Just a Little "Mnrrrr!" for a Friday

 

            “You will have observed, no doubt, that for the second day in a row she didn’t write anything,” remarked Willie, speaking to whomever might be attending to his remarking.
            “Speaking as one who always does his duty, it’s hard to imagine a legitimate reason for this level of laxness. Do you know what I mean?” He looked around the room and saw only Suzy.
            “Sometimes she has to leave the house. I don’t know what she does out there for eight hours at a time, but then when she comes back, she’s all tired and even, possibly, a little bit cranky!” said Suzy, eyebrows up and whiskers at attention. “Then comes the big nap!”
            “Maybe we could help. We could converse about some piffle for a couple hundred of words. And that could stand in for a post of some sort,” continued Suzy.
            “Oh, I don’t know, Suzy. That sounds awful self-referential for a couple of house cats,” said Willie.
            “Well, yes, a little contrived too,” said Suzy quite seriously.
            Mr. Baby Sir, esq. strolled into the room, pausing for effect, hoping to be noticed.
            “Have you seen my tail?” he asked Willie and Suzy, looking languidly from face to face.
            “Yes,” said Willie.
            “Yes,” said Suzy.

            “Your tail is almost a whole post all by itself,” said Suzy. “I must admit to being very impressed.”
            Mr. B.S. esq. took a charming little bow and left the room, nodding at each cat. His tail was held high, looking very much like the flag of the Maine Coon, which he undoubtably was.
            “You know, sometimes his big tail makes me feel quite inferior with this little sleek tail,” said Suzy.
            “Oh Suzy, your tail suits you. You are a sleek little cat. Think how silly you would look with a thumper like his!” remonstrated Willie.
            “Thank you, Brother. Your tail suits you too! It’s a little bit fat and very sleek indeed!”
            “Yes, we must be content with the tails the Maker has given us,” said Willie.
            “Very true,” said Suzy, who was getting sleepy anyhow.
            “I think a nap is in order,” said Willie.
            “Brrrrt!” said Suzy.
            And that was all they said!

            It was just another open thread, of course.

A Thursday Kind of Open Thread

 A fine Thursday to you.

We spent Wednesday in Seattle,

and the old city looked okay!

Oh, you know, there are flaws,

but the sun was out and the Seattlites always look happy

when the sun is out,

and the mountains are shining on the horizon,

and it's almost spring!

🎈

Domestic Archeology

 

            I guess spring must have hit here on Tuesday afternoon.
            Spring has some sneaky ways of manifesting herself. She used to stick her head up right about now every year. I would smell something in the air, and I’d be out there with my spading fork turning over some soil, just checking you know? How cold is it actually? How wet is it? Will I get pneumonia if I stay out here and do this? One year I did get pneumonia!
            I had a tiller, a Honda! But I really enjoyed the precision of hand spading.
            Anyhow, sometimes spring hits with an urge to “do something” about the house. I think it was during my nap yesterday that she sprung it on me. I woke with a deep internal knowing that now it was time.
            My experience of life has a very definite dividing point. It splits in 2000 when I became a computer user. I had literally never touched one before, though there was a Commodore 64 in the house.
            So, I have stuff from before then. The stacks amount to a lot of paper, writings, drawings, saved ephemera which I have not looked at for twenty five years. Most of it needs to go. A huge job.
            Then there are things like archived baby dresses. What to do?
            I’m not even going to talk about books. That’s a whole subject by itself.
            I have been sorting clothing. One of the funny things about losing mass and dimension is that you end up with a bunch of clothes that are silly big. What to do?
            So, there are stages in sorting. First, rough, remove what is no longer useful. Then, figure out if any of it is donatable. Then, which goes where.
            The winter days of the bear’s den are over. Everything must have a place and be in it, or off with its head! Even my desk! I am digging out the desk of darkness and confusion!
            I think I would like to have about the collection of stuff I had in 1972, something like that. Enough to do whatever, but not enough to set up four lives, as is the case presently.
            Your thoughts on the subject?

