Raspberry Beret

It would seem (according to Momma, who has been accused of stretching the truth just to enliven the story), that every country village had a Mad As A Hatter Harriet Damsel…going forward we will just call her MAAHHD.

So if you’re cursed with being a city slicker and was just passing through our town, you probably really want to know how to recognize MAAHHD. It was not like she was radio-active, killing off your healthy cells as she fixed her steely gaze upon you. You couldn’t call her obnoxious, not even passive aggressive. No, she was just, how to put it…other worldly.

You see MAAHHD wore hats, every color, every size, homemade hats no doubt, made at the kitchen table, by the light of the kerosene oil lamp , while she was clearly under the influence of wobbly juice or dandelion wine, depending on the season.

When you saw her on the street in her pink and blue hat, you knew she was on the way to welcome the most recent born member of the community. Then she had the Easter Bonnet, all flowers and bird nests, the Christmas Jingle bell Tuque-Hat affair to keep her ears warm….and many more…

Like the Kentucky Derby Hat, the Queen Victoria Birthday Hat, the Canada Day Flag Hat…but there was one hat, her favourite…. worn the most often….the Bereavement Hat.

I don’t know if you ever have seen a Bereavement Hat (least not one put together by MAAHHD). It was dark black felt, a little netting to cover her left eye (or was it the right?) with one long various shades of grey ‘I surrender’ seagull feather.… oh, and just to add some joy, a satin white and red rosette with matching ribbon.

Behind MAAHHD‘s back (and even to her face….sometimes…) we said it reminded us of a skunk…no wait, life …with dark forces being slayed by a simple splash of color…but no worries…if it worked for MAAHHD, it worked for us.

When we saw MAAHHD going down the sidewalk, wearing the Bereavement Hat, heading to the Funeral Parlour, we scratch our heads and ask, ‘Who died?’, because MAAHHD paid her respects, regardless if she knew the person, the family or even a friend of the deceased. MAAHHD had the ample opportunity to sit piously through visitation of all the dead, English and French since we lived in a Franglais (French–English) town. Still, our French friends would come out, shaking their heads, ‘Sacre Cœur, qui est-ce?’ …roughly translated, ‘Who the heck is that?’ they’d ask? ‘Welcome to MAAHHD’s World, MAAHHD’s World,’ we’d say…..long before that other Mad Canadian coined the Wayne’s World, Wayne’s World jingle.

MAAHHD always took a seat in the same chair, respectfully far from the actual mourners. It got to a point that her presence was so accepted, if some outsider, sat on her chair, one of the town folk would shoe the errant individual away … because small towns have those rules and regulations, written in indelible ink, passed down through the generations and they have no problem passing them on to the ignorant Come–From–Aways.

Now that begs the question…so who all attended MAAHHD’s visitations? No surprise….everyone for miles around turned out, French and English alike, to show her the respect that she had shown their loved ones. The line of mourners, exchanging MAAHHD stories in French and English, stretched from the main boulevard, down a couple of side streets, to the funeral home door, down the hall, into the viewing room, up to the shiny, varnished casket where MAAHHD Rested-In-Peace..

To further show honor and recognition for her past commitment, her empty chair was moved up, right beside the coffin…with her Bereavement Hat in the middle of the seat, just in case MAAHHD decided to climb out and sit piously, with her hat on, one last time.

Rumor has it MAAHHD has a distant cousin (or is it a great-niece) moving to town to continue the family tradition… so fingers crossed. It is said all the Cousin (or Great Niece) inherited was hats…Mad As A Hatter Harriet Damsel Hats… a lot of them… so don’t be spooked if you one day see MAAHHD’s hats, back in action…it is not a ghost…it is just an inheritance…..

She wore a…Raspberry beret…The kind you find in a second-hand store..(Thank you Prince. Rest In Peace)

They Lived…They Laughed

Listening to your stories.... — Listening to your stories….

