Interview With an Angel

Interview with an Angel

Writing assignment Oct. 3, 2014

I was thinking the other day about reincarnation – what if it was really true?  What if we really could and do come back?  I wonder what the process would be like.  Then last night, I had the strangest dream!

I dreamed that for some reason I was a visitor up in heaven.  As I walked along this beautiful golden pathway I saw many beings – kind of like what I would imagine angels to look like, only without the wings – sitting on benches alongside the path. It was hard to tell if they were masculine or feminine – they all seemed alike. They were all happily talking with each other, and as I passed by they smiled and nodded or waved me until one angel, who was so surprised to see a living soul up in heaven, approached me.

"Wow!  You really are alive!"  The look on his or her face was one of pure wonder and dare I say a little excitement, too.

"Yes, I am still alive," I replied, and then continued, "I think I've been given special dispensation to come up here and look around a little bit because I was really curious about reincarnation."

The angel/being thought about this for a moment and broke out in a broad smile, and invited me to ask him/her any questions I wanted to ask.  This was too great an opportunity to pass up, so I sat down on the bench beside the angel and opened with this question:

"So, is it true?  When people die do they really get a chance to go back to earth and live again?"  I asked.

"Yes, it happens all the time!",   the angel replied.  "In fact, that's what all of us who are sitting on these benches are doing right now – we are waiting to be born once again.  Right now, we are considered split souls.  That is, half of our soul is already inside the baby in its mother's womb and the other half of our soul is sitting right here on these benches, just waiting for the big moment!"

I was instantly perplexed.  "So, the baby inside the mother's womb does have a soul, correct?  That is to say, it is a living being with a real soul?”

“Yes, “ the angel patiently  answered. I know there is much discussion on earth about this in some cultures, but take it from me, anything that lives has a soul.”

“Do you mean to say even animals, trees, flowers, and so on?  All living things have souls??” I asked timidly.

“Yes, absolutely!”  said the angel. “A soul is a spark of life energy from the Main Source -- and so is Divine.  Things cannot live without that spark of energy, which human beings referred to as the soul.”

Now that we have that settled, my mind began to race with other questions!  I next asked the angel if we get to choose what kind of person we want to be, that is, what subdivision, and what sex?  Seeing as were all human, there is only one race – the human race.  But it comes in many flavors!  The angel answered that no, not exactly.  I asked him what he meant.

“We can put it before the Divine Council that we would like to come back different than we were before.  However, a specific choice is never ours.  For instance, we may have been black in the previous life and want to come back as white. Or, we may have been a man and want to try it out as a woman.  The Grand Divine Council first consults with God, then it makes the final decision.  For instance, in some of my incarnations I was at one time an Eskimo man, and another time I was South Pacific Islander woman!  And one time, I was a mountain person and right after that I wound up living too close to the desert.  Each of these lives taught me a lot about life itself and ultimately, about human nature.  Each time, it felt as if I was becoming more of a whole being and not just a part.”

I pondered that for a moment and had the sensation that I understood what the angel was saying.  For instance, in my own life I knew frightening poverty and great hunger.  Then, things improved greatly and I enjoyed the comfort and security of a substantial bank account.  Each of these experiences had their own pluses as well as minuses, and I knew them intimately from having lived them.

“OK,” I pressed on, “so what if we don't want to come back?  Does that mean our chance to come back again is then lost forever?”

“OH, no, “the angel replied. “The good Lord always gives us the choice of wanting to improve ourselves and hone our skills by going back to the proving ground, the great educational institution, that is called Earth” it said with a warm and lovely smile lighting up its face.

“Well, thank goodness for that!” I responded. “But one thing puzzles me.”

“Please tell me what it is!, "  the angel said.

“What about all of our loved ones who also passed on – with all the coming and going that seems to be happening up here,  do we ever run into them again?”

At this, Angel chuckled. “Yes, of course!” it answered, “That is the beauty of the whole thing.  Here in heaven, souls, or spirits as some call them,  instantly recognize each other – there is no searching, not really.  All one needs to do is to think about the loved one and instantly, the loved one’s soul appears.  Even if a spirit decides to go back for another lifetime or two or three or more, there is a tiny part of his soul or spirit (because remember, it is a spark of energy!)  that remains here in heaven.  Therefore, people are never ever lost to one another.  The love they felt for one another never dies, and it is there to comfort one another any time at all,.”  As if reading my mind, he added, “Yes, this applies to beloved pets as well. After all, as living beings they, too, have souls. Up here, all love goes on forever.”

And that's when it hit me - that's why they call it heaven!