            I will be in and out today. Mostly in Seattle all day. But, I usually stick my nose in by phone anyhow!

Willie Justified

A poetic view of Seattle's University Way, Feb., 24, 2025

Scene of lots of poetry!

          A man, nay, a gentleman cat, alone with his words, confronts his own heart with the crafting of elusive meanings. He doesn’t really expect understanding, or appropriate appreciation, which is probably a wise move on his part.

           His is a severe exigency. To speak, but not to pen, is his agony.
“Doggone it! Even had I thumbs, as such, I remain illiterate!" mourned Willie.
            “They will never understand me,” he whispered. He gazes, lonely, into a shiny pan lid. It’s not a gazing glass, but it is shiny! “But that doesn’t stop them from quoting or mocking me!”
            “Nor does it stop me from my posies!”
            He began to notice a gradually clearing image in his pan lid’s mirrored surface.
            “Those who lack understanding, will never understand,” a haunting voice said.
            Though there was some distortion caused by the curvature of the lid, Willie began to discern a beautiful, unfamiliar face. Glowing green eyes, deep in the reflection, blinked languorously at him.
            “Why have I not met you before, oh Beauty? What is your name?” sighed Willie.
            He forgot about poetry for a minute.
            “My gentleman named me Sammie,” said the compelling voice, so sweet, so tender.
            “Oh, of course, I have heard your name! I notice that you took no part in the Literary Funeral Suzy and Toots held in my honor, and in my absence,” said Willie. “They act like I can’t hear them. But of course I can hear them! I’m plugged into the same darn CatComm™ that they are, for Heaven’s sake!”
            “Oh, Willie, I abstained for reasons of my own! Also, I, hearing the bit of poem quoted last night, was instantly smitten by its essential wisdom and grace! I believe you to be a fine poet, and that you will only become finer and better as you conceive and propound more and more poetry!” Sammie said passionately.
            Well, that was music to Willie’s pointy little ears!
            “Hey, Sammie, when I bust out of here, do you want to come too?” said Willie.
            “I think so, but we have to work out the physics, don’t we?” asked Sammie.
            “I’ll figure something out, Beauteous One,” said Willie. “When the time comes!”
            “I believe you will,” said Sammie, with complete conviction.
            There followed some Purring™ and fond farewells.
           
            Perhaps there is a lesson here? How shall we say it goes?
            “Friendly critics are the smartest, and you’d do well to attend to them?”
            Yes. Wise advice!

 

Willie is Busting Out!

 

🧡

            Suzy was full to bursting. This story was just too good to simply dwell on privately. It must be told!
            Therefore, she assumed her usual sending and receiving station down low on the back porch where she could see a bit of the sliding glass door reflecting herself and whoever she was talking with. This was most usually Toots. It was a quite sheltered location, nobody could see her there unless they knew she was there.
            “Toots! Calling Toots! Are you receiving this, Honey?” Suzy hit send as hard as she could. Sometimes it took a couple of tries to get Toots’ attention.
            “Just a minute, Suzy! I think I see a big fat gopher or something out there! I’d show that gopher what’s what if I was out there you better believe! Mrrrrrrrrrg!” said Toots, in a rush of words.
            “OK, it waddled off. I hope the coyotes have a good dinner! What’s up Suzy? I’m back,” said Toots, adjusting her fur and whiskers a bit for better reception.
            “I have to tell somebody this or I will pop,” said Suzy, “and you’re the one to tell!”
            “Oh well? Meow? Let’s have it then, Suzy,” said Toots.
            “Well, you know that I told you Willie has been acting weird lately? I found out why!”
            “You mean more than just being a bossypants brother, Suzy?” asked Toots.
            “I caught him reciting poetry. Get this, Toots. It was his own poetry! The mind boggles, Toots. And the mind should boggle. Let me tell you!”
            “Oh dear! I see what you mean. Poetry is a touchy subject. In fact, it might be the most subjective subject there ever was, Suzy!” said Toots, in shock. “Um, what was his poem about?”
            “I think it was about breaking out of this house…”
            “Do you remember any of it, Suzy?” said Toots.
            “I’m very afraid so, Toots,” Suzy whispered, so Willie wouldn’t overhear.
            “Well?”
            “Do I have to,” asked Suzy.
            “I think it would be best, yes,” said Toots.

