Wednesday, November 7, 2007

Mama and the Vivisectionist

My Mama was probably the tallest girl in her family, and even then she was only 5'6. She was every bit the lady and had us walking with books on our heads to improve our posture from about age eight. She taught us all she could about cooking and cleaning (note I said could, not knew) and at some point just gave up and let us start learning a few things on our own. She was an animal lover and we always had cats or dogs (rarely together or at the same time) around the house. She was a sucker for puppydog eyes and while we might hear the cat meow as a militant gesture of world domination, she heard sweetness and light. Right after we moved to Ruby, world domination began and cats began to show up. If they were wise, they stayed in the back area near the woods, but some were just wild and without a clue so Highway 9 became the end of the road for them. Now, the highway is a good 500 feet from the house, so there was never any reason to wander up that long drive way, or for any stranger to wander down it. All the citizens of Ruby knew where the Doctor and his wife and children lived, they also knew where he worked. The only reason anyone would come down the long circular drive would be at invitation or a medical emergency, or else you were a family member (which took in about 1/3 of the populace). Strangers did not venture down the drive because frankly, by the time you saw the entrance, you had already passed it. In your mind would be "was that a driveway..." and the next thought would be "hmm, maybe not." It's the trees you see. The house actually sits in the midst of woods. Mama had a large area cleared in the back for her garden, flower beds were laid out and the middle of the circle was filled with Magnolias, Dogwoods and flowering Cherry. She had green fingers, you see. Anything would grow for her. One morning she was out preparing to plant the daffodils throughout the woods when a van pulled in. Now, she had been told earlier that morning by one of the patients that "a vivisectionist" was in town, which was akin to saying that Sherman was marching on Atlanta to Mama. She later told me that this large man, whom she had never before laid eyes on, unfolded himself from the drivers seat and approached her. She pulled one glove off and walked over to the front courtyard entrance. The man approached her smiling and looking oily, she said. He gave her the shivers. He introduced himself and told her he was new in the area and someone had told him that she had some cats she was looking to be shed of. Mama glanced around at one or two of the cats who sat quietly on and near the walkway and back at the man standing nearby. She asked him just who had volunteered any such information to him, making a mental note to later call said person and gently ask them not to be telling perfect strangers her business. I was quite sure she really believed she intended to be gentle, but I knew my mother and I would not want to be on the business end of that conversation. Mama had a way of "dressing you down" that was unique in that you didn't realize your legs had been cut off at the knee till you were face down in your own yard. So, this "liar" starts hemming and hawing, unable to come up with a name, but still insistent that he had received this info from a neighbor or friend. Excusing herself, Mama went to the side door, and when he attempted to follow, she waved him back and told him she would return shortly. When she did return she was carrying a shotgun that was bigger than she was. "You know mister, " she told him, "if there's anything I hate worse than a liar, it's a vivisectionist. I smack liars. I shoot vivisectionists." And she closed the breech. She said she'd never seen anyone that big move quite as fast as he was beating a trail back to his van. He took off in a hail of gravel and oyster shell and Mama said she wished he hadn't left in such a hurry. I asked her why, and she said she really wanted to look in the back of that van and release any cats he might have already picked up. Fearless, that's what she was. They say the acorn doesn't fall far from the tree...Mac would say the nut, but we'll forgive him this time. I can honestly say I have no love in my heart for vivisectionists. I get it from my Mama.

10 comments:

Sandy said...

Fabulous story!!
Hope you are having a great week.
Blessings,
Sandy :)

Mary said...

Sandi
the women in your family sound as though they should rule the world. Hows the arthritis today feel like any tree climbing yet? I had my flu vaccine on Monday and have a large lump on a very stiff arm. Is the cure worse than the disease sometimes?

Sandi McBride said...

Oh Mary, I hate flu shots, and admit that it is something I do under duress! If you've ever seen Steel Magnolias, my dear you have met my family, lol!

Abbie said...

How horrible, this is why I don't advise anyone to list their pets on craigslist for free. Too many of those pouchers out there.

Mama sounds like a woman not to be trifled with. Love it!

justabeachkat said...

Loved this story and I KNOW I'd love your mama!

Hugs!
Kat

Penny @ Lavender Hill Studio said...

Sandi, I just love coming here! What a wonderful story. I would love to meet your mother!
Penny

Brenda said...

I love your stories. Your mom sounds like a lady I could love.If you mess with my babies you have to come through me!

Kari & Kijsa said...

What a great story and a great mama!! Have a wonderful day!

blessings,
kari & kijsa

Sophie Honeysuckle said...

Sandi I was spellbound by this story, and shocked by the nerve of that man coming by!! You sound like a chip of the old block though (do you say that in the States-it's a compliment lol!!) Hope you are feeling better today-by the way I wonder when your parcel will arrive? It's strange Kari's has, as they were posted together? Maybe the Texas postal system is quicker lol!!xx

Wanda said...

I had to look up the word, vivisectionist. Oh, horrors!!! I knew about the practice, I think, might have blocked that one out, but didn't know what it was called. I'd have LIKED your momma! I'd have liked where you lived, too except for the nearby highway.