Author: Stephen J Frankenberry

(facebook April 14th)

When I came home yesterday Bella was in her usual spot, on her comforter bed in the living room (shut up … yes, she has her own comforter and apparently she called in housekeeping while I was out to have them turn it down).

This is one of her two spots, the other being on a folded blanket on the futon dresser/done dryer hamper dump spot in the bedroom, and she was in one or the other all winter … until this morning.

I turned off the heat yesterday evening and this morning before I left, I pulled back the blanket (part of the crack house chic collection) that covers the bedroom window looking out over the front yard and driveway and that has a cat seat of hers, one she hasn’t used since last Fall, and I opened it up.

She was back in that window seat quicker than in a flat eared wide eyed mad crazed cat ghost sprint and I could see her still in that spot as I drove up the hill tonight.

Ahhhhh Spring …

(WTF dude!? I finally have my seat and open window back and the first thing I’m looking at is a dog!? A freakin’ dog!? One of those slobbery not cat things from downstairs!? Seriously dude, WTF!?)

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(facebook April 15th)

Stopped at PetSmart on the way home tonight because, well, ya know, pets, I got ‘em, so it’s a store that fills needs, to see if they had some of the Fancy Feast “Savory Centers” which I have been lax on re-filling our supply of recently here in Frankenland, lax for the doldrums of cold and just not really wanting to stop and get out of the car as there are plenty of backup of other choices, but that is something, “other choices”, that is none too subtly pointed out to me to be entirely unacceptable with quick snap head turn southern belle-esque dismissive “huffs” (Bella) or immediate swipe-swipe, drag-drag “buryings” (Cricket) of anything else I bowl in front of them from the winter’s stock, even things formerly eagerly lapped at (I think I’ve created a new sad addiction story of “centers heads” like I’m some sort of pusher now).

While I was there though, grabbing two boxes of the “Savory Centers” variety 12 pack, I was taken aback by a sticker on the Fancy Feast shelf of a deal that I couldn’t believe was actually real, especially as PetSmart can be a bit expensive. I mean how did someone in marketing not lose a job over practically giving away the store like this?

I was so torn on the 24-47 can savings or the even more remarkable 48 or more can savings that I just stood there in disbelief as I tried to figure out the math of this possible good fortune in my head (never a good thing that math in the head by the way, decimal points can so easily go awry and can even make ya dizzy).

I also had to consider the “must act now!” nature of this deal as it had a deadline. Would I kick myself for not taking advantage of what was almost a flat out giveaway if I didn’t indeed “must act now!” before May 1st?

Sigh, such a quandary.

But alas, I couldn’t realize these phenomenal savings as none of the possible bulk buy cans were of the cat crack of “Savory Centers” for future broken cat sad stories to be told another time in “centers heads” dark street back alleyways documentaries, just the regular cans of Fancy Feast choices that get huffed at or buried these days.

No, I had to continue being the pusher.

The savory centers pusher.

I’m not proud of it.

But man, if only those pennies …

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Tappy tappy tappy stop … tappy tappy tappy stop … over my head, a pitter patter of paws a runnin’ and a stoppin’.

Runnin’? Finally a window down the way opened as paws rejoiced … stoppin’? Only if someone looks up and notices, a comic pause. I’ve been waiting for this and to hark back to the Cat Publication reviews of the play Cat On A Cold Tile Roof and the follow up post Cat On A Cold Tile Roof Too again as I just think they’re funny. I get no greater joy or comfort than to hear cats stepping, running on/over my head.

Finally.

And I mean that.

(Florida and Handsome from few years ago above my bedroom)

This is Spring.

Bella getting her window back, Cricket the Blind the same in head loll breezes, rolling down some windows and not minding getting out of the car …

… and some of the Celie gang out her bedroom window to run the roof and remind that we circle and eventually come out of the cold … and with no “untils”, not just yet.

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As part of this tappy tappy tappy stop, I get visitors outside the living room I never living room in, have never even really sat in, it’s Bella’s room, my windows there existing only for the pretty view down the driveway and the fenced in cow field running along it and the horse fenced field at the bottom or the developmented small Poughkeepsie hills in the distance that look so cozy at night, a Bella chair or cat tower for just this, the sighting of hello’s outside my dust, every turn Spring, from fur that find me brand new, momentarily, on rooftops even though they know me.