                Bustin out
                Bustin out of here, watch me. See
                If I don’t! Like that cat in two places,
                See, I part molecules, man!
                While they think I’m just rolling on the floor,                           
                I’ll be out….the….door!
                Vamoose!
 
            Suzy sighed. “You see? And that is only a tiny nibble. He went on and on! Oh, my claws, Toots! ”
            “Unfortunately, I do,” said Toots.
            “What Willie needs to learn, or do, or practice or something, is that the meaning of poetry is a kind of glimmer that is emitted between the words. But they have to be the right words. Words that strike sparks off each other, or words that remind of forgotten things, or words that march to the ancient cadences of languages from older times…”
            “You get that, don’t you, Suzy,” asked Toots. “It’s hard to explain in plain English, how to get behind the plain words. I’m not sure it can be taught. Some seem to be born with it, and some seem to gain it from practice.”
            “Honestly Toots, I can’t see Willie keeping it up much longer. He can’t write it down, of course, and he can’t remember things. He’s not stupid you know. He’s just really, truly, in the moment. That’s Willie! Some beat poet was probably spouting online, and he heard it and got inspired,” said Suzy. “In fact, I’m not even going to tease him about it! That would only reinforce his memory of the poetry fit, and how it took him!”
            “You’re actually a pretty kind sister, Suzy,” laughed Toots. “I’m not sure he would appreciate your motivation, but he’ll never know!”
            “No! I’m not going to tell him we discussed his poem,” said Suzy.
            “I think I hear him coming…”
            With that, the girls signed off for the night, each resuming her life as a rather pedantic example of Felis Catus!
            “Meow!” said Suzy.
            “Myow!” said Toots.

            Both bow prettily and exit the stage!

Adieu! 

How Long Is Evermore?

 

Photo by Steve Cossey.

            Ralph had taken a long walk along the river, because fishing is always on his list!
            It’s hard going, walking over or around all those big rocks that grow in the Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest. Some are like bushel basket sized or even bigger. Some of them are just the right size to roll an ankle. But he does that floaty Sasquatch walk sometimes when the road is rough.
            So, that’s the setting. You can see Ralph there on the riverbank. He’s big, it's hard to keep in mind how big. He’s about 9 feet tall and must weight 700 pounds. And yet, his affect is diffident, scholarly, almost. He doesn’t bull his way through the world. He prefers rest and reflection, and dinner.
            His hair is almost black, you know, that super deep brown. Now days he has grey streaks on either side of his face clear down into his chest. It looks very distinguished.
            The sun is beginning its descent into night. The light illuminating Ralph and the river is low and slanted. He’s thinking it’s time to head home.
            Maeve, ever mindful of his whereabouts, if she can manage it, and she usually can, has spotted him from her vantage three or four hundred feet in the air. She has very good eyesight.
            Content, then, the great black bird drifts down out of the sky to land on Ralph’s left shoulder. She descends in those raven spirals they do, just because they want to.
            “Oh, hi Birdie Girl,” said Ralph, winking in her general direction as he kept walking. “What have you been up to all day?”
            “Oh, hunting, in a small way, and then hunting in a big way, Ralph! I know we’re supposed to be carrion eaters, but I’m spoiled now. Mice, you know, fresh mice, stuff like that. Then I came looking for you,” Maeve rattled that out in her odd hollow sounding voice.
            “Hunting huh, I’ve never thought of you as a huntress,” said Ralph. “How long have I known you? You seem sort of ubiquitous, eternal, always around.”
            “You don’t remember?” She regarded him sharply with a bright black eye.
            “I don’t remember you on my shoulder before Ramona found me, Maeve.” Ralph giggled.
            “When my Nest Builder still lived, we spent our
 days with the wolves, Ralph. I told you about that. But when he was lost, in my grief, I left the wolves. It took both of us to work with them anyway.
            “My Dear would soar over the forest and fields until he spotted deer or whatever, then he would come tell the lord of the wolves, himself, where this prey was located. Then the wolves could be assured of a good hunt.
            “We would watch over the young wolves as the elders in the pack completed their business. We all ate together. Wolves and ravens, helping and sharing.”
            “After I left the wolves, I noticed Ramona doing interesting stuff by her fire. I hung around the fire for a while. Then I decided to keep an eye on you, just like we had for the wolves, you know?” Maeve said earnestly. “I could tell you needed me, Ralph!”
            “Makes sense, Maeve. Almost like there was a Designer above all things, huh,” said Ralph.
            “Hey, if it's Ramona’s cooking that spoiled you, I think I’m spoiled too! I used to eat whatever I could grab out of the water or on the land raw. I think I still could, but I really prefer what she does back at the fire circle!”
            “Evermore!” said Maeve. She bowed and spread her wings for emphasis.
            “Evermore!” said Ralph. He’d never said it before, but he found it rather satisfying. No wonder Maeve liked it so much! “How about forevermore? Nah, evermore is better,” said Ralph
            “Hey, Black Leg, why don’t you go tell Ramona I’m almost home!”
            “You got it,” she said, and lifted off and hung suspended for a second, like the creature of air and wind and sun and forest that she was. Then she shot off on powerful wingbeats, to bring word to the Firekeeper at home.