The Secret

Our writing assignment for our Writers Group this week was for us to tell each other something that we have never divulged to anyone in the group before. I chose one small event from my past and had to go all the way back to my high school days to do it! That being said, here is "My Secret".....

My Secret Story

Writing Group Assignment for September 5, 2014

This story that I am about to share with you has haunted me for years. This is truly the first time I’ve ever shared it with anyone. First, roll the clock back to the year 1964, sometime in the early spring, I think it was. The country was obsessed with social change, the Vietnam war, and college campuses erupting in fury.  For me, it was a confusing, and on this one day, a very scary time…

It was just at the end of my Typewriting I class, and as per usual, I joined the queue of students returning our books to their customary place on the book shelf beneath the windows. Dust mites lazily floated in the late afternoon sunshine, and all I could think about was meeting with my friends after school down at the corner store. Suddenly, my back exploded in a world of pain and I fell forward into the book shelf, and landed on the floor. My classmates screamed and/or yelled, depending on their sex – and I thought I had been shot. It was hard to breathe and as the kids all crowded around me, one solitary figure loomed above them all – the teacher, Mr. Davis – and the look on his face was one of pure, unadulterated rage.  Too stunned to even speak, I gasped up at him, my eyes begging to know what had happened. At last, he spoke:

“HOW DARE YOU!” he boomed at me.  “I said hello to you as you walked past me and you never even looked at me, much less answered me!”  His face was an ugly reddish purple, with huge throbbing veins in his forehead clearly standing out. My heart began to beat at a ridiculous rate of speed, and all I could do was cry. Apparently, in a terrible fit of anger, he slapped me as hard as he could, square in the center of my back. Hot tears streamed down my face, as my friends bent down to help me to my feet. Shaking like a leaf, and on weak and trembling legs, I was helped to the Nurse’s office by my now irate friends, as the boys in the room encircled Mr. Davis. I don’t know what happened in that room next, and I really did not care. Mr. Davis had a reputation for having a really bad, explosive temper, and few people deliberately crossed him, ever.

Safely in the confines of the Health Office, I managed to tell the nurse what had happened as best as I could. Her face showed extreme shock and surprise – and something else: extreme worry and fear. Then, she asked me two simple questions:

“Do you want me to call your parents, Marie? Should I call the authorities?”  I knew somehow with a knowledge far beyond my years that my next sentence would have a profound, life-long effect upon that man and could have the power to either help…or destroy… him.  I thought of his wife and his two adorable little children – and wondered what they would do if their father wound up in jail. I wondered what this might do to his marriage, and therefore his entire family. No matter how upset I was, or in how much pain, shock and surprise, I just could not be the one to help take that man away from his family. Such are the errors of the young!

“No. I’m ok,” I weakly replied.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her hand gently resting upon my own hand.

“Yes. I’m sure. I know he didn’t really mean it – he has a very bad temper and for whatever reason, he just lost it.” I finished.

“Is that it?” she asked, not quite sure she heard me correctly or not.

“I would like one thing, “ I said, “and that is for him to come in here and apologize to me.” 

Without another word, she went to get Mr. Davis.

 It looked as if he had been crying, or so it seemed. His eyes were red and his now very pale face was wet with either tears or sweat, or perhaps both.  He sat down in a chair in front of me, his head hanging sheepishly low, his eyes avoiding mine.

“I – I’m so sorry, Marie,” he stammered, “I don’t know what came over me! I just wanted so much for you to say hello to me and when you didn’t, I just lost it,” he finished lamely.

I thought about it for only a moment, and then replied,
“Mr. Davis. I think you need some counseling for your bad temper, before things get out of control again. You have your wife and children to think about, so don’t do this for me, do it for yourself and for them.” 

As far as I know, I was told this is what he did do. He went on to enjoy a very good career, minus his horrific temper-filled outbursts, even managing to become Assistant Vice Principal.

Was I right or wrong? At the time, I felt I had made the right choice. You see, I knew he was a good person down deep but I also knew he had a real problem with anger. I look back on it all in my later years and thank God that I had the insight to try to be a help to this man – although, I admit, it may not have been the wisest choice at the time.

But, that is me. I act “off the cuff” and will go the distance for a fellow human being, sometimes, no matter what.

______________________________________

Please note that I did not use my former teacher's real name.