Listen, listen to the trees! How they natter solemnly and sometimes giggle as they pass down the stories of the ages…if only you have ears. Long branches, stretching to the heavenly skies, with abundant lush green leaves whispering and swaying to music only they can hear, all supported by solid tree trunks, rooted into the intricate, deep earth, supplying, providing, sustaining life.

Oh… we got the goods on the Two Footed buried beneath us….like Russian Hackers, we know it all and one day we’ll share…the who, what, when and where.…but we are still not sure about the why!

And that ‘Whoever has the gold, makes the rules’ …forget-about-it…not in the cemetery! Here all men and women are equal...under the ground….

Weathered by time... — Weathered by time…

Right here a former Mayor and his family claim a prize plot, shaded by a big old tree with a stone erected so tall and wide, mere mortals stop to stare. But the marble has crumbled, along with their earthly dreams and even if you squint, you can no longer read their names or dates of their birth or demise….. just that he had been a Mayor at some point in time. Good news is the stone is so deteriorated that it probably wasn’t paid out of the Public Purse.

Over yonder you see a gravestone proudly announcing the bodies therein were born over the pond….like being born in Canada made you less, more or less….but we were good enough to put food in your belly, a roof over your head, educate your children…but hey, we’re not bitter….just a bit hurt.

Next plot houses what is rumored to be a Godfather figure whose Holy Roman Catholic religion did not want him defiling their sin-free resting place….not like the Mob were ever fussy about the graves they buried their dead in….this will do nicely, ever if you have to spend eternity with ‘mangia cakes’ other wise know as ‘cakers’.

Now that towering headstone is home to a family that goes back, and back and back….if you can believe them, their ancestors descended from King Henry V111 who had so many wives, anything is possible. In any case they are rich as Midas and want to be given the respect they believe they are due…. Our’s is not to question why…..ours’s is just to do or die.

Still simple folk have to be buried too….and there is row on row of them, with their sad stories, if you look closely enough…..predeceased by children, deaths occurring in short time spans…. every gravestone tells a story and we mourn them all.

We aceept anyone...really...anyone... — We accept anyone..really..anyone..

But we never tell…well, except each other, the tears we see shed, the family fights at the graveside….even happy reunions sometimes…we just draw up our chair, make ourselves comfortable and listen…trying to somehow lessen the pain, diffuse the tension, help the mourners move past the moment, with the white noise rustling leaves whispering condolences…because:

They lived…They laughed…Saw sunsets glow…Loved and were loved…. (Paraphrase John McCrae)

But we are on it…We take the rich, the poor, the huddled masses, all yearning to be free…at last! Your moneys worth nothing when your last breath’s spent….

If You Believe in Magic

Momma’s got a story ….(doesn’t she always) …you know the mega conglomerates suck you in and ‘say too bad…so sad’ when you look online (because of the services you pay them to provide) and notice rates much lower than you pay…so you call…and wait…listen to free advertising of their latest products no home should be without and an inane music loop that repeats over and over and over again…like a three-year old on a xylophone because maybe only one Customer Rep made it in to work that particular day.

When you do connect, it is explained to you, the 25 year client, you must be a NEW customer to get those deals…huh…loyalty is worth what??? Sucks to be you….But if you would just get a package, bundle up, you could have breathtaking savings…for the next 6 months … if you sign a contract….for two years. No thank you, Mr. Rogers and Ma Belle….here in ‘a place to stand, a place to grow’, we are so on to you…

But that is not ‘her story’… No, she wants to talk about a fix for the land line. It started out as static on the line, progressed to dropped calls…well, except for the charity foundations and scam artists, with hands in your pocket who somehow always get though…. There was a problem, which of course Momma was warned sternly, if she had caused, she must pay and pay and pay for the expertise of hired help that would be sent for the fix. You Got It, Pontiac!

Baby Jesus...coming soon. — Baby Jesus…coming soon.

Now everyone knows an appointment must be set which keeps the customer home for a set period of time because like the return of Jesus, they could show up whenever between 3 to 5 hours, depending on their schedule.