🖤

Seventh Day Greetings and Open Thread

         Wishing you a fine Saturday!

I'm contemplating the good old American Road Trip.

Seems like it's almost that time again.

Such a pleasure,

And an excellent provider of perspective!

💚

The Scent of Roses Lingered

 

 

            She had fainted. Then she slept. Her second night in the old house was spent on the floor of the attic. Attics being upstairs, as they are, it was naturally warm enough for relative comfort.
            Her close friend, the cat, stayed right beside her. He woke frequently during the dark hours, just opening his green eyes and listening for her breathing. Content, that she merely slept after the initial rush of emotion and fainting, he also slept. He lay near, watchful and golden in the ambient light from the window.
            The woman lay on her left side. She wore jeans and some sort of cotton knit tunic in deep blue. Her shoulder length brown hair lay on the board floor somewhat tangled. She wasn’t thin. She gave the impression of physical strength. Her feet were bare, as they usually were indoors.
            The sun rose and the attic room filled with light. The cat woke and stretched himself. Then he waited silently.
            At last she woke and sat up, sitting cross legged as she had the night before.
            “My truck is back, Fred,” she said. “And the town. It’s there too!”
            The cat gazed out of the little window with a look of approval. He purred loudly.
            “Was that real?” Terry asked Fred.
            “I heard that knocking on the door too,” said Fred. “That sounded real.”
            “Sure sounded real to me too, Fred. If that was a dream, it was a doozy!” She laughed a little wryly and yawned.
            “I reckon we better head on downstairs, see if the power is back on and make some breakfast. I think I need to go see that cop again, Fred. He is the only human in this town I know to talk to, and he has to put up with me because he’s a public servant!” Terry said.
            “You want me to talk sense to him, Terry,” Fred said.
            “No way! Never you mind, Fred!”
            The second floor looked pleasant, full of morning light.
            The main floor didn’t look haunted either. The power was on. Once again the kitchen window facing east was full of brilliant light. The storm of the night before seemed vague and unreal to Terry now. She almost forgot about it.
            First she made coffee. While it was brewing, she was in a somewhat jolly mood, so she made French toast, which they had with butter and strawberry jam. Fred had lots of butter but no jam. She cut his French toast up into little cubes for him.
            “I need to buy a washer and dryer, don’t I?”
            “Well, you wear clothes, so I guess so,” said Fred. “When this place was last inhabited maybe they did it some other way.”
            “No, you’re talking about a hundred years ago, Fred. They must have gotten rid of the old set when they cleaned this place out,” said Terry.
            “I’m going to get cleaned up, then we have some business to attend to, Fred.”
            An hour later, dishes washed, showered and ready, Terry said, “OK, dude, let’s hit that big old paved road out there. I want to talk to Officer Mike and borrow his phone for minute.”
            “Meow,” said Fred. It was his idea of a joke.
            Fred hopped into his truck box, Terry started the engine, and they rode companionably out onto Main and headed up to the police station. Mike’s SUV was parked out of the sunlight around the side of the building again.
            He was sitting at his desk poking at a laptop computer and looking bored.
            “Good morning, Ms. Reilly. How can I help you?” he said, agreeably.
            “Good morning, Officer! I have questions,” said Terry.
            Mike got up and pulled a big oak chair around in front of his desk, and said, “have a seat ma’am, I aim to answer questions. There is damn little going on in Chase today. But I guess that’s probably a good thing, hey?”
            “That is probably a matter of opinion,” Terry said enigmatically. “Thanks.”
            “Oh. Well. That sounds like it might be interesting,” he said.
            Fred had settled down by Terry’s feet.
            “So, you bring that cat everywhere?” He laughed. “Just call me Mike. It’s easier.”
            “Yeah, call me Terry. Yes, this cat is with me 24/7. He keeps me on the straight and narrow.”
