Tag: sisters

Summer’s End (simple post)

by Stephen J Frankenberry5 Comments on Summer’s End (simple post)

Man, it was such a nice afternoon drive on my way home Friday, especially with a boss guy emailed “go home early, you’re appreciated” most welcome missive, that weather that you wish would just stay year round, an almost perfect perfect where I had my windows and sunroof open wide, the slow fade of another summer alright I guess, right here in this moment, but then THAT guy caught up and passed me, the one in the pickup truck so tall that it could block out the sun, if you were maybe sitting in a Stewart’s parking lot after grabbing their 2 hot dogs for 6 bucks daily special for dinner as it pulled up or driving too close on your ride and the sun would be pissed, “Hey! Don’t be fuckin’ with my gig!”.

The truck that needs an extension ladder to climb into, the driver surely hoping every day that he didn’t forget anything he needed, like his wallet or his crushed hat or his man card or his apologies to his better half for everything he did or didn’t say, or his oversized flag that he stole from the front lawn of an elementary school, otherwise he would have to jump down with a leap of faith, grab and repeat the extension ladder process and that could definitely become tiresome. I mean there is only so much your knees can take right? And (sigh) … then I got stuck behind him for my 7 mile or so stretch on this roadway for the ride home.

He had tires to rival a semi, an exhaust pipe about the circumference of a 50 gallon drum that I think probably began the process of numerous future doctor’s visits to try and discover the cause of the four different forms of cancer that came from me just driving behind him with open windows and sunroofs while trees just got dang plum tired and fell over dead in his wake.

I was, though, able to finally pass him only to have some little fast and furious gnat of a car, the one with that fancy blueish green paintjob that seems like an illusion, pass the both of us, with dual, though, thankfully, only about 25 gallon drum exhaust pipes, a little Vin Diesel slider that sounded like an angry dirt bike on angrier steroids and I just about gave up.

I hate all of you by the way.

But I did eventually make my way home where I practically ran to the flowers in my sister’s front yard and the bushes that surround them, dropped to my knees and took a deep breath, probably something that worried the neighbors … the nosy ones who are surely always watching … “You see Walter?! I told you that one was on the drugs!!”

… and then there was Arthur, my sister’s orange fella guarding the gate to the hold, the great beast, but he didn’t even bother me a glance, no, this was his spot, his domain to survey like some sort of lazy cat land baron  “You finally arrived I see? (looking aside in utter disdain) grand, now go and fetch me some treats if you will and then be gone with you. Tithes backup human, tithes, gotta pay the tithes before I allow you to pass”.  

I ruined his Baron treat plans and went in through the garage.

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So, it’s a holiday weekend, and my Sis and nephew Matt have headed down the state to hang with Beck’s guy, Buck and the gang at his place and I am the cattaker again, and it’s not a gig I take lightly.

It’s a one where I lay down the law and tell these here cats, Saphira and Rikki and Arthur that I’m not fucking around, and Bella and Cricket too, then I ask them what flavor food would they like now at breakfast or dinner, opening cat cans under cat noses, the beef one or the salmon one or the beef and salmon one combined in one can like magic, all deliciously cat stinky, sometimes pate or sometimes grilled or sometimes even chunked and then I just wait for cat approval while scratching their foreheads.

Now take that!!

And Arthur?

He keeps Mom informed.

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Letter from the orange land baron’s sun spot:

Hey Mom,

No worries while you’re away though I miss you and Matt already but I’m keeping an eye on my backup human, he can be a little sketchy and talks a lot, to no one it seems, maybe imaginary friends? I don’t know and he talks too much I think, what is he hiding in his talk, talk, talk? But I’m offering moral support to his loud warm post noisy machine clothes stuff and I don’t do this without personal risk by the way, as I lay up against a random pair of underwear.

Clean? Stinky? Not sure, it’s a crap shoot (Ha! see what I did there Mom?) but I am here for him should he need me and also to keep an eye … I did mention him being a little sketchy right?

