever You May Be

In The Wonderful World of

BLOGS

WE NEED YOUR HELP!

Sometime, Somewhere, Somehow, Momma managed to TRASH 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

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?)

I will keep a careful eye on her.

Pretty Little Miss Mao Cat

Hey, it is me, Mao, checking in from Purgatory. I seem to be stuck in a holding pattern like a jet liner waiting for the Air Traffic Control to give clearance to land safely. It is not home, nor is it the Pet Heaven that Cat Mandu proceeded to. Maybe she had to go and prepare a place for me before I can touch down.

Pretty Little Black and White Mao (as in 'mow' - rhymes with 'now', not Chairman Mao) — Pretty Little Black and White Mao (as in ‘mow’ – rhymes with ‘now’, not Chairman Mao)

It seemed the strangest things always happen to me, like losing my tail, or earth-bound one day, in the land of never, never, the next. Now I am perplexed as you are about how, why, and when I got here. Last thing I remember is making my way down to the creek, and in a blink, I am here. Gives you cause to pause and consider your Bucket List. As Charlie Cat mentioned, I am her sister, a splotchy, rather than sculpted Black and White, like the Brainiac Andy Cat, and the Muscle Beau Cat.

Unlike Charlie, I was easily rescued as a kitten because I was hungry and tired, tired, tired of living near scrap metal bins, avoiding noisy forklifts with back up beepers and wheezing air brakes on diesel trucks that had come to pick up auto parts to deliver across North America. Any place had to beat that ear drum shattering, traffic laden land of Just In Time mayhem.

Once I was at my forever home, Momma bathed me, using Dawn Dish Detergent to remove the oil. I nuzzled her wrists and batted the water, to show my appreciation. I was named ‘Mao’ (Not after Chairman Mao Tse Tung, but because of my pathetic little whisper of ‘mow’, not ‘meow’ when I wanted attention.

Momma always told the story about my rescue. She would explain, you know how ‘curiosity killed the cat’ – that saying was made for me. Having already had black and white cats, she realized, although, not the most appealing to look at, we were definitely friendly and gregarious. All Momma had to do was put a cat carrier down in the parking lot at her work, with food in it. I walked in to get breakfast, Momma closed the door. Momma bragged you know, she caught me, but no, I got Momma. Cats choose their owners, owners do not choose cats.

I soon let the family know I was born to be an indoor outdoor cat. I easily made friends with the entire neighbourhood, be it people, cats, dogs or even squirrels or raccoons.

I was the first ‘Dog/Cat’ in the family, always accompanying the family around the block when the dog was walked, or down to the corner store with Dad (God-Rest-His-Soul) for lottery tickets, well before I lost my tail, that is. When not in the house or traveling the neighbor hood, I hopped on Momma’s car, parked in the garage, then climbed on to the boards perpendicular to the roof, making a secret resting spot on the beams. Sometimes Mr. Grey Squirrel and Mr. Black Eyed Raccoon would also be sharing the accommodation. (And you ever wonder how we get fleas?) We were our own little gang, hanging out, creating our own fun.

See my luxurious fur, thick black tipped tail and look of wisdom. DSCF1952.JPGBy jak Fr: http://www.morguefile.com/ archive#/?q=raccoon&sort =pop&photo_lib=morgue — See my luxurious fur, thick black tipped tail and look of wisdom.
DSCF1952.JPGBy jak
Fr: http://www.morguefile.com/
archive#/?q=raccoon&sort =pop&photo_lib=morgue

Momma found out when she heard a thump at the side door, early one morning. When she opened the door, (Let the Cat in, Let the Cat Out Routine), there stood Mr. Black Eyes Raccoon. We will never know who invited whom to the Tea Party, but we were Best Friends Forever. I got up, stretched and padded out the door and we went, on our own mission, down the sidewalk, single file, across the road to the creek. We would splash in the water, dreaming of catching gold-fish but only managing to scare the little ducklings who were fiercely protected by Momma Duck. We considered our selves great hunters but we never got near those ducklings because Mama Duck had an annoying quack and a wing that seemed to expand in size to create a wall we could not penetrate. Mr. Black Eyed Raccoon and I would then lie on the cement creek wall in the sunshine, dreaming of other fish to fry.

But life is about changes and one day my BFF disappeared. I heard Momma tell RIP Daddy there was a raccoon, dead on the road and do you suppose it was Mr. Black Eyed Raccoon? Apparently it was, because he never came around again. Like Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, we were – we ‘clambed the hills together.’ Without him in my life, I had no more adventure, no more sun bathing at the creek. I felt lost. When the sun was high in the sky, I would sit on the neighbor’s fence. I swear, I would squint my eyes, and I could see Mr. Black Eyes Raccoon, scurrying under the big fir-tree – but in a flash he was gone and I was alone, again.

Who knew that the outdoor life I cherished so, would be my downfall? A few years back, Momma and Wonder Boy noticed they had not seen me all day.The Search was on. I heard them call but was too weak to respond. When I had recuperated enough, I limped back, dragging my broken tail behind me. Again you may ask, ‘Mao, how did you do that?’ I have no idea because like getting to Kitty Purgatory, I do not remember. I take the Fifth Amendment. Momma said maybe I got caught in a trap or maybe I was rolling on the road, which I did quite often, silly me, and a car drove over my tail . Maybe the Forest Freak got crabby one night . I do not know.

Look into this deep forest of twigs, vines, birch, maple, and cedar trees, so innocuous in one hundred shades of green. But you know and I know the secret. It is the Home of the Forest Freak. — You know and I know the secret. It is the Home of the Forest Freak.

After unsuccessfully splinting my tail for a few days, the vet, removed it surgically. Although I still went outside, I spent more time on the back of the couch in the sun room. My personality went from outgoing to withdrawn, almost antisocial. Who knew how much a cat needs a tail? To be truthful I was always a bit clumsy but having no tail only added to the equation, making me even more wobbly.

Also that Andy, The Brainiac made my life misery – Momma thinks he is a Cat-a-Stein – I considered him a ‘Back Street Bully’, always exploiting any weakness he can find in any cat that doesn’t share his DNA (which means Beau Cat and Diva Gen get a pass). But he is sneaky – he doesn’t do it in the presence of Momma.

Sometimes now, when the fog thins, I get a glimpse of home, I see Charlie’s neat metamorphosis from a caterpillar into a Butterfly, any memory of me seemingly expunged. I see Andy Cat actually sniffing noses with her – but then again, only when Momma is in the room…….

So, when I exitted earth, headed to Pet Heaven, I had to leap over a blue cloud to my pink fluffy landing pad, where I can survey 'our Kingdom come' 24/7. I am watching you as I count the days, the hours and the minutes for the rest of my family to catch up with me. — **There is my pink cloud now!**

PS: I will keep you updated on my progress in Kitty Purgatory. Meanwhile, pray for my deliverance. Who knew I was a practicing Catholic Kitty? I just want a fluffy pink cloud to sail on just like our Cat Mandu. Come to think of it, I can not wait to see her.

PPS: Is that you, over there in Pet Heaven, standing beside our Cat Mandu, Mr. Black Eyed Raccoon? Help me get out of Purgatory and over to your side. Are there any gold-fish in Pet Heaven?

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