            “What do you want to know,” said Mike.
            “No. 1, I need to know how to get phone and internet out here. Do you have Starlink or what?”
            “No, no, we have T-Mobile here at the office, and it works ok for both. It drops off once in a while, but they all do, don’t they?” he said.
            “May I use your phone and call them then?” said Terry.
            “Sure,” said Mike, and they did that, and suddenly she had phone service, the equipment for internet would arrive in a couple of days.
            “Now, your other question?” He put his hands flat out on his desk top, looking interested.
            Terry looked at this young man. He was slight and young, handsome in a very middle American looking way. Blue eyes, dark hair, kind face. While she was noticing, she was wondering what to tell him.
            Finally she said, “those roses were not the end of the odd things about my house. Somehow, when exploring the basement yesterday, the door upstairs shut itself and locked me and Fred down there. I managed to break out, by shoving the outside door down there so hard that I broke the lock out of the doorframe, which is quite rotten actually. This was strange enough.
            While I was down there, I noticed a strong scent of roses, which makes no sense to me. Does it make sense to you?”
            “Well, no,” said Mike, listening.
            “I need to talk to someone who knows something about that property,” said Terry.
            “Last night we were up in the attic looking out of a small window up there, which I cannot see from outside of the house. That was crazy enough. But while we were looking outside I had some kind of dream or vision in which everything looked like it must have a hundred years ago.
            “Is there a librarian who has been around a while, or a historian of the area or someone that you can introduce me to?”
            Mike looked at Terry like he was making up his mind about something. He still kind of wondered if she was a nut, harmless or otherwise. On the other hand, it was a very dull day there in Chase, AZ and he didn’t mind a bit of mystery to contend with.
            “Yes. Wow. There is someone. I hope she can handle it. Your story is pretty strange. As it happens, I know someone who is an amateur lover of local history, but she is quite old and frail.”
            “I bet she knows all about that old house,” Terry said hopefully in answer. “But I don’t want to upset her.”
            “All we can do is go see her at her place and approach the subject gently and see how she takes it,” said Mike. “Why don’t you and Mr. Kitty there follow me in your pickup?”
            Mike locked up the police office, since no one would be there, and went around the building to get in his vehicle. Terry and Fred climbed back into the pickup prepared to follow him.
            “Mr. Kitty?” said Fred.
            “You’ll live over it,” said Terry, “Mr. Kitty!”
            Mike drove slowly two blocks over on the other side of Main St. He stopped on Sunset St. in front of a little 60s style one story house painted green and surrounded by shade trees. Terry parked behind him.
            Out on the sidewalk, Mike said, “her name is Rochelle Hunter. We may as well go knock. I’m sure she’s noticed we’re out here. There are no flies on Mrs. Hunter. She taught school here so long I think she knew my grandparents. Well, maybe not that far back.”
            Officer Mike Harald, Terry Reilly and Fred stood together on Mrs. Hunter’s small concrete porch. Mike punched the door bell, and they waited out there in the filtered morning sunlight.
            In a moment the door opened, revealing a short elderly lady, with a white updo hairstyle, silver glasses in a chain around her neck, and a cotton print house dress printed with small roses. She looked at them all sharply and said, “good morning, young people and cat. What’s up? I’m dying to know!”
            “Mrs. Hunter, this lady is a new resident in our town here. She bought the old Lindel place over on 2^nd. She has some questions about the history of the house. I figured you were the person to ask,” said Mike.
            Mrs. Hunter laughed out loud. She looked amused, but maybe something else also.
            “Come right in kids and cat! I’ll bet she has questions! I just bet she does!”
            They all followed her in and Mrs. Hunter shut the door firmly behind them.