Holding the fort Mom.

Love,

Arthur

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But we’ve reached the end of another Summer, sadly so as Summer has always been the carrot for me and not just for the obviousness of it as it is bright and welcoming and warm and plays days old sport and allows time to really enjoy time, vacations are allowed and expected, your workplace turns into a ghost town while you trip over Summer tumbleweeds if you are still around. There is a laissez-faire nature to it before you have to hunker down again for the impending doom of Winter, because there is always a hunkering down and the impending doom of Winter.

Though the Fall may turn pretty as colors change and there will be those who extoll the virtues of it, it just ain’t summer any longer but anyway, I think in the long run, those are just the folks trying to justify the end of Summer, the time they will surely, sorely miss as much as me.

So I muddle through another end of Summer days, move my snow brush window scrape thingy from the back seat to the front (a bit early I know but it’s important to be prepared) and thank the please bring flat tires to monster pickup trucks just for the sake of humanity’s breath heavens and hunker down awaiting another Summer though it seems as if the clock is disproportionate now. Being old’ll do that. It gets faster and slower all at the same time.

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Letter to my Sis from the basement:

Hey Beck,

No worries while you’re away though I miss you and Matt already but I’m keeping an eye on the cats, Arthur specifically, who just talks, talks, talks, bit of a sketchy little fella who has secrets I’m sure, what only the cat saw, but he has been a nice backup cat while Bella and Cricket are asleep, he even hung with me while I folded my laundry

But I’ll give him credit, he layed up against a random pair of underwear without even batting an Arthur eye and surely at his own personal risk.

Clean? Stinky? Not sure, it’s a crap shoot (Ha! see what I did there Beck?) but I am here for him should he need me and also to keep an eye … I did mention what only the cat saw right?

Holding the fort Beck.

Love,

Steve

Something of a Cat Named Arthur And of Backups (post post)

by Stephen J Frankenberry5 Comments on Something of a Cat Named Arthur And of Backups (post post)

My Sis, Beck, at the end of last week was down in Wallkill, a few hours south of us here, for a couple of days and when she is gone for day or two, or possibly more, I will happily be tasked with being the caretaker (or cattaker if you will) of her three, Sephira, Arthur and Rikki (Rikki the oversized Cat Weeble who wobbles, wobbles, wobbles and wobbles with a bit of a jiggle, jiggle, jiggle wobbled in there for good measure, but doesn’t fall down …

… unless she’s tired and just plops, but that is NOT a Weeble wobbling AND falling down thing as, well, they just DON’T, as clearly evidenced above here in this piece of Weeble commercial history. No, that would be just entirely of a cat’s own free will and something cats are wont to do which Rikki will surely remind with a raspy cigarette “been hard times Man” sounding meow and a side-eyed glance if you even raise the question.

Nephew Matt can also be tasked for the assist here but he works nights and isn’t up in the mornings because of that, unlike me, so I can easily get both ends of the feeding schedule and gladly slave tirelessly over a hot cracked can of fancy feast stove and help keep them in meowing good fed health and spirits too as I will also throw some petting and conversation in the mix and, though, I am surely a poor backup for “Mom”, they muddle meow through with me anyway (the whole selfless hot can stove cracking food thing helps a great deal in this regard).

I’d like to think, though, that after 8 months or so of me being around, of me being simply an “extra guy”, a one from up the basement like some sort of troll, that maybe it is less of just a muddle, meowing around but maybe a welcome change of feeding pace and welcome extra company.

Cats do love themselves some extra company after all. “Who you? … well, got a forehead and a belly for a scratch here if you are so inclined, oh, this is a test by the way”.

Arthur is fine example as when Mom is away, and his backup human, Matt, is at work, I become the backup, backup human, and I will often find him at my feet, damning the dire world of possible trolls and possible stories of them eating cats, maybe in a Grimm Tale somewhere and, instead, find him trolling, lolling, lounging around behind me at my feet while I’m doing a bit of laundry.