Today was Loki, the snake killer, killing Celie in her Indiana Jones-like hating snakes screams of found Loki Spring surprises in her living room, while he lounged self satisfied cleaning himself next to his kill. He is the handsomest of cat, even more handsome than Handsome who is named Handsome for a reason (refer to Cat On A Cold Tile Roof Too mentioned above – just try not to be hipmotized when you do).

He poked his head up outside that living room window, and was surprised, as all the others are, for a moment, until he realized it was just me while saying “Hey, I know you right?”

Bella even hopped up and gave him a check, ears spot.

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Celie came home earlier right after I had gone downstairs to get something from the car and for a fur head check, no real reason, just a me wanting to count names and look in and she said “It’s finally kinda nice out there”

“I know, not quite as nice as yesterday, a little damp, but I’ll take it”

“Me too”

“Had a visit from Loki outside my window earlier”

“Did he bring you a dead snake?”

“Not yet”

“Give him time”

ANGEL OF DEATH: END OF DAYS, ROUTE 9, POUGHKEEPSIE??? (AUDIO POST)

(and a guy dressed as the Grim Reaper holding an hourglass in the middle of route 9 led to this …)

So I saw the Angel of Death tonight … on Route 9 in Poughkeepsie standing on the median between the North and South triple lanes, at a traffic light, near a T.G.I. Friday’s and a Mattress Firm and across from a new specialty soap shop, a new Sleep Number Bed place and a convenience store among a number of other spots.

Tall guy dressed as you might expect of an Angel of Death/Grim Reaper type. Long black robe, oversized hood and he was pointing at things, menacingly, possibly specialty soaps and he seemed like he might even have been yelling though I couldn’t really hear as I passed him amid that damned rock n roll I was playing too loudly on a nice sunny almost Spring evening, finally, one you surely wouldn’t expect the end of days to arrive on, at least you’d hope not, though I’m afraid my Mom might feel vindicated now all these years later of her worries of, when I was younger, while I was playing that damned rock and roll too loudly back then as well and cutting up perfectly good heavy metal band concert T-shirts to have her sew them on the back of denim jackets, that some might think the end of days would sneak up on me because I wouldn’t hear it/them coming.

The only thing out of the ordinary for this particular Angel of Death though was that he was carrying an hourglass. Not that Angels of Death don’t sometimes carry hourglasses, they do, I’ve seen artist renderings, some pretty cool artist renderings as a matter of fact,, but this was in lieu of the tall, sharp, pointy, violent looking scythe’s we’ve more come to expect in a clichéd Angel of Death kinda way which, truth be told, is probably for the best in this day and age that that wasn’t what he was carrying.

Tall, sharp, pointy violent looking clichéd scythe’s? Yeah, that’ll getcha noticed, and not in a good way, and possibly even get ya tased or worse. Hourglass? Much less threatening.

I did though think, if I could have, that I would have politely pointed out that this hourglass of his was a little small, not really of a size befitting his stature or one to really get him noticed in the middle of a busy roadway here in Poughkeepsie, and right at the height of an evening rush hour with people being lost in thoughts of get homes and dinners and dog walkings and sweatpants and checkings in on that show that you’re pretty sure your better half cheated on and watched the next episode of without you, again, and conversations/angers left open ended the night before.

I would have pointed out that he needed something a bit more dramatic, more theatrical, something oversized to really catch that thought lost eye. The hourglass he had was, well, a little on the Spinal Tappy Stonehenge side but with him being the Angel of Death an all, I would have been as deferential and as delicate as I could with this observation (plus, he most probably still had that clichéd scythe somewhere in reserve – and that shit looks like it would hurt … a lot, like in a death kind of way).

Now was there any reason, I thought, any significance to this specific spot of his as I drove past? I don’t know. Was this where the thunders and the lightnings, the great fires or floods, or great fires followed by floods to drown out great fires making people tread water in floaties the only thing they had on hand, damn the children, the pestilences and rivers of blood were newly ordained to happen, or was he just waiting on a pick up order from that T.G.I. Friday’s and doing what Angels of Death do to pass the time, what little time may be left?