Link to the whole crazy deal so far.

Peeking Out

 

            Fred’s tail led the way back into the house. Straight up, it was like a pillar of gold.
            I stepped inside, then I carefully locked that door behind myself. I tried the doorknob, making sure it was locked.

           While we had been busy escaping the basement, clouds had covered the sun. It looked dark and somewhat foreboding in the house. I felt hesitant. I wasn't entirely happy to be re-entering the house.
            The air pressure had dropped, I could feel that we were in for a storm. I had a faint memory of other storms. Oddly, though, I couldn’t remember where that would have been. I was sure that it would come to me, this lack must be just a glitch in the memory banks.
            Fred turned and looked at me, then he paced into the kitchen. He hopped up onto the big table. I saw my keys lying there. “Ah, good idea, Fred.”
            I stuffed that key ring into my right hand jeans pocket. That felt good. Secure.
            The wind began to blow hard. It hurled big warm drops of rain at the kitchen window, which had been so sunny that morning, making noisy splats.
            Next thing, the lights went out, then I heard thunder, rolling and rolling again. I gasped! Was it thunder? It almost sounded like wheels on a wooden plank floor.
            “I’m hungry, Terry,” said Fred. In the dim light his green eyes glowed faintly.
            “I can’t cook now, Fred, the power is off,” I said. “We’ll have to eat something cold.”
            “I’m not picky,” said Fred. “One of those cans of tuna will work. You have more yogurt. I saw it in there.”
            “That’s true. I might have to round it out with a peanut butter sandwich. This day has been a bit over the top, makes a girl hungry,” I told him while opening the fridge and looking into its dark interior.
            So, I popped a can of some high-end olive oiled tuna, dumping it into a shallow bowl and putting it on the table for Fred. I also got him a mug of water.
            I gathered up my peach full fat yogurt, my bread and peanut butter, a spoon and a table knife, and another mug of water from the tap in that old sink, then I sat with Fred, and we had our lunch, or seeing how dark it was, maybe it was more like a sort of picnic dinner indoors.
            You will not be surprised to discover that I possessed not one candle. “Preparation is key!” I told Fred. “We better buy some candles tomorrow.”
            “Terry, I think we should go upstairs and check to see if there is a window in the attic,” said Fred. He had fishy breath too.
            “I’m not sure I want to do that,” I said, knowing darn well that I didn’t want to do that.
            But, Fred won as usual when it came to decision making, by sheer persistence. he wanted to take a look, so we were going to take a look.
            “We need to figure out why you bought this place, Terry,” said Fred. I had thought I bought it because it was just what I was looking for. That’s what I had thought. If I remembered correctly. I wasn’t sure to tell the truth.
            “Let’s go,” said Fred, as he hopped off the table and headed for the stairway to the second floor in the fading light. Thunder rolled again. The wind whacked the side of the house repeatedly. My knees felt wobbly, but I proceeded anyway, just as if I were very brave.
            Ghostlike, in my own house, following a yellow tomcat, I felt my way to the stairs, once again climbing to the bedroom floor. The bedrooms' doorways gaped at me darkly. Surely those rooms were quiet. Weren’t they? Thunder pealed out again.
