Month: June 2021

I got a text from Celie not too long ago, around 5p, while I watched whatever reason has me trying to justify my newly spent 9 bucks a month for Netflix (Sweet Tooth is worth the justifying by the way, at least for now).  

It was timed 8:15 am. I got it at 4:53pm though I didn’t note the time at first, it was a just a text.

Celie: Just in case you are going anywhere Shark is under your car

Me: Ok

(Celie would eventually mention to me that she didn’t understand my response, I told her that I didn’t realize the text had been sent 9 hours earlier but didn’t arrive until then and I also didn’t know Shark was gone)

Not too much later when I actually did note the time of the text I remembered a morning.

I had gone downstairs to throw my once a week in the washer while Cele, who was there with the gang, made a point to not allow me to fold what was done in the dryer of her and Matt’s stuff.

Celie: You don’t need to do that … grab, grab, grab.

Me: But I actually like folding clothes, it’s ok (I really do like folding clothes)

Celie: It’s good …. grab, grab, grab

It almost makes her mad I think so I cut whatever could be losses and let her grab, grab, grab.

I then threw my one stuff set in the washer and stepped into the kitchen around a barking Louie and a bouncing Chi Chi and slumbering others, sorry, a slumbering others AND a Georgia back flop belly wait.

“Aaaaahhh, love ya Georgia, but ya gotta stop this back flop belly thing girlfriend. I’m an old dude and all this bending for belly rubs every time can only go so far.”

Amid the bouncing of a Chi Chi and way too loud barking of a Louie, a Honey Bob Tail “Boo” stepping over some chairs towards me and Florida’s unmistakable meow and seeming reticence to but wanting a pet anyway, Sharky came about my feet with some light huffing and a head turn. I picked her up for an under ear shoulder.

Not too long ago Shark had come to aging with an abscess of some type in her forehead, a one Celie and the Doc down the hill at the shelter drained as often as they could but eventually was faster than the drains leaving her with a somewhat quasimodo looking noggin. It was an indicator of bad things and soon short days. But in these short days she had taken to front porch breezes or grabbing spots under cars and trucks and behind tires in our parking spot.

Earlier in the week

Celie: “Keep an eye for shark before you head to work. She can’t really hear now and I’m not sure how much she can see with this thing either.”

“Will do” I said and did do with bending’s down behind BB replete with old man sounds and breaths just before each head off.

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Celie said she may be saying goodbye to Sharky today. The prettiest of Calico cats, a one who looked like an animatronic doll, with a just so head tilt and eyes the envy of any anime character.  

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One of my greatest pleasures in this place has been feeding the cats on occasion, slowly talking to them all as I putzed about old man like in someone else’s kitchen, confirming crazy cat lady guy status and shooting Celie a text eventually that said “cats are good”. Covid changed that as we all distanced but Sharky, then, was my assistant chef, a hop up on the counter and a face in the big bowl I would use for mixing a couple of cans of wet stuff with some dry and a bit of water. That’s where her name came from according to Matt, her ravenousness as if she had never eaten before. She was a “you’re not helping Shark” as she moved under my hands at the sink’s sponge with a bowl or two to wash. She was my nose to forehead in this sponging wet hands only wanting to finish and then see the dole out of food, cat noses down.

There’s been a number of goodbye’s in my 3 + years here. Blue, Bruce, Chubs, Bunny, Dolly, Lola, Spanky, Sweets the Fox (I try not to think about that one as that will just bring torrents) all who I called friend with a shoulder ride and a behind the ear like Sharky now. Well not Blue, not that he wouldn’t have liked the attempt I’m sure, but he wasn’t a cat and was a big boy. Nor Sweets, a skittery giggling backyard Susan of a Fox who minded me with a little distance, closer with my handful of the wet raw stuff on mornings when Celie wasn’t around.

But Sharky was part of the lot of my kitchen cat shoulders, usually the place to just distract her away from the under hands attempt at that bowl wash or two or a face in the big bowl.

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Later

Celie: Sharky is no longer with us.

Me: Sigh. Dammit.