Link to the final chapter of The Cat We Don't Have - Part 5

The final chapter of The Cat We Don't Have. Please click on the link below this sentence



Rie's Ride: The Cat We Don't Have - Part 5

LInk to "Wicky the Wat" -

For my friends who have asked me about it, and for all those who would like a fun read, please click on the link below to my 'epic' blog, called "Wicky the Wat" 



Rie's Ride: Introducing: The Saga of Wicky the Wat

Rie's Ride: The Cat We Don't Have - Part 4 (link)

Click on link (below this sentence) to go directly to Part 4 of my story, "The Cat We Don't Have"



Rie's Ride: The Cat We Don't Have - Part 4

Rie's Ride: The Cat We Don't Have - Part 3 (link)

 Click on the link (below this sentence) to go directly to Part 3 of my story, "The Cat We Don't Have"



Rie's Ride: The Cat We Don't Have - Part 3

Rie's Ride: The Cat We Don't Have - Part 2 (link)

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 Rie's Ride: The Cat We Don't Have - Part 2

Rie's Ride: The Cat We Don't Have, Part 1 (link)

Read about this part of my blog, starting with the first of 5 chapters.
Click on the link, below:

Rie's Ride: The Cat We Don't Have, or Yet Another Shade or Two of Gray

The Cat We Don't Have - Part 5

Part 5 –  If only

The weather was truly unusually cold and just not spring-like We were threatened with yet another storm, possibly freezing rain, sleet, or snow and spring was already officially a week old. No matter; gray, gloomy skies full of moisture loomed and I am sure only added to my growing apprehension.

It was almost a full week and TC had not eaten her food. In fact, I hadn’t even seen her for a few mornings and evenings, so the birds were having a wonderful time eating her meals. With nothing to fear, they eagerly sat poised on her dish, waiting for me to open the door and fill TC’s bowls up with food.

Finally, one day she appeared but my happiness at seeing her was short-lived. She looked terrible. So thin, her back bone stood out against the flesh of her shrinking body. Her fur looked very wrong somehow, as if she had forgotten to groom herself. Her plaintive crying told me all I needed to know:

She was very, very sick.

No wonder the tasty morsels I was leaving for her went untouched: fresh mahi mahi, hamburger meat, tuna fish meant for humans, and sometimes chicken mixed in with her dry food went virtually untouched – except for the birds that picked around the meat. She approached her bowl, and it looked like she was going to eat. But, she didn’t. She just backed away and with a gentle turn of her body, went back down the steps. I did not want to follow her because I did not want to startle or traumatize her. I wish now that I had tried harder to find out where she was going. But, as my mom used to say, “If wishes were wings, beggars would fly.”  If only I had tried harder, maybe this story would not end here. But….

This went on for the better part of one more week. Between the miserably cold and wet weather, the unforgiving winds, and my aching bones (a few different bone ailments and artificial joints giving me a rough time), I just did not go out and try to see where she was going. She would appear almost each day, and repeat the same thing:  bend her head down to her dish, perhaps try a few licks, and then back off and go away.  If only……

I thought about trying to catch or trap her, but to be honest, I just didn’t have the heart to do something so traumatizing to her. I had tried so hard for almost 2 years to befriend this cat, and to let her know I would never hurt her. How could I do something so foreign to her as to try and catch her, and place her into a cat carrier box? I don’t move fast, anyway, so it looked like I would have to rely on my voice, softly calling to her and crooning to her.

Then, one day I heard her calling me. I swear, this is what she was doing.

TC: “Meeee-OW!  Meoww!!’

Me: “What is it, kitty? Where are you?”

I looked at the bottom of the stairs out back but it took me a few seconds to spot her, along side of our little porch. She was looking up toward me and calling out to me. Of course, I answered. I even went down to the bottom of the steps, gently meowing with each step,  and was within one foot of her. This alone was astonishing to me – wow, I thought. Just one foot!  It was the closest I had ever gotten to her. She just looked up at me and cried. Hot tears ran down my cheeks. I could tell something was very, very wrong.

I reached out my hand ever so slightly and then, she made a very short hissing sound and moved too fast for me to follow. I could see how thin she looked and it tore at my heart. Within moments, she was gone and it was too cold and wet for me to follow. I went back into the house as fast as I could go, and went out the front door, thinking that maybe if I doubled-back on her, I could at least see where she was going.

It was no use. I don’t know how she managed to do it, but it seemed that within mere moments, she simply disappeared.

For the next few days, I would call out to her each morning and evening – and even throughout the day. It was a futile effort. She simply did not, or would not, or could not, come. I prayed silently that she was warm somehow, and maybe Mother Nature was working her miracles and healing her somehow. No matter – I would leave food out for her every day, and each day, the birds would come in the afternoon and polish it off.

Then, one late afternoon, my neighbor rang my doorbell. When I saw her face, I knew something was wrong. I prayed it had nothing to do with either of her own kids.

“Marie, we found a dead cat in our cellar window well and we are afraid it might be your cat. Would you please come and take a look?”  she said, her eyes already brimming with tears.