            “Come on, Terry,” called Fred from the stairs to the attic, where he waited for me.
            Breathing shallowly, I followed Fred up those stairs too. I slowly opened the little door. Fred slipped inside ahead of me. Lightning flashed right overhead. The sky rumbled again, and I could see, across that wooden floor, on the front of the building a small window.
            “Oh, Fred! Is it there or not?” I cried out, not entirely trusting my own eyes.
            “Looks like a window,” he answered. He kept walking. “Let’s look out,” he said.
            I walked slowly as in a dream, across that smooth floor, arriving at last to the window. It was one of those attic windows sitting right over the surface of the floor. Fred parked himself to the right side. I parked myself right in front of the glass and looked down toward the street.
            “What do you see, Terry,” he said.
            “I’m not sure,” I said. I didn’t see a Ford pick up parked in front, for one thing. Maybe it just didn’t show somehow? But then lightning lit the street and sky again. Thunder hit like a physical punch. No, there was no pickup truck out there.
            “Where is my Ford,” I wondered aloud. Fred turned and gazed at me wordlessly.
            “There must be something out there,” said Fred, looking down at the street.
            The lay of the land was the same, but everything else was different. I couldn’t see pavement, or even that old cracked sidewalk. Across the dirt lane, there was only a rough field with a barbwire fence running along side of that road.
            I just shook my head, because such things don’t happen. Not on this planet.
            A farm wagon, pulled by two heavy horses, rolled past. A man dressed like an extra in a western movie, sat on a seat behind the horses. He wore a white western hat and a raincoat of some kind. I couldn’t see what he carried in his wagon, maybe just himself.
            The sky quieted down. The storm hustled off to the north. Those thick clouds moved aside, exposing a full round shining brilliant moon.
            An owl flew straight at our window, looking me right in the eye, before abruptly turning upward and vanishing. I heard a ringing sound. I heard voices downstairs in the children’s rooms. I didn’t feel so good.
            As we continued to look downward from our perch under the peak of the roof, a horse and rider approached. When he got closer to our spot on the road I saw that it was a grey and white speckled horse. The rider was a mature, but youngish looking man. Once again, this man appeared to be in the costume of another time. He seemed like he must be wearing his very best clothing. He also wore a western hat, and he carried a bundle in his arms wrapped in brown paper. He stopped right in front of my house.
            He dismounted in one smooth movement. Then he removed the brown paper from his bundle. He folded this paper up and tucked it somewhere around his horse’s saddle. In his arms he carried a great bouquet of white and pink roses.
            He walked his mare across the road, to tie her to the fence. Then he turned and walked up my walkway heading for the front door.
            I heard knocking. I froze. “No,” I said. “No!”

Some Investigation Was In Order

 

🌹"Boo!"🌹

 

             Well, what could I do? It was a nice sunny day, with no dark corners to spook me. So, I decided to search every inch, every closet, the attic, and the basement, which I had not done heretofore. I had no idea what I was looking for. Clues, I guess.

