When the Cats Away...

It's mischief night, the night when all the real goblins and witches go out and get up to....well, mischief. This is the night for highflying Glenda's and land locked Igor's to teepee houses (witches on broomsticks give that roll of toilet paper a nice high and tight look) soap windows with soap made of ghoul's bones and ready to snatch up any bit of sugar they might find. Then, on Hallow'een the JackO'Lanterns can light the way for the little human goblins, ghosties and ghoulies to go about their job of Highway Robbery.

This morning I found the cats all gathered in a circle talking amongst themselves. BatGirl, the Calico, shushed them all when I came into the room, sleepy eyes looking for a coffee pot, and I spoke to them. "What's up kids?" Tousle my hair now...yawn...they ignore me, walking their separate ways. There are six of them. Lillibet, the newest among them, giggles. She is still so tiny and the girls (Hound and Cher anyway, grooming another being beneath BatGirl's dignity) are constantly washing her (or tenderizing her for a cannibal feast). This is her first Hallow'een. I pay them no attention, I go through this ritual every year. The cats are sneaky and pondering ways to trip me up. Normally so loving and gentle, they get taken over by the spirit(s) of the season long about now.

Except for Pye. The big fat Siamese, blue eyes shining, refuses to get out of his favorite chair, rolls and shows his belly for a good scratch on the tummy, and promises to tell all. Later. As I head back to the bedroom, coffee cup in hand, it dawns on me that for ten years now, Pye has promised to tell all. He never has. When Ariel (that sleek black witches cat with green glowing eyes) was the Queen of the house, I never expected him to break his vow of silence, but now that BatGirl is Resident Queen, I expect it even less. You see, BatGirl is a Psychopath. She takes delight in ripping the heads off tiny mice and the stray grackle that wanders into her sight. She charms snakes and sends them off to the happy hunting grounds with aplomb. There are times that when I catch her gaze on me, I wonder what she's planning. I know she's planning something...cats are always planning something.

So here we are, Mischief night, and when I awaken tomorrow, my taken over Pride...BatGirl, Pyewacit, Hound, Sonny and Cher plus Lillibet will all return to normal. But the key word here is return. Because you see, for some odd reason that I've never been able to put my finger on, they'll disappear long bout midnight. No one will want breakfast. No one will want noise. They'll all want an icepack for their aching heads. Now that's a party I'm glad I'll be missing.

Signs for the Times

Have you ever seen a sign that you knew you had to have even if it meant creating it yourself? Remember my flea market buy for 50 cents (that I would gladly have paid up to 3 bucks for) "Raising Children is like being pecked to death by chickens"? On a piece of old lumber, painted white (sort of) with green edging (it could have been mold) and writing in black that you knew was done in a hospital for the mentally over the edge, I offered fifty cents to the irritated man standing on the other side of the table. He turned the little wall hanging over in his hands, handed it back to me (it was at that point that I got the splinter from hell jabbed in my finger) and called out to the harried looking lady still unloading the car, "hey hon...lady here says she'll give you 50 cents for the board." "TAKEIT" she screeched back. "May be the only sell we make today!" I think it was the blood on the board that made her agree so fast. Possibly afraid I had a lawyer in my pocket.

Well, its signs like that which catch my attention and put a glitter in my eyes (Mac calls it mania) that can make me smile all day. My mother once saw a cross stitch wall hanging in a friend's house that she talked about for ages. It was a screw standing on it's head, done in gold thread. Under it said "The Golden Years". So, Screw the Golden Years became her motto for life! I guess I got the bug of sign love from her. Some folks love tee shirt mottoes (my favorite is Maxine: if a man complains that you are smothering him you're not holding the pillow down hard enough) , and I do, too. But a hanging sign is there to remind you of what tickles your fancy all the time. My niece Sissy sent me a sign that hangs on my wall in the dining area. It reads Fresh Coffee (cup of steaming coffee pictured in the center) Only the Finest Served Here. What I love about this sign is that the words could refer to the fine coffee which I brew (you will never find instant coffee in your cup here) or the fine people to which it is served.