Had he been maybe having some trouble sleeping recently (certainly possible as carrying the weight of his message has gotta be a heavy sleepless nights kinda burden) thus reason to be in between a Mattress Firm and a Sleep Number Bed store or was he really pointing menacingly at specialty soaps, a could be 21^st century haven of witchcraft with all the witch-like curatives some of the soaps and maybe oils and creams inside can surely promise … plus Hell, you know there’s gotta be a crystal or two hanging in there somewhere right? Or maybe he was just waiting to cross the highway way to get to the convenience store for a pack of smokes thinking to his Death self, well, if I’m bringing word of the end of the world to the peoples, I might as well smoke up while I can.

I don’t know. Whatever the reason was for that location or whatever the reason wasn’t, all I really thought on my way home after passing this Angel of Death fella with his too small hourglass (you just need a big black sports hearse car to compensate my not friend) was “listen, if this is it tonight big guy, if this is the end of days, after you’ve possibly picked up your order at T.G.I. Friday’s could you …

“Hi, can I help you sir?”

“I’m here for a pick-up”

“Your name?”

“Angel”

“Angel? Hold on … hmmm, hmmm, hold on a sec, I’m sorry I’m not seeing that here for our pick-up orders right now”

“You sure … nothing under the name Angel? With an A?”

“I can spell Angel sir, thank you, and sorry, but no … could you have ordered under a different name?”

“Oh wait, you know what, I may have. Do you have one under the name Death?”

“Death … Death … Death … sorry busy night … hold on … oh, here we go … Death … burger, blood rare, locusts, frogs, extra cheese, fries and the apple cobbler dessert special?”

“Yep, that’s me. Sorry, I don’t usually use my last name, way too formal and can be a little off-putting”

“No worries Sir. Let me get that for you, Oh, and by the way? Cool hood”

“Oh, well thank you so very much”

“I would say though, if you don’t mind a little constructive criticism, that you get a slightly larger hourglass”

… and could you, after you’ve put a deposit down on a new bed …

“You’ll be so happy you chose our little slice of sleep heaven … (stop short silent stare) … sorry, my bad … probably not the best of selling points for you I’m thinking now … you’ll be so happy you chose our bed Mr. Death instead of something that feels like a bed of nails like from those sleep hacks across the street …”

“They have something that feels like a bed of nails?”

“What?”

“Bed of nails, those sleep hacks across the street have something that feels like a bed of nails?”

“Ummm, well yeah, that’s what we say … Ok, but hold on, I got ya. If you’d like, Jimmy, one of our delivery drivers, works at a small local hardware store and I’m sure we could throw in a bag of nails, support small business right, that you can toss on the bed, like scattering rose petals for you and the Missus …”

“There’s no Missus … I’m Death. It would make holiday family get togethers very uncomfortable.”

“Ok, well, bag of nails just for you it is then”

… and then after checking in on potential modern day witches …

“Do you have a soap or some oils that can just ease some tension, possibly transport me away to a better place? I think I’ve seen a commercial like that …”

“a place like … HELL!”

“ummmm, well?”

“Gotcha! I saw ya glancing over at that crystal … witch”…

… and after you’ve a grabbed a smoke outside the Exxon while you’re getting yelled at for your loitering could you at least let me feed the cats and have my dinner and maybe clean a litter box or two? I would SO hate to have to face the end of days, you know, the rapture or something, even if you all do the rapture, I’m not sure, or some sort of reckoning, with messy litter boxes and on an empty stomach.

“Will do”

Thanks.

Alright Bella, alright Ms Cricket … Last Fancy Feast “Savory Centers”

Eat up quickly girls, I don’t know what kind of deadline he might be facin’.

(did an Audio Post version of this a few months later in October, 2022 – made it a bit of a theatrical production)

ANGEL OF DEATH: END OF DAYS, ROUTE 9, POUGHKEEPSIE??? (AUDIO POST)

Full bore Cricket the Blind at around her usual 6am the other morning after hopping down off the bed from her comfy spot and heading to the office.

Clocking in she grabs her clipboard and a pencil:

1. Loudly scratch the large flat cat scratcher – CHECK.

2. Messily slap the shit out of the water bowls and the water in them before standing/playing in one or both said bowls like kiddie pools to slurp water off paw and hope that mom comes out with sandwiches and Kool Aid – CHECK.

3. Crunch away at hard food with mouth open – CHECK.

4. Sit for a moment and wail mournful sounding meows as if at the funeral of a cat friend while dropping flowers on the grave – CHECK.

5. Take a head lolling roomba cat stroll around the apartment until I hear little Bella hiss from her comforter cat bed – CHECK.