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She’s gone now though and not to some mystical place with paws across a mythical bridge to help us feel better, no, she’s just a life lived well that finds its end. I’ve lost my Grayson and lil’ kit Blink in my time here as well as the rest. Lost friends you can’t ease with thoughts of rainbows no matter how much you try.

You remember singular things. Grayson on the fridge top swiping at your head or a walking around this place talking to himself, Blink plopped down on a pile of newly dried laundry to a quick “oh cool, laundry … Ok I’m out … zzz”,  Blue in his intimidating big chested look to run over to BB like a puppy at your get homes, Dolly and a Broadway “Hello” song in your head, Chubs and prairie dog stand ups waiting for that night’s can crack, Bruce, the most Lebowski of cats, with a Billy Idol looking smirk frightening the dogs merely with his presence, especially Pea who would tap and bounce and whine and growl at him as he blocked a doorway, scared to death, Bunny and that one bent ear that loved a bit of a rub, Lola who owned you and reminded any that needed reminding of that with a pop, Spanky in her littleness but determined “I’m here with the big ones”, Sweets playing with a then Georgia puppy in the mornings and, well, just the magic that was Sweets the Fox … and Sharky as my assistant as I imagined myself some sort of cat food chef only needing a crack sound and a spoon for the preparing.

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I took her on my shoulder under ear out the back porch to the pool for a sit and she grabbed a spot under one of the bushes that sit poolside. There was sun and a breeze, a light thing, but a breeze. She layed down under the bush’s shade. I swear if she could have …

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C’mon Shark hop up, yes I know, it’s big bowl time. Can ya give me a hand?  

You could say a Picture is worth a thousand purrs huh?

I’m sure for whoever might occasion this place, minding footsteps for cats (appreciated) and watching their heads, that me adding another tune to the clutter here in the Attic can bring a breathy , heavy “sigh” … but it’s kinda my thing, or at least part of it.

So another something to sit in a pile of things or maybe on top of a cat window spot storage bin with a comfy towel for the moment … though Bella could give a shit for the extra company.

To the tune “A Horse With No Name” and for the intent of pointing out the revisioning lying nonsense we’re currently bombarded with on a daily basis courtesy of the GOP cultists.

In A Trump Cultish Way

La La …

–

On this next part of the journey  

Revisionists they work a big job   

Re-write Trump things play the whitewash card

Dems to blame for looking at scars

–

Dem’s want to rehash a thing with no gain

Nothing to gather – commission won’t change

Just ask Ron Johnson or Andrew Clyde

No insurrection but Clyde he did cry

–

They come down the mountain in a Trump cultish way

They bring tablets of lies now in play

Nothing to shame – to make them take a new turn    

Cause polit-ti-cly they need truth to burn

–

La, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la

–

After 5 months since the cap riot run

Where insurrection had backup’s white guns

From vivid vid proof and 5 people dead

To normal folks doing touristy things

Or simple protest and what patriots did bring

A re-write to protect their gold king

–

You see they come down the mountain in a Trump cultish way

They bring tablets of lies now in play

Nothing to shame – to make them take a new turn    

Cause polit-ti-cly they need truth to burn

–

La, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la

——–

After four years a new playbook was writ

A How to to democracy’s fall

How to chip away at institutions held dear

future despots could now hear the call 

They devote to the pages like some gold gilded tome

Where lies are truth you just repeat on and on

It’s like a scripture handed down from their king on the mount

To disciples not held to account

–

You see they come down the mountain in a Trump cultish way

They bring tablets of lies now in play

Nothing to shame – to make them take a new turn    

Cause polit-ti-cly they need truth to burn

–

La, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la

La, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la

La, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la

La, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la

Hey Ron, you ignorant prick, what the fuck is an-tEEfa?

A week or so ago, maybe the beginning of last week, or just the end of the one before, at one of the houses that I pass on my way home from work there suddenly appeared a large, smiling, light green inflatable whale with a golden horn, unicorn-like, with no real reason, well, no real reason that any passerby like me is going to know I guess. I know of no cartoon characters to associate with it, no kid’s shows that I am aware of (though if I were aware of any current kids shows as an older single dude with no kids and three cats that might be a worry) no holiday to tie it to.

