In Celebration of F'lineday

 

            “Toots,” said Suzy, “look what I found! It’s about cats!”
            “Then it must be good,” said Toots. “Where did you find it?”
            “Um, on the internet. Turns out you can see the internet on one of these shiny surfaces, if you really want to,” said Suzy, evasively.
            “There aren’t any pictures. It’s just P-lady reading about Your True Cat. It’s part of a book. I thought it would be good for F’lineday on the MEOW,” said Suzy. “Do you want to listen? It's a re-run, but we haven't heard it in a long time.”
            “OK, I hope it’s audible,” said Toots.
            “We can include the text in case it’s not for some people,” said Suzy.
            “Alright, I’ll put it right down here…..” said Suzy.

            "The text of the story begins here," said Suzy.*

    To entertain Emmy, Julia decided to tell her a story. It was the story of the True Cat. It may seem strange to tell such a young child a story that way, but Emmy was an unusual baby and Julia knew it. As you have surmised, Julia knew a great number of things.

    “Long ago, Emmy, in a land far away by the sea, when language was growing and branching and becoming itself in many ways, there were three important words that I want to tell you about.”
    Emmy turned her shining dark little eyes on the old lady. Any child likes to hear a story. Even the two animals seemed to attend. We know Billy did.
    “These words are, troth, truth, and plight, in the sense of pledge. These may not seem related at first. But they are very old words. Usually, they are part of a marriage ceremony, even up to the present times. To say ‘I plight my troth’ means to promise on risk of being a liar or untrustworthy. This promise is made to a true love. That is a love in truth or in troth.
    Well, Emmy, we have inherited these old English peoples’ language. So, we have to deal with it. We Indians came to the same conclusions by different means with different words. Now we borrow these meanings.
    So, true love. But there is also another story. In every cat lover’s life, there is also a True Cat.”
    Billy looked wise and kept his own council, as this was a story he knew well.
    “A girl or a boy never knows how their True Cat will come to them. In fact, they usually don’t know there is such a thing until it happens. Sometimes a child is given a kitten by a parent or some friend, and the child and the cat grow up together. This might be a very true love.
    “Sometimes a kitten or a cat just comes to your door, and you let him in. In that case the cat has chosen you, and that is very special. You must never turn a cat away from your door for he or she may be your True Cat.
    “But then, sometimes when you are an older person, you will be walking somewhere minding your own business, full of all kinds of thoughts, and you will find in your path a cat or a baby kitten even that is in dire need of help. You must help. For this one likely will become your True Cat. If it needs a doctor, you must provide one. If it just needs food and shelter you can do all of that yourself. To help this creature that God put in your path is a very high calling indeed.
    “When you answer that calling you are pledging your honor or your truth, to love and care for the cat. Not in so many words usually, Emmy.
    “Now I will tell you how Billy came to me.
    “I had never been alone. All my life there were others. First a mother and father, then just my father. Then I got a husband. Then we were parents of two children. But children grow up and they must live their own lives. Soon my children became adults and left my home. Then John Chee, who had been my husband for so long weakened and died. Then, Emmy, I was alone most of the time. I gave his old truck to my son, Ben, because I never learned to drive. I probably should have, but I didn’t.
    “One day I asked my son to take me to Winslow for grocery shopping. In an alley beside the store there was a dumpster. I could hear some small cries coming from the dumpster. So, Ben and I opened it. Inside, in a plastic bag, was a small wet tabby kitten. He had been thrown away as if he were garbage. Thrown away alive! Well, you know what happened of course. I brought him out here. Then I set about mothering him.
    “First, I fed him a little. Then I gave him a warm bath and a good rub down with a towel. Then, more feeding. Then he was sleepy. I made him a nest by putting a folded towel in a square basket. Ben and I had picked up litter and canned kitten food, and a box for the litter, after we found the kitten, so that was taken care of also.
    “He never used his nest much. Only when I was up and busy. Most of the time he slept on my shoulder in bed when I slept. I hope this old story isn’t putting you to sleep Emmy!
    “So, I was not alone then. I called him Billy because it seemed like a fine name for an Indian kitty. In time, I noticed as he grew, that he was an unusual cat. He watched out for me. He could hear and see things which I could not perceive. If someone walked near the house, he told me with gestures and by his expression. If my thoughts wandered down sad paths he knew and he came to me and he lifted my heart. He was in fact a Watcher; a sort of angel and he was my True Cat.”
    The old lady stopped speaking then. She sighed and smiled at the tiny girl asleep in her carrier. She patted Billy’s head as he sat beside her. Honda opened his eyes briefly. She smiled at him too and he went back to sleep.
    When the blue pickup drove back up the driveway no one was awake in the house. The slight rattle and engine noise didn’t disturb the sleepers at all.