6. Return to water bowls, commence with more water slapping kiddie pool standing paw slurping or maybe even actual very audible water drinking – CHECK.

7. Think about puking or actually puke – CHECK.

8. Hit the litter box. Literally “hit” the litter box, on all sides inside, even sides that aren’t actually the litter box but can be called wall, scratch and drag and Bugs Bunny back kick while I pull the covers over my head trying not to hear the litter that’s raining down on the hardwood outside the box like hail – CHECK.

9. Hang clipboard in it’s spot, clock out and hop back up onto the bed to grab another comfy spot next to or on a now fully awake Steve, her work complete – CHECK.

Freakin’ noisy messy-ass cat.

Love her.

New addition to her office clipboard checklist this morning though.

10. Meow one solitary meow after the clocking out that sounds exactly and strangely like “Whyyyyyyyy?” – CHECK.

Freakin’ noisy messy-ass existential cat.

Alright. I’ve done this before with “We Let Billy Drive the Car”, my little thing about a heist gone awry from September of 2020, so I thought I’d give it another whirl.

Find an instrumental at my work production music site that I like and see if I can write something to it, the only difference here being that that “Billy” song story had already been kinda rattlin’ around my head for a quite a while. This one? Not so much. I started only with “She said” a couple of days ago and just went from there with the instrumental tonight.

She said where have you been because ya seem lost

Feel like I’m living a fever dream but at what cost

Where you’re here one day then gone the next is this a test

I’m even wearing that old T-shirt that you liked the best

—

But is it yours or mine I’m not quite sure

Did I even one time even know this band I forget the tour

Found it on the floor newly washed I’m sure I think it’s yours

But you’re somewhere gone I think I must report you lost

—

We used to be on page in the same book

And you would give me looks to make me bend around with you

And send me stars as dots to connect of how you and I were them

Until we reached the moon no lookin’ back just … postcards to send 

—

She said we sillied with the best of them

Made others envy green when they couldn’t contend with us they bled

That green and not just in the month of March is what they jigged

You’d make us angry year round if we could only ever be mad at you …

—

But you’re missing now … she said

What’s happened to you … where is your head

But you’re missing now … she said

What place do you go … one that isn’t our stead

You’re missing now … she said

Is it a place where I can bring you back now from the dead

———-

I guess this T-Shirt’s mine now is what she says

I think I might just even have to wear it to bed

But not with thoughts of you if that’s somehow in your head

No I won’t be wearin’ it long … that’s what he said

—

No it’ll hit the floor running as he gives me looks   

To bend around with him in writing pages fresh book

And he sends me new stars on new trips to the moon

Where all is small, lost is not found

—

We’ll send postcards soon

Ok, another musical editorial, I like it, it’s got things to say, my singing doesn’t make dogs cry (at least I don’t think so and me doing any experimenting to try and prove such would probably come off as weird and possibly even cruel) and I worked “askance” into the lyrics so it has that going for it as well.

—

(to Sammy Davis Jr’s “The Candy Man”)

Alright everybody

Gather round GOP man is here

Now what kinda country you want

Sweet white grievance, ignorance, revised history, gun pops?

Anything you want

You’ve come to the right klan because only the GOP can

—

Who can take elections (who can take elections)

Sprinkle with Big Lie (sprinkle with big lie)

Claim the last gold standard but hinder future tries

The GOP (the GOP)

Oooh the GOP can (the GOP can)

The GOP can  

Make all else an also ran

Results already planned (results already planned)

—

Who can make our schools get (who can make our schools get)

Riled up to re-invent (riled up to re-invent)

Teach versions where our hist’ry has an only whitey bent

The GOP (the GOP)

The GOP can (the GOP can)

The GOP projects in some wishful burning texts

They’ll make all a-gain good

—

The GOP rakes everything at stake

Over coals of division

This di-vide their only true vision

Damn the Libs forcing decisions

—

Ohhhh, who can take invasion (who can take invasion)

Of an ally’s sovereignty (an ally’s sovereignty)

By a murdering despot and admire with great glee

Some GOP (some GOP)

Oooh some GOP can (some GOP can)

Or others they can in hypocrisy their brand

Decry horrors at hand

—

But then they all brake at more public takes  

On how they feel of orange missives

Expressing his more bromance dishes

To this now well they’ll just dis-miss it

—

Yeah yeah yeah

Who can yesterday now (who can yesterday now)