I did for a quick second think of Fudgie the Whale but I don’t think a Key Lime version of such would have the same appeal. No, it’s just a large, smiling, light green inflatable whale with a golden horn, unicorn-like, sitting smack float in the middle of someone’s front ocean yard.

Now I’m sure there is a pop culture reference for this that I just don’t know and that there is a perfectly good reason for it floating there for them, maybe a birthday request from a youngin’’ or something.

“Hey Dad or Grandad, or Mom or Grandma, do you think you could put the whale in the front yard for my birthday?”

“Sure, and how abouts we just leave it there for a while?”

“Yay!”

Whatever the reason …

But every night since I first noticed this large, smiling, light green inflatable whale with a golden horn, unicorn-like and indeed unicorn-like as it is one of a kind it seems, at least to me, I have just laughed as I’ve passed it, just fucking laughed. Laughed at the sheer seeming random of it. Just laughed.

Dear house on my way home with the random large, smiling, light green inflatable whale with a golden horn, unicorn-like, floating in your front ocean yard,

Thank you.

I’ve needed that.

I know I’ve mentioned this before but I have these Zoom calls with friends of mine from the college days, a three best who help me find my center when things have gone askew which is quite often. I sooooo look forward to these calls, once a month or so, especially after what can be long weeks around here.

I told Lori she is my carrot.

One of the best parts of these calls is just the initial connect, a Lori face with a cat in her hair just to my left on the screen, a Tom to the center, then a Mark moving things for the view to a now Zoom room square, faces that remind of youth and the best of days or mistakes and lessons learned, of helping each other to grow up, sometimes forcing, friends that were found unintentionally but have been held all these years.

We talk of nothing … or everything, Lori of a bones told memory of anniversary’s and hurt this night with a bit of Crown in a tumbler’s fresh ice for the softening, Tom in his Tomness of trivia nights lost or of his wonderful blog about ghosts and frights and all things scary, (blogferatu.com), Mark keeping us informed on the news if we’re lagging or lamenting his numerous gigs with a Mark face that wonders why he has to have so many.

We talk of the fondest of memories, of college days and a Dr Bower poetically rolling square balls down hills while setting almost spent cigarettes to stand up on a podium with a smoke that still wants, back when smoking happened in classrooms, while reminding you of what was important in your work or lack thereof. Of a Dr Sipple who was a dad, the one you never wanted to disappoint and who taught you so much and the one to this day that you still hope to impress, just to let him know you still remember that importance. Of a Dessie who it was that kept the English Department together and who always had an ear amid her busy days for you to sit in the chair at the front of her desk.

You talk of Art, you always talk of Art, our collective ghost of a friend who could wrap a word within a word, give it a twist and then have it come back newly defined, you talk of him in deferential but angry ways “where the fuck have you been?” but then you remember that he loved a bit of intentional drama.

“Sleeping on the floor inside a bedframe, really?”

 “Disappearing?”

You move your camera to show a Mimi the Quirky on her bar towel just above your keyboard, a little Bella in her latest choice of one of your three PC chairs (cats got’s have choices) or just let it sit where it is to see a Cricket the Blind, with a swipe, swipe, swipe burying the food in bowls just over your shoulder. You watch a casual cat butt/tail pass in front of Tom’s hairy mug quite a few times, Lori moves hers to show you Jake asleep on the brand new love seat that was instantly dog commandeered the second she placed it in it’s spot, and if Mark is there you tell him it’s time to buy cat food and then get a cat to feed it to, maybe two.

Lori set the window at 5 hours for this Zoom call which I thought was kind of silly as who the hell is going to talk that long?

5 hours later, with Tom’s old dude stretches and hair rubs and Lori’s tumbler of crown and memory being nothing more than alcohol tinged water now and a Mark who couldn’t be here this night but maybe imagined he was to get through a day, I had to say it’s rack time.  

These Zoom calls are a tether, they remind.

They hold you close.