All went well…not that well…it took 3 appointments actually to back to business during which for a period there was no longer had phone or internet service….and who lives without world-wide web today unless you’re on some God forsaken island in the middle of a hurricane…or an earthquake.

Mr. Simple Man came first… he scared Momma with talk of hooking in to a neighbours service and having to dig deep and wide to replace cable and resolve the problem…no, he could not fix it…but he’d place an order for what was needed and request another appointment be set up within 24 hours. Okay….

I really want a Little Leprechaun Momma! — I really love Rainbows and Leprechauns, Momma!

Mr. Young Man came next. He was totally bummed out because Mr. Simple Man was clueless and had placed an order for the wrong equipment. Digging, what digging…no new cable required but whoops, now there is no telephone line or internet…but Mr. Young Man would make sure we had it up in 24 hours. By now Momma is hyperventilating…her Wonder Boy would not he happy…nor would she! So Mr. Young Man called his boss to see if it could be done…like today…this afternoon…and that is how Momma met the one that Ma Belle keeps a secret…. a Top Gun in their arsenal, shrouded in mystery, living in a grand tree trunk, only sent out when all else fails…

Meet Little Leprechaun Man…Not an hour later he showed… a twinkle in his eye, a bounce in his step, a 1, 2, 3, Bob’s your uncle and the fix is in. ‘What did you do’…Momma asked… ‘Oh, I just took a cloth and polished the wires and connectors’, he claimed….but Momma knew…he had performed some magical mending that only a Leprechaun of the highest Top Gun order can achieve. It seems Leprechauns have diversified…there are not just one-dimensional cobblers anymore!

Is that the Little Leprechaun peering out of the tree trunk hollow?

Now Momma and Jakita have a new mission to find out which big old tree trunk hollow or woodland the Little Leprechaun Man lives in (in case he is needed again)…no doubt close to a Fairy Ring because it is Momma’s understanding the Leprechauns play the fiddle as the Fairies Twirl….

Momma knows people will scoff at this tale but Ma Belle…we are so on to you! You’ll go to any length to beat the competition and keep dissatisfied customers happy!

Because: Ma Belle believes in magic, so come along with me….
We’ll dance until morning ‘then go hide in the tree…’ (Paraphrase the Lovin’ Spoonful)

In the Good Ole Winter Time

We could sit and watch snow on the screen for hour. Somehow it made us feel connected to the rest of the world out there. From Morguefile.com IMG_0240.JPGBy preetnan — Snow on Snow on Snow.
From Morguefile.com
IMG_0240.JPGBy preetnan

It was a relentless month …it snowed and snowed, then it snowed some more, then just when you thought we had enough, well, it snowed again… Kept Momma hopping, even with a contractor that cleans out the driveway and shovels the walkways…

See front garden, bushes @ back, lovely yellow tulip, geraniums and wildflowers - a perfect camouflage for a Dancing Fairy to conceal her true identity. — See brick hedge the plough devours.

But then there are those noisy-good-for-nothing sidewalk ploughs, driven by the idiots (so says Momma, who can be harsh and judgmental) whose one passion in life is to cut up your front gardens, chewing and spewing bits of our brick hedges like a hackman on speed and if that is not enough, after your gateway has been ploughed….they are back…(like a poltergeist) heaving heavy slabs of ice in absolute mountains, blocking any chance of exiting with a car… until spring comes or Momma gets out her shovel.

One day, like a cowboy, Momma decided to take a chance, ride the wave, scale the mountain. It did not go well….because well, how do I put this delicately…she is a woman driver.

Don't do this - you'll get pain in your old age. — I’m a Havanese with a Husky ♥.

I mean, I, the Ultimate Earth Dog could probably have done it…but Momma…not so much…even with a fairly new car (well 2 years old but hardly driven) and top of the line winter snow tires. Momma got stuck… she could not go ahead, she could not go back, her goose was cooked and it was 7:00am…like who in their right mind is up and about at that ungodly time of day to help her?