Forget it with a glance (forget it with a glance)

And build it back to suit them any real truth held askance

The GOP (the GOP)

The GOP can (the GOP can)

The GOP can Democracy that also ran

Warrants new Uncle Sam

—

The GOP can be shameless in their scam    

corrupt new order looks good

The GOP

The GOP

The GOP caaaannn

The GOP

The GOP

The GOP caaaannn

—

Alright everybody

That was nice

Break it up now

Yeah go home

Washed BB for only the second time in five years earlier this week. Dad used to say at his reluctance of car washes that it was only the dirt that was holding things together so I’ve gone with that. Gospel. He also just didn’t want to spend the money. Gospel twice. Said to one of the kids, of two, headphones squashing wild hair outside the exit with rags in hand, “All good on the wipe down dude, I’m just gonna go” and he smiled head bouncing little bounces to not out loud tunes, until I handed him a five spot. Cans off mid bounce … “Thanks”. It doesn’t sound like much I know, but I think it was commensurate with a six dollar car wash and it gave him and his pal a break of unnecessary rags with a still tip in hand.

“Holy crap, that’s what folks in my rearview look like?”

I only went through and splurged on the six bucks, yes splurged, with ya Dad (the fiver simply being what you do having surely been there done that) because I actually had a cash dollar in my wallet for the tip, not just “credit or debit?” and because I really no longer knew what cars in my rearview looked like. Really.

Plus, I wanted to get back to the house with a clean back window to apply the Pirates decal that had arrived in the mail at the station earlier in the day. Maybe they’ll get their shit/greed together so I can finally have a pitchers and catchers mental Spring soon but, until then, at least I’ll be prepared. Are there things that are more important? Of course. Are there things that are more important? No. Back windows and Pirate decals are huge. Gotta compete with annoying stick figure families somehow (though stick figure cats and dogs are pretty cute).

I had gotten an email notification while at work from that big place that sometimes goes into space to prove that size and the dollars that made it possible are uselessly meaningful in rich bald minds that a package had arrived. I was excited. My important back window had been lacking for so long of a new Pirates decal and I was feeling Christmas, or Valentines as it is around that time of year and you know I heart my Buccos.

When I went downstairs and checked the mailbox though, there wasn’t just a package from the bigger space dick, there was also a card along with all the magazines to not be read in the station’s empty waiting area. A red one. Christmas/Valentines indeed, even though no one sends cards anymore, to my mother’s diminishing sighs, but there was a one with my name on it, in the prettiest of hand written pen you ever will see. Some I’ve heard tell call it cursive but that’s close enough to make you think curses. Who uses language like that?!! So rude. Let’s ban it!!

I layed it down next to my keyboard to remind me to take it home like that one elementary school Valentine you held on to hoping it might be the one. Jenny? Really? Could it?

I like surprises and the anticipation of them, though I guess that partially defeats the purpose, but still I waited until I got home to my furry girls to open it.

It was ice cream! A gift card to the DQ! I love ice cream, like, who doesn’t love ice cream (unless you’re a weirdo living in your weirdo not liking ice cream weirdo kinda world) and it was enough ice cream to be TWO ice creams!

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I have this group of friends, I call them my Mikey Six. Friends who call you back or actually don’t call you back but always have really good reasons for not doing so, so it’s alright, that I run stuff by without getting summarily dismissed and one of them has a Mom, Momma Piper, who cursives really well in her cursives or curses really well in her seeming cursing of cursives, or whatever, so confusing, who has designated herself my fairy godmother.

I’ve never had a fairy godmother. Ok, there was that one time at WVU where l wasn’t aware that the brownies weren’t your run of the mill brownies and that girl was soooo pretty … and purple … and had wings … and tried to eat my face and … no, not a fairy godmother at all. She was mean.

I have now though an actual fairy godmother. A one who’s not flying face eating mean purple and who sends me ice cream, in cards that no one sends anymore, red ones, like Christmas Valentines, like the Jenny that didn’t happen (apparently the card I held off to open until I got home wasn’t from her, it was just from Billy at the desk next to mine ’cause he thought it was funny – not funny Billy, not funny at all) but I’ll take it.

Hearts and Santa’s and spoons for a sundae, or two, to that.