I have mentioned before, in a number of posts, that I am the stereotypical pathetic single dude with a couple of cats who lives in his Mom’s basement, but the not quite stereotypical pathetic single older brother and uncle dude with a couple of cats who lives in his SISTER’S basement and that I just weather the cliche. But I got to change my short-lived roommate attempt at saving a few dollars situation from 8 months or so ago, to instead reconnect with family in an immediate daily way and my Sis and Nephew have been afforded the glorious opportunity to live with me, surely throwing parties in their heads every day at their good fortune but where I never ask of either of them their definitions of glorious or what they may find to be good fortune.

This though, really, has been a Godsend if whoever he is, is actually in the business of sending sendings. I have been able to give my Bella and my Cricket some much needed space in this troll’s new spacious basement place, away from the tiny bedroom in that aforementioned short-lived roommate dollar save attempt while giving my Sis a backup human to be able to turn to for some cat assistance and maybe some welcome long lost conversation between us at a dining room table or in the living room over some greenish, English accented reality show and also give her a few extra dollars while saving me quite a few at the same time, something that is most welcome believe me (I may love what I do to death but I ain’t flush).

I’d also like to think, just as with Beck’s cats, (it’s sill just a test but you are passing) that maybe my company is alright, I mean I am not an unlikable fella, I can be pretty entertaining, sometimes unintentionally in a slapstick or dad, dog joke kinda way, pretty entertaining even intentionally on occasion, I sometimes even say things that can be considered to be quite smart and prescient and Bella and Cricket get some extra hello’s and attention that they wouldn’t have gotten otherwise, living alone minus me during the day, without this new situation, especially Cricket.

She is blind and deaf and a bit older and where, in the past she may have meowled to the cat heavens in her heartbreaking sounding way, during the day, maybe feeling lonely and afraid she now has some backup humans if they are around to hear her pleas, to come downstairs to give her a pickup and a hug and some warm assurance.

Matt even took her out front of the house recently on his shoulder just to feel some breeze and some life.

Something I myself can do as well with her on a little back porch.

And Bella? She comes upstairs to just say what the fuck while also knowing this is Ok.

Plus, as a landlady, which Beck is when ya get to the nuts and bolts of it (hey, what of that water pressure by the way lady?! hehe) what better troll of a tenant can you ask for than one who will never be bringing any girlfriend relationship drama around and poundings on the wall or ceiling or floors (that kind of need has flown and really isn’t even understood anymore which I find quite strange and yet makes so much sense) but a tenant that wants just a cool place, with family for company, some extra cats to mind and a spot to sit in, in a comfy troll’s basement stringing together some words while also having and being some backups.

And, oh, before I forget, back to Arthur, of said post title.

He and Sephira are inside/outside cats so when the wrangling has you having Arthur being an in? The one who is usually the much harder grab?

Apologies my little Orange friend … now how about we wrangles that sister of yours and be done for the night?

Loud or Not

by Stephen J FrankenberryLeave a Comment on Loud or Not

Been a bit of a, I won’t say weird, but weird week (Jesus, those pipes doing pipe things in old houses sound like someone was just finishing up a shower upstairs) though I’ve surely heard weirder in other times, the usual solitary ones, in other old houses, but I have been in this one alone since Tuesday (and who the fuck is in the shower? Beck didn’t warn me of any old haunts like someone died in this place but just wants to stay clean in the limbo life and thus the great deal she got) just me and the cats, mine and hers “No Arthur you are not going out, I don’t care which door you sit at, that shit is not happenin’. You ain’t goin’ out. I will NOT be accomplice to you being an Arthur that is no longer an Arthur before Beck comes home! I already announced to you, days ago, that while I’m the new Momma cat guy ’round here you are a house cat!”