My world just crashed down on me all at once. It felt as if someone squeezed my heart really hard – I could hardly catch my breath. It was super windy and very cold outside, but I did not care. I asked her to please wait for me while I put on my coat and shoes.

Together, we went to her backyard. I could see the window well where she must have spent her nights. It was covered with a large board, angled up against the building. I had never noticed it before, so of course I never checked it out.  If only…..

My neighbor’s  husband was already standing by the receptacle where they had put her.  All I had to do was to see the tail – and I knew. Perfect concentric dark circles told me what I did not want, but needed to know.

It was my cat. Not “the” cat or “a” cat, but MY cat.  Very gently, I placed my hand on her tail and then on her back. Her head was facing downward, away from me, but that no longer mattered. At long last, after nearly 2 years, I was able to touch her, so I did.  And, I cried.

We placed her in a plastic bag, lined with a soft towel and I held the bag to my chest, cradled in my arms, crooning to her oh, so softly. I carried her home and in the wind and the rain, I dug a little grave for her, back by where Max’s memorial garden is and I laid her gently into the earth.  I happened to have an angel statue (remember the angel garden I wrote about in my first blog, in the Wicky the Wat story? Well, it was that angel). I tenderly placed the statue on top of her grave and told the angel to watch over it. I knew she would.

I stood in the rain and let it wash the tears from my face. Saying I love you to this precious little being one more time, I turned and slowly walked back up to the house, leaving her at peace.

I will always wonder if she knew how much she was loved. I will also always wonder if her spirit felt my gentle touch that day, or my arms gently holding her against my heart. I like to think that she knew.

In my mind I can picture her waiting in heaven with all of the other animals I have loved and had the honor to be chosen to be a part of their lives. I am sure my mother is rocking her in her lap up in heaven, telling her stories about her ‘crazy daughter who loves animals so much.’

Honestly, I think my cat knew all along.

The Cat We Don't Have - Part 4

Part 4 –  How do you make time stand still?

Long about half way through summer of 2013, my curiosity piqued as to where The Cat We Don’t Have was spending her nights. The coming winter concerned me because reports of a really bad one ran rampant. Yes – even in summer, we Philadelphians are worried about the coming cold weather. Winter 2012 was a breeze, really, with hardly any snow fall to measure. I had 100 pounds of rock salt stored in my shed, which I never had to dip into because winter 2012 brought us so little ice or snow. Something told me our luck would not hold, and between that and rumors circulating around for a nasty time of it  in 2013, I was more than a little worried about the cat.

The little “house” I bought for her the year before still remained unused. It was really a kind of covered litter box, complete with little swinging door, and a soft, cozy blanket that I added to it. I thought she would go for it, but no – all it did was sit in our yard and collect dust and age, thanks to rain, sun and what-not. The blanket turned into a gooey, leaf-covered mess, which I had to toss out.

So, I would watch for signs of her comings and goings. As near as I could figure it, she seemed to spend a lot of time in my next door neighbor’s yard, which had countless bushes, flowers, and trees. Looking for signs of fur balls, or loose cat hair under or around these plants proved fruitless. I never found any, nor any signs of a nice little tamped-down bed. As for checking the flora and fauna, pardon the pun, but I was stumped! Where, oh where could this kitty cat be going each night? If I only knew, I thought, then maybe I could convince her somehow to find shelter in our yard, at least.

Our gazebo needed to be replaced; the cedar wood in the original one was rotting, piece by piece, and therefore made the structure risky at best, and dangerous at most, to use. However, our new one did not have a sliding door. It had a door that could be opened, closed, and even locked, just like any other door. I worried that this would mean a loss of shelter to her, but it could not be helped. They just did not make the older model gazebo any longer, so sliding doors were out of the equation.

The summer wore on, and turned to a lazy, brilliantly colored fall. Every morning, TC would either be waiting for me on the back porch for her breakfast, as well as again, at 4 o’clock in the afternoon, for her evening feeding. It delighted me that she would meow to me (through the closed screen door, of course), often initiating our conversations. With glee, I would meow back and forth with her, happy to have my furry little companion visit me once again. The funny part of all this is that sometimes, if she wasn’t there in the morning, I would call out, “Here Kitty, kitty, kitty! It’s breakfast time!” and that would cause a virtual stampede of squirrels, birds, and goodness only knows what else, along with the cat. I believe we have a pet squirrel that thinks its name is “Kitty”. The clever little animal never fails to appear once I start to call out!