Picture

My sis recently posted a new found picture of her and I and Dad, vintage 70’s, along with Grandma and Grandpa, the English ones, on a trip for them to see, first hand, exactly what their daughter had gotten herself into, two kids into the real and with a guy and his silly name, only so much so many hand written letters back and forth across far long waters with cool looking international postage stamps were going to do without the seeing and meeting of the actual.

A picture of a couch wannabe paisley’s gone awry, a glass topped coffee table, as could there be any other, one with an ashtray and a cigarette on hold and a toy truck in the same shot and a too big center piece that made no sense and just got in the way … always … as nonsensical center pieces seemed to have only that one job.

I rocked black socks and sneaks here, waaaay before fashion called it new cool and surely was just short black socked steps away from annoying the shit out of proper English Grandma, causing her to no doubt question her daughter’s decisions before a “Cheese”.

But Dad? This new found picture that English cousin Elizabeth came across is the first pic I’ve seen where I can put myself now and Dad then on a somewhat equal plane as I am comfortable with my current existence, as he seems here, even though I’m a few years older than he was in this shot, in his early 40’s.

You see, Dad was always old to me, not in a bad way of course, but he always just seemed to have years.

There are numerous pictures of him when he was younger, a good looking guy, even with that spot of gray always evident that would eventually take control of his whole head, he was certainly a guy who could catch an eye, and would catch an English one in our case, in a small Diner in Yorktown Heights, New York, courtesy of some machinations from his best of friend, Uncle Frank, but even those pictures, of his young, hold an old for me.

Here though he seems confident, secure, old looking but not one to worry of what that proper English Grandma might question of her daughter and her place with him. There’s a Steph (Stephen) and a Beck (Rebecca) and there would be a soon Nick (Dominic) and an always ugly couch in an our spot. A good ugly spot. He looks like he knows this was his, that he earned it or maybe I’m just projecting that into this new found picture as I know that that was the case.

His job at Social Security eventually wore him down for being too human in a place that asked him not to be, plus he wasn’t the teacher he wanted from that not quite degree put on hold, on hold, a great regret, oh to teach history, and then the cancer and this after being worn down earlier in life as the second man of the house for his younger brothers and sisters to help make ends meet along with Grandad who needed the assist to bring home some dollars comfort to Grandma and he was spent.

It’s difficult to not picture him in my mind carrying that tired but here, with a new found picture, years before those travails, Dad seems to know he was doing the Dad thing well or at least I imagine he thought so and was proud of it. He was doing the only thing that really mattered to him, no matter what may have been weighing, he was with his family, including a son who really was probably just minutes away from annoying the shit out of Grandma.

Something about pictures and thousands of words right Dad?

Picture

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And beck as to your way cute pigtails in this one? An old girlfriend years ago tried to give me a pig tail (s) once Beck, just for the silly of it, an almost early man bun kinda thing, like those black socks ahead of time, but for some reason I couldn’t pull them off like you.

Whodathunk?

Damn your cute!!

Freakin’ flimsy rubber bands.

(to Dave Matthews “Ants Marching”)

Don’t know where the thought for this one came from, no, wait, I DO know where the thought came from, it came from the same spot most of my parody tunes/musical opinion pieces come from … our everyday madness and the surreal state of things where rational thought has been just completely discarded for welcomed authoritarian leanings and profound ignorance, or flat out lies and fascist style propaganda. But the thought of the Dave Matthews tune itself? It just popped in head one day and seemed a good place to fill in those thoughts.

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They wake up always grasping

At conspiracies of the big de-feat

That they say didn’t happen

Even with real truth so right-fully

Sitting

— 

Tinfoil hats gleam in the sun

One powered by the big lying orange one

And they all walk the same line

Like drunken lemmings’ nose to ass that cliff is just fine

— 

They take to their knees

Willing blind fealty

Tethered not reality

Indentured to cult

Blood oaths easily took

—

GOP share the same sign

New astrology for stars to now a-lign

In their own special lie sky

No other sky is right for stars now to a-light

— 

Take to their knees

Willing blind fealty

Tethered not reality

Indentured to cult

Blood oaths easily took

— 

He looks down from gold tower

Directs his masses to cower if ranks are broke

You must tow the company line

As truths are mine and your minds must keep time

— 

As all you little pawns keep dancing

Marionettes in my power play

Look to the stars for new king’s

Star’s shine to show you the right waaaaaaay

—

Orangeman controlling the thoughts

Of a party hopelessly lost

Watch his dogs cut back on the vote

With a bleak end, dark end cut the hope

And an end to an autocrat lend

Democracy pop 

You’re dead

—

Take to their knees

Willing blind fealty

Tethered not reality

Indentured to cult

Blood oaths easily took

…….