*It's a chapter in Mirage.

🤍

Four Walkers

 

            The moon shone like a soft beacon on the warm midnight highway that barely paused on its way out of Luminous, TX.
            Everything was closed, from the gas station to the drug store and even the café, which didn’t have regular hours. Whether it was open depended on how Maria was feeling that day, what had been delivered and who came to work.
            Shadows were sharp, revealing nothing within. Some surfaces glowed with a sort of promising fairy gleaming.
            There were some four legged walkers on the road. Moon lovers. Coyotes, three, just like characters in an indie film. Silent. Sniffing about the sidewalks, all six lengthwise blocks of them, reading the surface news and on the lookout for anything of interest.
            One of the first things in town when you enter is the Desert Rose motel, on the right side of the highway on a side street. There are large trees sheltering the 10 tiny units during the daytime. An owl waits there now, high and out of sight. Sharp, wide open pupils observe the pavement patiently.
            Mice never learn, do they? Rats do.
            If you walked over to the second street through town, you’d be in line with the few downtown houses in Luminous. In the six blocks there are about 30 houses, all occupied, but sleeping now. Nothing fancy. Desert houses, built to be as cool as possible considering their location.
            There are dim lamp lights showing from some windows.
            In the second block down, a woman steps outside to smoke a cigarette. It’s peaceful out here in the moonlight. The cool air and the dark and light were more wanted than the smoke was.
            She is wearing a long sleeveless cotton night gown, white of course.
            She runs her hands through her long hair in a timeless gesture. She leans back against the siding. Perhaps she will never go back inside. Stranger things have happened.
            “Slow down,” Eliza thinks. “Your heart is beating too fast.” A Simon and Garfunkel song drifts through her memory and then fades again. She smokes, eyes closed now.
            An entrancing scent of old fashioned roses drifts through the night time air. Eliza thought of heavy old pink roses like small roseate cabbages.
            Now, the Walker came silently walking up 2^nd Street as he often did around midnight.
            He saw her little flame burn brightly and then go dim, as he had many times before. If he stood silently, the performance would be repeated a few times.
            The Walker, the Heart Healer, stands singing under his breath, below the level of audible. If you could hear him, you would say that the words sound as if they belong to some desert tribe, and maybe they do?
            Did he love her? Only the roses know.
            He sang until she put out her cigarette in the ashtray that lived on her front porch and went inside, as he had before.
            He walked over to the highway which barely paused on its way out of town and followed it. When he found the coyotes, he whistled a low note and they followed him, as usual.
            Only the moon watched all four walkers leave Luminous, TX.

🌸

Arizona: The Bubble Files

             So, a couple of nights ago, Bubble Woman, pictured here, and her assistant stopped their rig beside the highway just at sunset to create some bubbles of the true Arizona variety.

            It was a tremendous shoot, so I can only post a representative number of the photos.

            The scene, and the assistant.

🤍My favorite of the whole shoot.🤍

I think they look a bit like little alien life-forms.

            

            Thank you, Bubble Woman, for the beautiful family of ephemera, those fragile instances we see only for a moment, or in these skillful photos.

🤍

Happy Tootsday Open Thread & Christmas Prep

 Mr. Baby Sir would like to take this occasion to wish you all the best.

A lovely relaxed Tootsday, in honor of the girl herself.

Also,

Not to worry about Christmas prep unless you have kids,

Or

Grandkids!

There are, in fact, several days remaining!

Love, p

🤍

Do You Know The Day Or The Hour?