By late fall, I was really starting to become worried. After all this time, TC still did not allow me to get up close to her. At least, we did make some progress: she did not bolt away if I came outside anymore. She would walk very quickly to a distance of about 10 feet away, and continue to meow. I respected that and did my best not to upset her. 10 feet closer is 10 feet closer, after all.  I hoped that by winter’s first chill, I could coax her into the house and show her what she had been missing. That was the goal I wanted to achieve, more than anything else. This beautiful cat deserved a nice, warm, and loving home and I intended to give it to her.

Finally, winter arrived and the reports did not disappoint us. We had so much snow that we topped an old record for the most snow in one month – a total of 13 storms’ worth. All I could do was keep feeding my precious little pet that we didn’t own, because I felt that she owned us. She depended on us for food, and I was never going to let her down.

Each time she would come up on the porch, I would meow to her and then gently try to coax her to come inside. I was making progress! She went from running down the stairs once I opened the storm door, to remaining put on the top landing, and finally with great curiosity, peering inside.

I will never forget the “conversation” we had. It was mostly instinctual, but something passed between us, of that I am certain. It went something like this, with me using my voice, and she using her eyes:

Me: “Please, sweetheart! Come inside! Look how cozy and warm it is!”

TC: ‘Oh, my! I never looked inside a big box like that before!’

Me: “See? A pretty little braided rug, just for you – right there, in the kitchen where you can easily look out the back door if you want to.”

TC: ‘But…but…what lies beyond what I can see? How do I know there won’t be something there to scare me, or maybe even hurt me?’

Me: “Oh sweetie! You don’t ever have to worry. I would never, ever allow anything to hurt you! I just want you to be safe and warm, and to feel the loving touch of people who would treasure you!”

TC” ‘I don’t know …(peering even harder, stretching her neck forward as if that would help her to see more) It looks interesting, but….’

Me: “Please, Kitty, let us give you a good home. I really love you and don’t want to see you get sick, or hurt.”

TC:  (standing stock-still for another moment or two, during which time I held my breath) ‘Maybe another time…I - I’m just not so sure…”

And with that, she turned and went back down the steps, walking – but not running -- quickly toward my neighbor’s yard. With a hop, she was on the crate by the fence. With a skillful leap, she was over the fence and on her way to God only knew where.

I only knew we made a great stride that day and I was very encouraged. Very hopeful, now, that we were very close to having TC become an indoor/outdoor resident of our home, I smiled to myself and allowed myself to feel really happy with anticipation.

I wish now I could turn the clock back to that moment in time, and could have frozen it for a while. Maybe I would have handled things far differently. I would have had a little more time to encourage her, and convince her that I meant no harm.

In fact, now I am pretty sure that  I very well might have.

She would scamper away, much too fast for me to follow

To be continued….

The Cat We Don't Have - Part 3

Part 3 – The Munch Bunch Plus Three  

As that summer wore on, things settled into a kind of easy and familiar routine. TC would stop by for breakfast each morning, often waiting at the bottom of the stairs for me to open the door, and put food in her dish on the top landing of our little back porch. Needless to say, the rest of the “Munch Bunch” as I came to call them, were all fed, too.  It was like feeding time at the zoo, or the wildlife clinic where I had volunteered for 6 years. It was natural and normal for me to feed any and every living creature within my reach. Squirrels, chipmunks, birds, gophers, even a turtle at one point. If it lived, it got fed.  The really neat thing is that the cat seemed to be an accepted part of the whole gang – no one showed any fear of her. Nor did she give them any reason to fear. It was all pretty ideal. Except for the one weak link in her armor, her fear of my getting too close to her, she was for all intents and purposes our cat.

The other, larger cat made occasional guest appearances and the two of them seemed to become friends. They would often lie together in the sun on the deck of our gazebo, and I could imagine what they were saying to one another:

TC: “Did you hear the two-legger this morning? She was actually making a sound like us!”

Cat 2:  “No! Really? I thought it was you!”

TC: “It was easy to teach her how to do it correctly. I showed her how it should sound, and believe it or not, she was starting to get pretty good at it!”

One day, Cat 2 decided to come inside, after letting me pet her, something that surprised and momentarily delighted me to pieces! She strolled through our house, perfectly at ease, and settled herself on the bed in the guest room. I had to make a decision: it was clear that this cat belonged to someone. She was very trusting and very at ease around people, and I could not in good conscience kidnap someone else’s pet. So, after letting her rest for a little while, I encouraged her to go back outside. The really strange thing is that she only came back to see us just a few more times; then, I never saw her again.