Blood oaths easily took

I gave Celie a call not sure if she were around to check and see if I could take Memes down to the shelter for a look, even if there were no Doc’s there, just a look, just a look from anyone other than me and my sudden worry where Sherry said she is a “special” girl has always been a “special” girl with quotes intended as to her issues, her quirky these issues as I thought of them, old quirky, my quirky, but with now some not quite quirky foaming around her mouth and eyes glazed, mouth wiped, again, again, a seizure of old special girls and phones answered with a tear and brought her back up to the apartment to see if maybe there might be a bounce back and we watched the Secret Life of Walter Mitty with Ben Stiller putting Mimi at my left hip, which is her spot, and imagined the rememberings of our own not quite Walter Mitty-like adventures, just simple apartment ones and of how much I liked this movie and so much love left hips.

Afraid of the encore right now though Memes, so afraid, but left hip. Still Memes, left hip.

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“C’mon Memes” and I patted the bed after a day done and a finally sat down waiting for my dinner to heat in the toaster oven while finding something, someone (s) on the tube to join me … well, along with Cricket the Blind who, with her seeming little cat braille wrist watch, always knows the time to lap from when I get home and putz about to when I sit down waiting for the toaster oven’s ding while my little Bella just looks on disapprovingly. I patted the bed and waited, as I always do, while Mimi thought and peered up and over and wavered and rocked back and forth, looked up at me for another pat of the bed and peered up and over again, wavered some more in her Mimi way until she took the small leap of bed faith to then triumphantly, well, as triumphantly as a Mimi can, ginger step around the comforter to grab her Steve and that left hip. This was her moment, the reward of another day waiting, all she’s ever really wanted after a pick up hello at the kitchen door and then me always feeling so awful when I have to move her aside, the simplest of lay downs, just a little, for a moment, to get up at a ding.

“Don’t worry Memes, be right back, plus we got wings tonight, you like wings”    

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“Hey You!” as I made my way through Celie’s kitchen, after another day and a hello to Celie and the gang, to the living room and a “Hey You!” to a small old Siamese cat stretching, just woke, paws tappy tapping in that stretch and then an as fast straight legged fast as a Mimi can fast over to a me and my “Hey You!”

She knew the sound of my voice I guess, and would wake from her spot in the Sunroom just past the living room to make sure she got a “Hey You!” followed with a quirky, reluctant, “Ok, don’t know what I was thinking but do know what I was thinking” backing off on the pet, but not, and a licky lick at the air and then a pick up and a belly rub with more air licky licks.

I added “The Quirky” to her title for a reason.

Ok, before I repeat myself as I’m doing right now going backwards in time and revisiting some of what I’ve already written as life’s words can tend to do that, images, moments you’ve labeled with words that stick, remind, come back, repeat.

I’m just going to link instead to something I wrote of Mimi a year or so ago, on a night not unlike any other night, something from a different time that was a little brighter.

Curing a Cat of Hiccups and Other Tails

And something about the Memes and the gang that is, again, from a brighter time and proved how they could be my muses, sometimes for just some silly fun.

The Frankenberry Synchronized Cat Laying Team: Bella Joins Forces

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Sam came up the hill and up the stairs and she gave Memes a bit of a shot to ease the before and said she would give me some time and come back. Thank you Sam.

Time.

Fucker.

Arms. Computer chair. Arms holding. Chair rocking. Tears.

“I know it’s only been two and a half years with me upstairs here Memes but I’d like to think that maybe these were the best of your long years, some undivided attention, a bed’s TV left hip or a night’s pillow to share or a PC desk and a hip in a chair, with a guy who you adopted and held onto fiercely in your quirky, Mimi, old girl way.”

“And I don’t know where we go Memes, none of us do, some may tell themselves that they know … but they don’t … ” (and again I’m repeating myself from past things)

“Maybe though Mimi, there might be a place we go, where we all go, where I have a little apartment and we’re all together, all who have been with me, with really tall cat scratchers and stuffed mice with bells and those blueberry cat treats, and boundless left hips … oh, and windows with cat seats Memes, yeah windows, you so loved your windows too, gotsta have lots of windows.”