  

          

            “Mama, what’s a birthday?” said Cherry from slightly aloft, midair, shining in the afternoon sunlight.
            Ramona sat down beside her fire, and looked up at her child, trying to discern the germ of the question.
            “Well, what people call your birthday is the day in time when you were born,” said Ramona, “but I bet you knew that. So what are you really asking me?”
            “Twigg said that people have a party on their birthday. But their birthday, the real one, was a long time ago before they can remember,” said Cherry, slowly descending to sit beside her mother.
            “Oh. That’s because human people keep track of days as they go by. Before they had computers, they used a sort of magazine called a calendar, which showed all the days of a certain year in little squares. It had a page for each month, as they call it,” Ramona said, hopefully, because it didn’t make a pile of sense to her even as an adult.
            “Why do they keep track of days that way, Mama,” wondered Cherry. “And, what’s a month?”’   
            “Each year has a number, Sweetie. In each year are twelve months, it’s just a part of a year, usually about 30 days, some more, some less,” said the mother. “There are about 365 days inside every year.”
            “Why,” said Cherry.
            “For keeping track of the stories of days that went before, such as the day they were born, or for planning what is coming in days that haven’t come yet. So they know what to expect and can get together with others with plans. We just say I’ll see you in four days, or whatever. They say, ‘I’ll see you next Wednesday,’ or whatever day they mean.
            “Cherry, I forgot to tell you that each year has about 52 weeks inside it too. A week is seven days. These weeks happen over and over, and each day of the week  has a name.”
            “Why don’t we have a calendar too,” said Cherry.
            “I don’t think we need one. We see the seasons change, like it’s nearly winter now. We’ll see when spring comes. It will show itself.
            “Cherry, I think all this keeping track of days started when they started writing and then when they got kings and chiefs who wanted to get people to do things at certain times.
            “We don’t do that. Yes, your father is the king out here in the Great Forest, but he’s not like a human king. He doesn't make people make roads or get armies together to fight other armies. As, he says he mostly helps at weddings, and feasts and has a great time singing songs and telling big stories!” said Ramona. She smiled at the thought.
            “Mama, I only can touch and see and hear the day I am in right now,” observed Cherry.
            “I know! People really like to feel that they control the days, but the days come and go anyhow, no matter how much they write them down. The only day we really live in is the right now one. And actually it’s a moving thing, smaller than a day, its right now, over and over.
            “In a way, every day is your birthday, Cherry,” said Ramona. “When your mind wakes in the morning every day, it’s like you are just born again!”

            Then Cherry had another question.
            “Why does Maeve say, ‘Evermore’ all the time,” said Cherry.
            “That’s a pretty good question,” said Ramona. “I hadn’t asked myself or anyone else or her why she says that all the time. Maybe we should ask her.”
            Ramona stood up, getting ready to do one of those cowboy whistles she does to call Maeve, but Maeve must have itchy ears or something, because she appeared as if by magic.
            “Evermore,” echoed through the trees as Maeve bombed down out of the canopy.
            “What’s up? Where’s the Boss?” she said.
            “Well,” said Ramona, “Cherry wants to know why you say ‘Evermore’ all the time!”
            “Hm! Let me think,” said Maeve, cocking her head to the side and observing Cherry closely. “Number one reason is that there was a famous Raven who said ‘nevermore’ and that was such a bummer and such a dead end, that I decided that I should do better!
            “The other reason is because I see good stuff all around me all the time and it just keeps coming. Also, it’s a heck of a lot of fun!” she finally admitted.
            She looked around the Home Clearing in a pointed manner, as if seeking someone at a party.
            “Maeve, Honey, Ralph is up at Ooog’s place delivering a bag of fish and getting a bag of potatoes and onions to bring back down here!” said Ramona, answering Maeve’s question finally.
            “Hm, well, I think I’ll just fly over there and see if he needs any help,” said Maeve, lifting off.
            “Evermore!” whispered Ramona to Cherry, as they watched her go.
            “Yes,” whispered Cherry!
            Blue was there, paying close attention, but she didn’t say a single word.

🍂⏰🍁

What's Up, Suzy? Open Suzday Thread!

