This month I’ve been trying hard to get my friend Dale’s beautiful coronavirus poem into Readers Write. It’s there now–hope you see it.
Otherwise, I’ve been lost in change. Real life is like those dreams of high school; hurrying through dim hallways looking for Home Room–it’s gone; haven’t studied for the test, I’m late, lost. Opening doors, stepping into wrong places.
Today is different, like yesterday. Waiting to spend time with Olive, my pet snail and her new friend. While working on that, here’s last year’s Spring pet episode.
Marmalade, the Cat
So far, Marmalade’s name is Grumpy, the cat from nowhere, who has been using the cement wall curb, adjacent to my front door, to slither from wherever he lives to his bird-hunting grounds, including my potted garden. I’ve seen him almost daily, certainly weekly, in my four-year residence.
He was unwelcome, a threat to my winged friends, so I shewed him away with loud noises. Rarely did we engaged eye to eye. To my toothy grin and ear-thumbing, he consistently glared back. At some point, I realized I was enjoying the game. When he didn’t show up, now and then, I worried.
Today, on our fifth anniversary, we had a true encounter. The sun came out. I decided to clean up Winter, opening the rumbling, porch door leading to the clipper, rake and garden gloves, Grumpy and I surprised the heck out of each other. There he was, inside a fortress of walls over which he easily fled to unconditional safety. I surprised myself with sweet kitty sounds, Hi kitty, kitty, kitty, its okay, you can be here–here kitty kitty… and so on–a safe distance away, he preened. If he’d had a nose and thumb like mine, I’m pretty sure he would have thumbed it.
I went about my business, exiting the front door, confronting the wall, upon which he was again meandering, as if he owns the place. I went close to him, sweetly, but in my attempt to reach out I learned what it’s like to be a bird with a cat. He hissed, showing his teeth. I imagine him saying, “Not me, lady, you had your chance. You’re no friend of mine. Keep yourself out of my boundaries!”
So, I called him Grumpy to his face. Truth is, I’m inspired to spend the effort trying to sweeten him from Grumpy to Marmalade. Wish me luck!
Norma Heyser, 3/9/19
Wall, Bird, no Marmalade!