Oh, but God is Good and Momma has no shame. She’ll ask, she’ll beg for help…that is the positive thing about being a female…we can suck it up, shake it off and never feel any the worse for it.

And so Momma went to our neighbour next door. He is a sweet♥ says Momma…but alas a sleeping sweet♥…he either didn’t hear or didn’t answer because maybe he did not feel like pushing another car this blankity-blank month.

Just then, across the street, in that house where Momma is not really sure what goes on… We just know important looking men usher middle class folks in to sign on the dotted line for high interest loans that banks refuse to give them because they are new to the country or single parents or high credit risks. Also ensconced in what is listed as a residential home so their taxes stay low (hey, the city was told but they would rather fight with the residents than turn away any business, legit or fishy), is an apartment that a very young, beautiful couple live. The Little Lady leaves the house at 7:00am everyday, hi ho, hi ho…it’s off to work she goes…she is as regimented as Momma, it seems. But Momma has talked to the Young Gent, who is what every Mother dreams her son will be….polite, friendly, helpful…the list goes on and on and on.

Like quick silver, Momma rushed over, explained her predicament and the Little Lady was very understanding (considering the number of times she had talked to Momma – Zero…but they had waved at each other, friendly like). In no time, the Young Gent was out and being a construction worker, cautioned Momma that it would take some revving.

Oh Yes, those were the days! — Oh yes, those were the days!

Like, having grown up with, around Cousin Buddy, Momma understood heavy-duty revving….Cousin Buddy revved motorcycles, snowmobiles, cars or anything with an engine, till it saw it his way and cooperated.

In no time the Young Gent with the many piercings and severe tattoos, strategically placed, had the car unstuck, told Momma, anytime…and was off…We are hoping that Momma learned her lesson but being a cousin to Buddy, we make no promises.

See the paths in the deep snow, half way up the cherry tree, that I run up and down, back and forth till my lungs could burst. — Birch Tree buried in snow…

And that Virginia, is what makes winter… fun…. well…sort of!

Ode to the Dying

Don’t you go dying in the Winter…We have commitments you see…My child is winning Gold Medals...And just can’t do it without me…No hockey brawls for us…Figure skating full-time.

Now don’t you go dying in the Spring time…. That’s when the glamour shows hit the ice…I expect my kid to be the show stopper…To miss it would not be right….No swimming team for us….Figure skating full-time.

Okay, Blue Jays...Let's Play Ball! — Okay, Blue Jays…Let’s Play Ball!

And you can’t be dying in the summer …We’d be frantic fitting you in…Summer skating pays the coach wages….We’ll be there, it’s a sure thing…No baseball bats for us…Figure skating full-time.

Perfect...if your eyes were open... — Perfect…if your eyes were open…

We can’t have you dying in the autumn…The judges are depending on you...We pay them even if we skip it…So what do you think we should do??? No tossing around footballs...Figure skating full-time.

So don’t go dying on us anytime…We’ve got a busy schedule to keep…In an arena, freezing our unmentionables….With time off if the Coach says we can sleep...No family life for us…Figure skating full-time.

We Believe In Angels

It’s not like Momma was ever some Angel, glistening on a Christmas tree. I’ve told you before….she can be trouble and it seemed when she was with her Cousin Buddy…Best-Friend-Til-He-Did-A-Houdini, she kicked it up a notch.

You remember, Cousin Buddy (on his Father’s side)… always had Momma’s back and a plan to destroy anyone or anything that irritated, challenged or did not meet the cast in stone standards written in indelible ink somewhere, somehow. You could say he maybe had a problem with authority but if you were ‘in’, you ruled but if you were ‘out’, May God Have Mercy On You and Your Loved Ones…

Take Miss Tattle-Tale Rena, Buddy’s cousin (on his Mother’s side). She had this annoying habit. She listened to conversations, and then took the parts that would cause trouble and reported it back to their mothers (who thanked her for the information but did not react to it). In desperation she would take it to others who did believe Miss-Goody-Two-Shoes. Now we all know adults can not handle the truth but somehow that bulletin passed Miss Tattle-Tale Rena.