Okay, okay I do have a point which I am getting around to. I have seen a sign which I know that I must have and I may have to make it myself but I laughed so hard when it was first put before my eyes that I knew it was made for me. Or it will be. The wood panel is oval and about 10 inches in length by 7 inches in height. It has a separate round of plank about three inches in diameter. On one side is the word IN and on the other side the word OUT. Okay, so picture this in your mind. The oval plank is weathered (or stained to look that way) and the background is a witch on her broom...on the lower right hand corner is where you would hang the in or out medallion. So, visually you would see the witch on her broom then the medallion hanging to indicate that the witch is in (or the witch is out). I want this sign. No, I must have this sign. It will go perfectly with the one on the porch that reads "Siamese Cats mesmerize but Black Cats Rule".

An Anniversary Celebration

I met him in February, it was just before his 28th birthday. I had just turned 19. He was tall and handsome, he had an easy laugh and his eyes were alive with compassion. It was a blind date that could have turned out either way for both of us. My pal Pat had kept insisting that I met her beau's shipmate. When I finally gave in it turned out to be an adventure neither one of us would ever regret.

He was in MineLant at the time. Their motto was "Iron Men on Wooden Ships". That was not only a catchy motto, it was what the kids today would term "hot". He already had ten years in the Navy. I was still trying to find out who I was and what I wanted to be. If that sounds a bit "hippyish", remember, it was 1968. You do the math.

The ship went to sea soon after we met and there was much exchanging of letters and dreams between us. On his return Stateside, we discovered that the attraction was still as strong. He proposed, I accepted. I can hardly believe that it was 41 years ago tomorrow. It seems like yesterday, but then I can hardly keep up with time the way it flies by. No marriage is perfect, I've heard it said. But ours has come pretty darned close. So, to Mac...my beloved...I love you every bit as much as I did the night we married...no, that's wrong. I love you so much more for so many reasons it would take 41 more years to tell you exactly what they are.

Mindy Lou

I've talked about our Mindy Lou, the blind dog many times in here. We were always so astounded at her love of cats but more so of their love for her. You may recall that she had a stroke during her spaying procedure and the result was blindness. The Vet recommended that I put her down. It was the last time I would ever see him again. The cats seemed to know that she was disabled and would gather around her and lead her around to where they wanted to go. She knew our property like the back of her paw, and it was all due to the cats guidance.

Mindy was just a tiny puppy when someone abandoned her at our front door. She was pitifully skinny and had the mange. We took her to the Vet to get her treated for that and worms, got her vitamins and brought her home. She adored our Shelties, Duffy and Ripley. But it was the kittens that took her breath away. She would whimper when they gathered on the back porch and beg to go out to be with them. This was even before her blindness.

Mindy's muzzle began to turn white several years ago. She still got around with no problems, but we knew that at age twelve, she was getting to be a senior citizen. She adored Arianna and Arianna adored her. We could say "Arianna's coming to see you, " and she would station herself by the door until they arrived.

Last Wednesday night I noticed that she was having trouble getting up and down the steps. She just wasn't herself. Thursday she went and lay on her bed and never got up again. I had made an appointment with Doc Lawhon, but that proved to be a futile attempt to hold back the inevitable. At 1:30 pm, I went to sit by her again and talk to her. Pyewackit and Sonny lay next to her. She was no longer breathing.

We said goodbye to that good dog and I promised myself there will be no more dogs here. I told Mac I didn't know if my heart could take the grief. Of course I know there will be. I can't survive without a dog. We buried her in the Pet Cemetery amongst her cats. She's at the head of the plot, next to Ariel. Queen of the Pride. I've noticed footprints on her grave site and found Wonky and CeeCee lying on her gravestone the other morning. Their mourning is evident. You know, I've never doubted that animals have souls. Why wouldn't they? After all, The Good Lord made them all.

Gonna Be a Bear

Okay, we're into Fall now. I know it for sure because my body and mind want to hibernate. I can't make myself get out of bed before 7:30 a, and I'm ready to crawl into my den (I mean bed) by 9 p.
This has how it has always been with me. It won't last long, though. By the end of October I'll be back to my old self, the yawning will be a thing of the past, the early to bed later to rise syndrome will be something to laugh about. What I want to know is, am I the only one? Is there anyone else out there who has this problem? I would appreciate knowing. For now please enjoy this brief little funny I received in an e-mail several years ago from someone who obviously suffers right along with me! Oh, and double click on the
bear to enlarge it and read what it says!