But, the Universe had some more surprises in store for me. To my utter astonishment, one morning another new cat was waiting on the back porch. This one was all smokey gray with maybe a tiny spot of white on its chest. Its head was its most outstanding feature: it was enormous!  I had a feeling just by watching the way it walked, almost like a human weight lifter, with shoulders that swaggered in counterpoint to his foot steps, that this was a male. I opened the door to see if he was accepting of people and no, he was not. But….he didn’t run like the wind, either. He just moved very quickly down the steps, then turned around and looked at me as if to say, “OK. Now what? Do I get any food, or what?”  There was no sign yet of TC, and I found it hard to turn any animal away, so I put some food in the dish on the porch and he swaggered back up the steps to enjoy a nice breakfast. Then, he was gone. About 15 minutes later, TC came along and took her spot on the porch. It was all “business as usual” from that point on.

What on earth was going on, I wondered! Three cats, two of them being possible strays and all of them gray and white. Could they all be from the same family? A few years earlier, there was a stable neighboring our backyard. It was torn down to make way for new houses. Unfortunately, the family who lived in the house at the stables moved away, and left their barn cats behind. All of us neighbors tried to catch them all, but it was impossible. We did the best that we could, but a few of them ran away. Was it possible, I wondered, that these cats were the offspring of some of those abandoned cats?  No matter what, I felt that I had to try and take care of them in some way. IF I could catch them, I would have them neutered. IF I could catch them, I would give them a forever home once they were neutered. And all of that was contingent on IF they would let me touch them, or get close enough to catch them. A lot of “ifs”; too many, really, to hope for.

So, there we were, from no pets to two part-time pets, and trying to avoid cat piracy with the third one. Very curious, I thought. The rabbit hole was clearly no place for a woman who was still heart-broken from the loss of her dog, and who fell in love with a cat that would have no part of her – but said cat would make the sacrifice of eating the food offered to her. Everything just felt out of whack (but for me, that is actually quite normal).

Gus peeked out from under the shed one hot summer day, and I saw the front part of  him lying on the sidewalk, with the back half of him still underneath shed. He head was lying on his front paws, which were crossed one over the other. He was looking somewhat peaceful, but I swear he was trying to send a message to the cats:

“I don’t care what you all do with the porch and the food bowls, but stay away from my shed! This is MY turf…and don’t you forget it!”

Curious, Curious and hilarious, all at the same time.

                          Second cat                                              The Cat We Don't Have, or simply, TC
              

To be continued….

The Cat We Don't Have - Part 2

Part 2 – Getting to Know You

When Max’s battle with cancer was over, I was so emotionally devastated that I vowed to never again have a pet. Max and I had been through a lot together. My constant companion for nearly 15 years, he was there for me when my husband had to be out of town, which was quite a bit, or was simply too preoccupied with his own life’s events to have much time left over for me.  My faithful dog was there for me when my mother passed away, and curled up on the spot where her hospital bed had been, as if to say, “I will watch over your spot, Grandma.” 

 Over the years, I spent a lot of time recovering from some pretty difficult surgeries, and Max always cheered me up with his kind, gentle mannerisms and loving antics. So, when he died, it was as if I had lost a real child, someone who loved me without question or conditions. There was simply no way I was ever going to open myself up to that kind of pain again – so I promised myself, ‘No more animals. Ever.’

Suddenly, I was facing a minor dilemma once again: a stray had singled me out, most likely for food alone. And, I was OK with that. At least, I was ok with it for a while. I made sure The Cat We Don’t Have (which I shortened to “TC’) had the best cat food, and  I unashamedly spiked it liberally with all kinds of good stuff: steak, roast beef, fish, shrimp, and turkey, and so on. I always saved her a few bites or more of whatever we were having. It tickled me to see her dive in to her food dish, which in time was moved from the bottom of the steps to the top landing, which she surprisingly allowed me to do. There was just one condition: I was never, ever to try to approach her once she began to eat. I had to remain hidden on the other side of the door, peeking out carefully through the curtains.

The days turned into weeks, then months, and finally one whole year had passed. I was beginning to feel a little bit impatient with TC, so anxious was I to form a real bond with her. More than anything else, I longed for the day when she would approach me herself and allow me to touch her. Visions of her curled up in front of our fireplace, or on my lap,  on cold winter days and nights filled my head with hope and eager anticipation.  But, try as I might, TC showed great fear and would run away as fast as she could, running from the human monster that she was sure was going to hurt her. So, I hit upon an idea that I hoped would help to convince her that I meant no harm, and only love:

I started meowing to her through the door.

She heard me and to my great delight, she began to meow back at my voice! So, day by day, I would crack the door open a little bit further and ‘sing’ to her with my poor attempts at her language. At last one day, the door was fully open, and still protected by the outer storm door, she looked me dead in the eyes and meowed back to me. I could hardly believe it! So, together, we meowed back and forth for a while until I realized she must be hungry and wanted to eat. So, I left her to her food. A little while later, I looked out through the window and saw that she was gone. The bowl was totally empty.