Our annual bonfire at the beach. From Morguefile.com IMG_3598ed.jpgBy Dzz — Fire…From Morguefile.com
IMG_3598ed.jpg By Dzz

Buddy had the fix – he always had sure-fire cures. He went over to Miss Tattle-Tale Rena’s porch, kidnapped her new yellow rain coat that she was so proud of, and took it back home. He went in, got a pair of scissor and cut it up in a thousand one inch squares. From that point forward, Miss Tattle-Tale Rena was definitely out of a club since it was more rewarding making, than being trouble in her Goody-Two-Shoe-World. Like, duh?

Note: To be fair, Rena actually helped Momma attain her first job but even that ended up putting a sour taste in Rena’s mouth because she had been slotted in the Mailroom and Momma was put in an Accounting Department (something about the scores on the aptitude test…LOL). However, it ended well for Rena, because she was a very good-looking. She was befriended (alright, alright picked up) by a (probably) married Air Pilot (yeah, you’ve heard stories about those pilots, too) who helped her get a job as a stewardess. Cousin Buddy made sure he was never on her flight! No use to tempt fate…..or Miss Tattle-Tale Rena.

At Family Dinners, our Auntie Who-Never-Saw-Good-In-Anyone, (except Miss Tattle-Tale Rena) assigned Kitchen Duty to the cousins. Buddy, Momma and Her-Sister-That-Taught-Her-Most-Of-The-Things-Momma-Knew, would be sent in to the kitchen to peel pots of potatoes, carrots, turnips and what ever else grew in the garden.

In silent protest, Buddy came up with a passive-aggressive solution. He suggested they wash the carrots with the toilet brush and tell their mothers so like us, they would avoid eating them. (Momma’s father did not eat veggies and Buddy never saw eye to eye with his own father, so would gladly exact revenge on him, any chance he got). Then they would sit like Angels at the table and pass along the bowl of carrots, with smirks and snickers.

Buddy in the front...busy, busy...Momma front row Left, Sister-Who-Taught-Momma-Most-Of-The-Things-She-Knows on Right. — Buddy in the front…busy, busy…Momma front row Left, Sister-Who-Taught-Momma-Most-Of-The-Things-She-Knows on Right, plus brother and 3 other sisters.

But the work was not done. After supper, Her-Sister-That-Taught-Her-Most-Of-The-Things-Momma-Knew, Buddy and Momma were expected to wash and put away the dishes – funny how those days it was considered girl’s work but Buddy never get mad at helping. He got even.

Like a military drill, the three of them got in position. Momma, who was undoubtedly the clumsiest, would toss a dish to Her-Sister-That-Taught-Her-Most-Of-The-Things-Momma-Knew, who was at the half way point. Her job was to throw it to Buddy, who would put it in the appropriate China Cabinet, if it arrived in one piece. Crash, Bang, ‘Whoops, that one did not make it’, they commiserated in glee. Who knows for sure if the walls have ears, or if there was a spy looking in the window (where was Miss Tattle-Tale Rena, you ask). Soon after that, an adult or two (other than their not-to-be-trusted-entirely mothers who resented their kids being used as hired help, without the pay) were always assigned to the kitchen, to ensure that for the next dinner that there would still be enough plates to go around.