My sis, Beck, took off on Tuesday earlier this week, along with nephew Matt and Beck’s guy Buck whose last name is Rogers, he was a pilot, and they called him “Buck”, Buck Rogers, get it? that’s just cool, to see my other nephew, Jake, graduate from basic in the Navy and be all Mom proud amid coughs and sniffles and frog throats like the devil had found a voice and trips to the Walgreens cold and flu aisle before she left, damned if she wasn’t going to be allowed to cough anything up on him other than tears of that said pride. “No Jake, my tears of joy are just a little gloopy, sticky green is the color of love, you’ve made me so proud!”

And he did and he does.

But the weird was the silence. I’ve grown so accustomed now, new, over the last six months or so, to the loud of the garage door announcing me when I come home to Beck in the kitchen doing a Beck kitchen with pots and pans and loud smells, to the loud of Ricki, aka chunky pants, if a bowling ball were covered in tortoise cat fur and had a head, meowing at me in her smoker sounding kinda way when I open the door to the house from out the garage hoping for a treat from this guy, while Beck reminds that Cricket the Blind was doing her loud Cricket meowls from downstairs earlier, calling for me, to the loud jingle of collars of Sephira running away from me and Arthur just staring at the interloper, who might or might not let him out whatever door he keeps sitting at with an equally loud jingly collar, but there was a kind of silence the last few days and it was a bit jarring.

I mean, the loud of jingly collars and smoker cats was still loud around the place but it was a bit muted, subdued, minus that Momma human cat or a nephew to hold Arthur like a sack of beans until a squirm’s gleeful angry meow says “enough”

There is also that this coming week is the one where we lay my mom to rest “Oh, bloody hell Stephen will you all just get on with it already!” after she passed away a couple of weeks ago now with us on hand, almost, Matt, Buck and I, but Beck? She was the true witness of time passed with an Ok allowed thankful exhale.

And I don’t even know what to wear, well, I do, but I really need to bring that suit out of a storage bin and air it out or maybe even buy something new, fresh. Now that is a daunting thought as I don’t really do clothes, not well anyway.

But Jake looked fantastic and picture proud in a text from Beck of him having survived to get to shiny shoes and a tie perfect Navy collar and hat you could roll a cat ball around for some fun. I sent a dearest of friend a pic of him in the midst of our radio show prep together in his blues … is that what they call them in the Navy, blues? I’m just guessing as I have no clue, but she said it made her want to cry as she saw that he was the “IT” in his proud and his shiny shoe’s cat ball spin hat stance.

But this silence of a Beck home, it is hers, I just live here at her pleasure, with of course some managed litter boxes and feedings of her gang in her absence, cracked cans under cat noses, a thing I do with Bella and Cricket, that seems to have ingratiated me a bit as a new, to assure that they are cat seafood stinky enough to pass muster for cat consumption and also a couple of bucks to pay my way, but this silence? This particular silence? It was new and I didn’t like it.

I have spent so many recent years receding from sight and sound and something about furies that I forgot how much I like loud, even though I did do loud at my most recent spot before here, sometimes even a howling combine of multiple dogs that would just make me laugh at their off key song to the hills and perk a Bella ear but I played that off with headphones or just a bit of volume on the tube, but this loud that has been lacking here? It’s different. Even Arthur agrees as he has found himself at my feet while Mom is away to grab a belly at the washer/dryer for fresh sundries and even brave a Bella nose while just wanting to hear me talk to him.  

Beck will be home tomorrow, Arthur will forget that he looked for me, though I hope not, Sephira will skitter and zoom under or on top of beds away (though she does mind me and gladly’ll take a quick pet when she is not zooming if she wishes … she is a bit of a Diva) Ricki will always sound like she wants me to run to the convenience store for a pack of Reds and I will get back to true loud silence. With company. I WILL like that.

Mom will get laid to earth for that true silence and I will cry quietly, again “Oh Hell’s Bells Stephen, enough with the drama. We had a good run, this Mom and Son thing right?”

“Now, just go tend to those cats of yours, yours and Becks, and grandsons, just get back to being loud in your quiet way along with your sister”

“Gotcha Ma”