In excitement, I called out to Peanut one through five and tossed out their usual trove of peanuts, dried corn,  and sunflower seeds. Within moments, my yard was full of squirrels, birds, and even Gus poked his head out, grabbing for the pieces of melon I tossed toward the shed. I had to laugh – all was right with the world. Everyone was being fed and showed signs of harmony, of being happy to all be eating together. All, that is, except for TC. She would not come back my way until later on, at dinner time.

Then, it hit me. What was I doing, I asked myself. Somehow, I had allowed myself to feel an attachment to this stray, feral cat and it felt too late to turn back, to turn the emotions off. For some stupid reason, it felt as if her name, ‘The Cat We Don’t Have” proved she was not our pet – so I clung to it. As long as we did not have a pet cat, I would be OK, I thought.

How wrong I was, it turned out. But it was way too soon to know that. I could still fool myself into believing that ‘we did not own a cat.’  Not much, that is.

Looking back at me through screen door

To be continued....

The Cat We Don't Have, Part 1

Part I- No more pets

I thought that I would never forget the year 2012 because of the sadness that it brought into my life.  That, of course, being the death of our Max, our beloved 16 year old German shepherd, black Labrador mix.  Right before Max passed on, he was lying in the grass out front one day.  He was quietly watching the cars go by on the highway, when all of a sudden a tiny little puff ball of gray and white hopped into view.  The little puffball had huge, wide blue eyes and tiny pointed ears.  Quite obviously it was a very small kitten.  Max did not seem to mind this little visitor, and before long they seem to become friends.  There was just one problem: the little puffball did not appear to like humans. At all. Any time it caught even the slightest glimpse of me it would take off as if running for dear life.  I tried to coax it to come to me, but the kitten would have no part of it.

Well, in late May of that year Max crossed the rainbow bridge and it was a very long time before I could even think of him, let alone mention his name, without my eyes welling up with tears.  So, it was best to try not to think about his last few weeks on this earth, which, of course, meant trying to forget about the puffball as well.  I was determined to never, ever again let myself get attached to a pet.  The pain of losing them was just too strong and I was not about to put myself in that position again.  Or so I thought…. 

Spring turned into summer, and with it came a slight surprise.  A beautiful young cat appeared in my backyard one day.  It didn't look very old, nor did it look like a baby any more.  Strangely, it had the same coloring and marks as the little puffball did that I first saw a few months earlier.  It had boundless energy, and the cutest gray and white face I had ever seen on a cat.  Its tail sported perfect, concentric rings from beginning to end, much like that of a raccoon.  I guess you could call it a tabby cat but I swear, it seemed to be a perfect blend of different kinds of species.  Part cat, part raccoon, and part clown, its white beard and bib gave the cat an almost distinguished tuxedo cat appearance. 

Over the years, I developed a very bad habit of feeding the wildlife in my backyard.  I guess you could say that's what led Wicki the Wat to  me in the beginning (If you didn't read that part of my blog, please go back and read it.  You won't be sorry!)  Anyway, I have an entire gang of animals that come to me every day looking for hand-outs.  I have a family of squirrels that I have named “Peanut one through five”, and all kinds of birds, plus a very lazy groundhog named Gus, who now lives underneath our shed.  I figured, what's one more animal?  So I bought a box of dry cat food and started leaving some out for the young cat.  Needless to say, the cat food was a big hit with her.  For some strange reason I decided that her gender was female.  I don't know why – she just looked very feminine and small, so I always thought of her as a she.

There was just one little problem: the cat was simply terrified of me or any other human being.  As hard as I tried to make friends with her she made it very clear from the start that I had to keep my distance.  Her eating food that I offered to her was perfectly okay; but for me to come within 20 feet of her was out of the question.  So I became determined that one way or another I was going to make friends with this cat and offer her a home of warmth and love, and all the food she could ever hope or want to eat.

After a few months it was quite clear to me that it was going to take some time before this cat would accept my friendship, let alone my touch.  It used to really bother me to see the fear in her eyes, and see the snapping turn of her body to flee from me, should I break the 20 foot rule.  Still, I persisted.  I began adding canned cat food to her menu which she ate with gusto.  But I had better make sure to stay out of sight while she was eating, or she would bolt away from her dish leaving it for Gus and the birds, who all would invariably finish it off for her.  Feeding this cat was getting to be quite expensive!