So such a planner, such a schemer, some would say… who would be shocked that Buddy has popped up, taken over, invaded Sister Itty Bitty’s dreams since she became so sick? Not Momma. Itty Bitty, was so much younger than him, that she never really had the pleasure to know him, but now, he is her Knight-In-Shining-Armor…still busy, busy…

After such a long, uninterrupted silence, Momma is so glad you are back, Buddy, Best-Friend-Til-You-Did-A-Houdini… Like really, when you told Momma all those years ago, she rolled her eyes and said…yeah, whatever…..but now…

Angels..that look over us... — Angels..that look over us…

We believe in angels….When we know the time is right for all…You’ll cross the stream…Be in our dream….You’ll cross the stream…..Be in our dream…..(Paraphrase ABBA)

This Is My Fight Song

And if you go chasing rabbits... — And if you go chasing rabbits…Fr:Morguefile forget-me-not By:TrisOfficial

So poor Momma’s Little Sister, Itty Bitty. If it is not enough that like Alice In Wonderland that she goes chasing rabbits and only pops out of the hole intermittently, then like Humpty Dumpty, she had a great fall….and all the King’s Horses and all the King’s Men….well, you know the story….couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again.

It started simply enough….a call came saying Staff found her collapsed…but Itty Bitty had no clue how or where she even had been headed. An hour later, Itty Bitty was ‘Fine, just fine.’ A day passed without incident….then Itty Bitty was found passed out under the bed….but this time she told the staff, she was looking for her shoe….and no worries, an hour later, she was on her way to the dining room, ‘Fine, just fine.’

The very next morning Staff called Momma…Itty Bitty was confused…it was a Saturday, so they had to contact on ‘on call’ doctor before they could send her to the hospital. Thirty minutes later, when no doctor called back, an ambulance was ordered anyway. Itty Bitty was sent to Emergency and now Tag, the Hospital was ‘IT.’ Itty Bitty was their problem now….and good luck with that!

Like Humpty Dumpty, Itty Bitty is a challenge. Fr: Morguefile By: PeachyQueen

Now Emergency Departments see everything….unforgiving lethal gunshot wounds, cardiac arrests, killer strokes, gruesome car accidents….so Itty Bitty being ‘confused’, small potatoes, they sent her to SAZ (Special Assessment Zone) and labelled a sticker, overdose of painkillers from her diabetic foot neuropathy, a breeding ground of seething infections and boiling ulcers…..okay, said Momma….treat the symptom, to reduce the painkillers….sounds like common sense….but no….they sent her to Emergency Jungle…

You know where beds, with various poles of pumps and intravenous to treat assorted maladies, are parked like 747’s on the tarmac, awaiting clearance from the Control Tower….but there is no Delay Law…you can be in Emergency Jungle for days, your bed bumped every couple of seconds by another Patient, Visitor, Nurses, oh and the Maintenance, keeping the place clean, with those huge brooms and mops, while Itty Bitty awaits a room upstairs….it seems neurology is supposed to have some concrete understanding of confusion….

Finally a bed was secured in Neurology. Note: Bed which means, ‘no room in the inn.’….Itty Bitty got a corner, with a bed and a screen…it is all good…except for Itty Bitty who went from wired one day, to down that Alice In Wonderland Hole, only peeking out occasionally to say, um or um, um or um, um, um, um, um…..say what, Itty Bitty? Momma tried to feed her but as soon as it was forced in, Itty Bitty, pitched it out. And meds…forget med’s… Momma can not claim to be a Medical Genius but she was betting, putting all her money on it, in fact, that there was something not quite right.

The March Hare ready for tea with the Mad Hatter...of course! — The March Hare ready for tea with the Mad Hatter…of course! Fr: Morguefile DSC1347 By: Laura Musikanski

Day 4 Momma arrived at the hospital to find a room had become available, way down the hall. Itty Bitty was there but…the lights are on ….but she’s not home…she was so far down that Rabbit Hole that no one can rescue her. New Rules…Itty Bitty would kiss Momma, then grab her arm squeeze it tightly, leaving ugly bruises, take her hand, kiss it, then try to bite it.