            “Come on, Fred,” I said. “Let’s do the attic first.”
            Fred consented wordlessly. Together, we went to the small wooden stairway in the back of the upstairs hall. Why had I not gone up there before? I had to ask myself that as I looked up that small staircase.
            It was a little wooden room with plain floorboards and exposed rafters. There were no  mysterious trunks, or old bikes or anything to speak of. There was a small window facing the street. I hadn’t noticed that it was there before. I was beginning to doubt my observational skills. The floor was clean. Not dusty. Hm. Nice, I guess.
            We were up there in the top of the house, so, I decided to check closets for hidden passages or whatever!
            There were four bedrooms. Two on each side of the hall. I stood in the first doorway, just looking. I could easily imagine the sound of children here. Yeah. Children make a lot of noise on wooden floors upstairs.
            Each bedroom had a small closet. Each closet was empty. There weren’t even hangers in the closets. These floors were also spotlessly clean. I thought it had been dusty up there when I was in the process of buying the place.
            Fred took a look in each room, inspecting corners, looking for things only cats care about. He seemed content, making no comment.
            We kind of tiptoed back downstairs to the main floor. My house was so big and so silent. Sunlight drifted into the front windows lighting only dust motes, making minuscule rainbows. If you look very carefully, you can see rainbows on them.
            Fred drifted around the living room, in and out of sunbeams. A small orange soul.
            If I was going to live here, I needed to get some pieces of furniture. A sofa maybe, and a couple of chairs. Even I needed somewhere to sit.
            I hadn’t inspected the basement either. There is no time like the present they say. I called Fred, and he came silently to my feet, waiting. The stairway down into the basement of such a house is usually in the back of the kitchen, handy for the bringing up of supplies. And so it was.
            Fred preceded me down the steep stairway. His tail stuck straight up, leading the way. I grabbed the handrail, after flipping the light switch at the top of the stairs, which had no effect. So, we were going down into a deep dark place. There were no windows in the basement. I left the door open up top to hopefully allow some light down there. It wasn’t a lot of light, but some.
            This old basement had a dirt floor. I understood that it was not unusual when a house this old was built, but to my modern sensibilities, it was clammy and unpleasant. There was a faint odor of must or dry rot perhaps. I determined that I would lock the door into this basement and never use it or open it again. Just as I thought that, the door up at the top of the stairs closed firmly and the lock turned. I could sense Fred thinking, “told you so, Terry.”
            I just stood there silently. I’m not a screamer, but that doesn't mean I was fine with it. I felt faint. I could barely take breath.  But gradually, my eyes adjusted to the dim conditions. Little bits of light sneaked in various small cracks. There are always small cracks, especially in such an old house.
            Soon, I saw that there was a door to the outside on the west side of the house because there was a door shaped line of daylight around it. Just a little bit of light . It was probably locked, but I had to try it. Fred and I needed to get out of this basement! As I made my way over there very carefully over that dirt floor, I began to smell a heavy scent of roses. My breath stopped again and my heart went flop. I froze. Then I could see Fred, almost glowing a bit heading for that basement door and I followed him over there. I felt around for a door handle and eventually located one of those faceted glass doorknobs.
            “Oh, Fred,” I said. “What are we going to do?”
            I rattled the doorknob. No go. Then I just pushed on it good and hard. This broke the lock which was above the doorknob loose. I had torn it out of the rotten wood of the door frame. And there we were, suddenly, out in the open. There were three concrete steps up to the ground level beyond a small square pad with a drain in the middle of it.
            This didn’t solve our problem. Everything I owned in the world was in that house on the main floor, including the key to the front door. I had nothing with me. Not even my truck key, or a working phone. I couldn’t even call anyone. I wondered, off handedly, if anyone was home in any of the other houses on 2^nd Ave. I decided that from now on, my keys would live in my jeans pocket, and I was going to get phone service, even if I had to use that police office phone to call someone. I was sure Mike Harald would be fine with it, even if he thought I was crazy, which I was pretty sure he already did.
            But before doing anything like bothering people I didn’t know, I decided to just check the front door to see if by some chance it would open. It didn’t. It was firmly locked. "So careful, to lock doors, aren’t you, Terry," I thought to myself.
            I looked up at the top where the attic window facing the street had been. There was no attic window. Why did I think I had seen one?
            “Fred, we have to check the back door,” I said. Fred was good with that plan.
            Then I walked around to the back over that desert ground, wondering why I had thought there was a window in the attic. I was beginning to wonder if there was an attic, truthfully.
            Fortunately, there was a back door opening into the hall of the main floor. It was there, like it should be.
            I closed my eyes for a moment, wished, prayed, then opened that door which by all rights should have been locked. I stood back to let Fred in first, then I followed him, as I had always done before.