 

            It was one of those quiet days with just about nothing going on. Catfurday afternoon, a yawner. I was sitting here at the big salvaged desk picking through the internet, seeing if there was a story rattling around in the story box.
            Suzy appeared at my right elbow, waiting silently for a chance to speak. It’s nice of her to wait so politely. Her brother isn’t like that. Insistent might be the word for him!
            Anyhow, finally I said, “Hey Suz, what’s cookin’ upstairs today?”

          “I’m trying to get everything to work together. There are a lot of things to think about, and the edges don’t seem to fit each other,” said Suzy with a tiny furry frown between her ears.
            “Isn’t that a very big thing for a very small cat to be worrying about?” I asked her.
            “You have to understand, P-lady, that I have really got nothing to do but think. It maybe look as if I’m asleep, but I assure you, I’m thinking,” she said.
            “OK,” I said. “Let’s check you out. Do you believe in the Forest People? That’s a thought project if I’ve ever heard of one,” I said, trying to wrest the subject matter away from a Unified Field Theory, which I do believe might be a lot for a small feral kitty.
            “I see what you did there,” said Suzy.
            “Well, how about that! So what do you say? Yea or nay?” I persisted.
            “It isn’t a matter of whether I believe or not,” said Suz. “They do or they don’t quite independently of what I believe to be true!”
            “OK. Well, which do you prefer? A mysterious race of Forest Keepers, part legend, part science, part totally unknown? Or a boring world with no mysteries in it?” I said.
            “There are plenty of mysteries already. We don’t need Forest People,” she posited.
            “Maybe it doesn’t matter if we need them or not?” I said.
            “Well, to get back to your question, yeah, I believe. Toots has seen them at night walking the highway. I have heard some funky calls in the night, like nothing that is supposed to be out there. I’ve heard all those programs you watch. Yeah, they’re out there,” said Suzy.
            “That’s pretty much what I think, Suzy. But I sure wonder what they’re made of and what they’re doing all the time!”
            “It’s going to take more than podcasts to figure that out,” said Suzy. “Maybe what we need to do is ask them.”
            With that, she jumped down to my knee, and then the floor and wandered off to look for the Unified Field again, or something.
            Willie caught my eye and winked. He had been listening, as usual.
            “It makes her happy, you know, biting off too big of a bite gives her plenty of chewing to do,” he giggled.
            “She may get there, Willie!” I said. “Stranger things have happened, I think.”

❓❓❓

🤍

Posture in Motion.

 

            Unlike the guy in the Beatles song, Ralph is a lover and a dancer. But the subject hasn’t come up very much, or at all.
            Ralph has accepted the tacit belief of his friends, such as Ranger Rick, but not Thaga or Ooog, that he sings his words and the words are not fruitless. And this is true, as far as it goes. He would say his songs are like prayers sometimes and sometimes just plain shapeshifting of things. He’s quite innocent. There is no magic in this, just the words and the song.
            The truth of the matter is that he was dancing all along. He built the Home Clearing, and in fact, his part of the Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest, which he calls the Great Forest, was danced into being. It was separated out from the mundane forest by dance.
            It’s easy to say that. But is it easy to picture it? It requires a relaxed imagination. There is grandeur involved. No flailing of arms and legs. No. It could even be that one watching him would not see it as dance.
            He is massively slow, like seasons or earth changes. Each motion summons a reality into being.
            I believe that he thinks of it as housekeeping, or even nest building. He’s not an empire builder. It doesn't occur to Ralph to spread his influence around where it’s not wanted.
            After he met Ramona, he began this work. First the cave. Then the whole clearing was dedicated by gesture. Ramona knows that he danced the Home Clearing into being for her and their children. Thaga and Ooog have seen him dance. They might have learned a move or two from him too.
            I like to think that the wind surrounds him as he dances and adds its bits and decorates with some of whatever is loose in the trees or on the ground. Fall would be a great time for this. I can easily see his chestnut coat scattered with blossom petals or leaves and the wind just tossing his locks around for effect.
            The wind always has something to add, sighs and whispers, implied promises. The wind loves change
            Perhaps there are times when the mighty Raven adds her blessings in great wide circles of flight with her long dark wings beating out a rhythm. You know she would!
            It’s just an image I’m offering. Stillness, posture, gesture, and change.

🍁🍀🍂

🤍