By this time some blood test results had filtered back and a bed was being readied in the Cardiac Care Unit because there were enzyme abnormalities noted. Finally Itty Bitty fell in to a light sleep and Momma went for something to eat. Upon her return, there was Itty Bitty half in, half out of her bed, face purple, unable to breathe. Momma called out, in came the doctors, in came the nurses, in came the women with the big fat purses. But treatment was impossible. No one could reason with Itty Bitty. Even restrained, Itty Bitty managed to rip out her IV’s, her oxygen mask, even the cute little bow ties anchoring her wrists to the bed rails.

That was Itty Bitty…a mystery, even to the most been there, done that doctors, held together by a wing and a prayer. But, don’t be fooled. Itty Bitty had just begun her journey. She’d show the world:

This is my fight song….Take back my life song…Prove I’m alright song…
Cause I’ve still got a lot of fight left in me……(paraphrase Rachael Platten)

Pretty Woman…Are You Lonely Just Like Me?

Some kitties are born to bone china food dishes and a Water fountain supplying never-ending fresh water and then there are the rest of us…tossed about on the waves of life, not even a surf board to get us back to shore.

Truly, I can’t say when, where, or how I was born. Maybe I am a dim kitty but my first memory is being in a cage with my sister and two brothers, in a pet store, customers ooooing and aaahing, sticking their fingers in the cage to get our attention….but I was shy, not completely trusting, so I stayed back from the well-intentioned but scary folk. I had this feeling…..they weren’t here for me so I was kind of standoffish….

Grey Bro & Ginger Sis From Morguefile.com File#1951244374549 gracey — Grey Bro & Ginger Sis
From Morguefile.com
File#1951244374549 gracey

When the cage was opened and prospective customers wanted a kitten to cuddle, well, you guessed it…I was never chosen. It is not like I was an ugly duckling…I looked very similar to my sister, gorgeous, fluffy, and ginger striped while my male siblings looked the same, only different shades of grey striped. We were irresistible but it seemed I was missing that magnetism to attract a potential buyer.

First my sister went to a sweet little girl, with a tight little golden curl, right in the middle of her forehead which left me alone with my brothers who chased me, played with my tail, dive bombed me, then licked me all over to let me know they loved me….but one day, a few weeks later, a lady with intent came over to our cage. She explained (almost apologetically) she had better luck with male cats. They seemed more nurturing and appreciative not so disdainful and haughty. But my brothers looked exactly alike, acted exactly alike so she could not choose….she took both of them…and I (the cheese) was left alone…..

The first few days, after my brothers went to their Forever Home, I actually celebrated my solitude…a cage to myself, no pesky siblings to maul me…it was paradise…a bit lonely, but paradise.

3X's A Lady From Morguefile.com Image 3162 hotblack — 3X’s A Lady
From Morguefile.com
Image 3162 hotblack

But as days grew into weeks, in to months, I grew bigger…not so many customers stopped by my cage…apparently I was outgrowing my kitten stage and losing my appeal. It was too sad. Did nobody want me? Would I ever get a Forever Home?

Then one day, the bell jingled on the door, as it opened. I didn’t even stand up. It was no use. Still footsteps approached. A Pretty Woman got down on her knees, at my cage, purring softly. I got up slowly, stretched and approached her outstretched finger. She told me in a soft voice that her kitty had caught a pink cloud to paradise and she could just feel my kindred soul. I trembled as the cage opened and she picked me up. I was so ready, with purrs and kisses all over her pretty face.

As we were leaving the pet store owner told the Pretty Woman he was glad she was buying me because he was getting another batch of kittens and no one wanted a six month old cat when there were eight week old kittens to buy.

I like to think that the Pretty Woman would have chosen me even if there were cages of kittens to entice her because we were kindred souls. It seemed I waited a long time to find my Forever Home but I believe the Planets had to move, the Stars had to align, the Moon had to wax and wane until the pink cloud came collecting. Then and only then could my Pretty Woman give her ♥ to me and I could show my never-ending devotion to the person put on the Earth just… for… me.

To The Moon

Jakita dozing in the window, awaiting Momma's return from the hospital. — Jakita dozing in the window, awaiting Momma’s return from the hospital.

I am kind of peeved. My schedule has been thrown out the window because Baby Sister Itty Bitty is sick again….which means I don’t get fed on time, walked on time, cuddled on time. The list goes on and on and on.

Now I know, it sounds selfish (who, me?) but I have always been upfront about not wanting to share. I get it, I get it, Itty Bitty doesn’t choose her lot in life but still I want her to consider, how like a pebble, thrown in the lake, she creates tiny waves in the ocean of life that turn in to tsunamis, sweeping us all along like driftwood.

In any case, you know Momma. She is all about sharing, especially good stories and wherever she goes (quite often the wrong way down a one way street) she always sees, hears, feels stories to bring home to me that even I am sceptical if they ever happened. She tries to stick to the truth, especially since there is never a need to exaggerate Itty Bitty’s health but it is the fringe stories that leave me wondering.

The Special Assessment Zone, ready and waiting for the next casualty of life. From Morguefile.com pre-op_002.jpgBy click

Like Itty Bitty was assigned to SAZ – say what, she asked the nurse? Why, the Streamline Assessment Zone. Like what does that mean, Momma? If you weren’t in a car accident, a bar fight, did not get caught up in drive by shooting, did not have a fever, a heart attack but there was just something odd about you, suffering from hypothermia (but you had not been outside), can’t string words together, can remember what happened yesterday but today was a write off, apparently you need a zone, a streamlined assessment zone. Momma loved the nurse assigned to Itty Bitty, a true Florence Nightingale, (although knowing today’s youth, she probably wouldn’t know who that was, but Beyoncé, or Adele she’d know, guaranteed). Who cares? She was great.

Itty Bitty was seen by a legion of doctors, interns, doctors in training, and specialists, all crowded in to a small cubicle, anxious to see the results of a juvenile diabetic with low kidney function, who had been subjected to heart attacks, stents, open heart surgery, strokes. You name it, not one of her body parts function normally for a person of her age. So she needed blood tests, ECG, X-rays, CT Scans and of course, a MRI, the one that Momma waits at least six months for but not Itty Bitty, she always moves to the front of the line.

Once the results trickled in, Itty Bitty was moved to the Neurology Floor and literally, not to a room but to the floor. Her bed was positioned right in front of the nurse’s station. It is worth noting that at school the teachers positioned her right in front of their desks, to keep an eye on her – the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Momma claims she saw things she longs to forget – like the 50ish woman, who was wailing her son was dying and no one would help. No, they were too busy staring at her. She wore low rider tight jeans on her ample butt – only problem was, she had a mid drift sweater so the full moon was rising. No one knew if she even had a son….

One patient needed his own Security Guard….a young, handsome Incredible Hulk…he hugged the male attendants but loved the nurses (he said) and picked them up off their feet while the poor skinny Security guy begged him to let the nurses alone…Momma is guessing brain damage has changed this patient’s realities. Lucky, Momma, sitting in front of the Nurse’s station, had a front row view. Although she tried to avert her eyes, she couldn’t. She was as helpless as a rubber necker at the scene of tragic accident. Then all of a sudden, the party got too friendly. Three of the Hospital’s guards came running with the Head of Security, in hot pursuit, to put the fire out. Who know what even goes on in our own normal brain? All in day of the life of Momma…..

Joint the Frequent Flyers Program and take your Spaceship to the moon and back trip. From Morguefile.com 111624046838.jpgBy jak — Join the Frequent Flyers Program and take a Spaceship to the moon and back.
From Morguefile.com
111624046838.jpgBy jak

Momma claims she had a little talk with Itty Bitty, who has trouble stringing words but can nod her head. She asked did Itty Bitty think she was collecting Frequent Flyer points, the amount of times she has admitted in the hospital in the past year. If that was the case, Itty Bitty could stop anytime because she probably already had enough points to fly to the moon and back….but you know Itty Bitty, she is all about the points.