Then one day, I was in for another surprise.  Placing the food in her dish at the bottom of my porch steps, I turned and went back into the house to hide behind the curtained window of the back door.  To my astonishment another gray and white cat walked up to the food dish began to eat!  This cat was quite a bit bigger, and reminded me more of a painted horse rather than a tabby cat.  Huge gray and white patches adorned its body, and over all, the cat looked to be a pound or two heavier than the former puffball.  That was when I decided the first cat definitely needed a name!  Nothing came to mind right away, nothing that seemed to do her justice.  I asked my husband and he suggested the name Scraps, because she was also by then eating a lot of table scraps.  At first I thought it was kind of cute and did start to call her that, but somehow it didn't quite fit.  She looked much too elegant to be associated in any way with the word scraps!  And, I was determined not to have another pet.  So, the name came to me one day, a name that fit her perfectly, and it was this: The Cat We Don’t Have.  This way, I was free to pursue establishing a relationship with her yet keep my emotions in the clear by not considering her a real pet.  Safety.  I vowed I would never cry over another animal again.

All during the rest of that summer, and into the fall and winter The Cat We Don't Have came to me daily for her food, and even camped out in our gazebo once or twice when it was really snowy.  The larger cat would make very infrequent appearances, however.  Because it did not seem to be afraid of me or other people, I guessed that it was somebody else's house cat that had perhaps gotten out of the house. 

No matter – I seemed to have at least a cat and a half, and although things were neither black nor white they truly were another shade of gray. 

Two, in fact.

To be continued.....

My "Mini-Bio"

Writers Group Assignment - Feb. 2014

My Mini -Bio

Sometimes I like to fantasize about reincarnation – what it might be like to come back to earth again and again, choosing what kind of lifestyle I would like to try – kind of a “re-birther’s choice.”

I really think this is what happened with me!  This time, my little angel-soul-spirit-whatever you choose to call it, said to the Lord, “Let me try a life that is a little different!”

“What do you mean, different?” the Lord asked. “You mean, like a bird, or a fish, or perhaps some type of four-legged mammal this time?’

“No,” I carefully replied,” I mean, can you please let me try being a person with a little bit of challenge to it. Nothing as severe as total physical or mental deprivation – but perhaps a life with some strange twists and turns. I’d like to see how I weather the storms of the unexpected, and truly bizarre.”

“Ok, “said the Almighty. “This, we can do! Just don’t forget to call on me if you really get jammed up and remember that this time you have to be ready for any and all really weird things that I toss at you,” He finished with a nod of his massive head, and called a special Guardian Angel to accompany me to this next flight to Earth. The angel had a pained expression on its face, yet was totally obedient to the One Most High,  and firmly taking my chubby little cherub arm in his hand, together we flew back down to earth.

The first thing I remember as I entered the world was being very, very cold! There were lots of voices all around me – some yelling, some talking in hushed tones. Of course, I could not see but I could hear! Beautiful church bells filled the air. I later on found out that I took my first breath as we passed St. John’s church in Beacon, NY. , Having made my first over-the-water trip at the tender age of minus 1 to 2 hours, my tiny body was nestled in loving arms and under a huge tweed coat – in the back seat of a 1945 Plymouth, on the Duchess Ferry boat, as it bumped and coursed through the choppy ice on the Hudson River – between Newburgh and Beacon, NY.

Well, so far, the good Lord kept his promise! My birth made the local newspapers and was talked about for a long time to come. I even earned a knick name – Duchess – before the age of two days old. How many kids can claim that?!

The rest of my life pretty much followed in the same fashion: if the world zigged, I zagged. If it crumbled, my head peeked out through patches of either clover or weeds. But, I refused to give in, or call it a day. If the teenage citizens of the world were all scooting off to college, so did I – for a while. Then, I decided to give marriage and motherhood a try. As a result, my kids and I grew up together and while we survived some really stormy seas, we all became the best of companions, blood-line friends and confidants. This put me in the curious position of being a kind of counselor to my friends who all got married and had kids later than I did – and who turned to me for support and my thus far acquired knowledge.

That had a very curious up-shot, many years later! In middle age, I was slammed with a very rare disease, called Entamoeba histolytica, which caused me to get another very rare disease.  The first one nearly killed me, thanks to a flesh-eating microbe that devoured my entire lower intestine, live. The second one, called Osteonecrosis, or 'dead bones',  was caused by the medications given to me during that time (powerful corticosteroids), and which in turn, began to kill off my skeleton, joint by joint.Undaunted by these weird turns of events, 19 years ago I started a support system for all those who suffered from Osteonecrosis, or Avascular necrosis. The result? The world's first -- and so far only -- non profit Association for that disease, which became international with literally thousands of members. Stop by my website sometime at http://avnsupport.org

Years later, I beat the “C” monster, too, thanks to ovarian cancer. I now have several body parts up in heaven ahead of me, waiting for my eventual return. It’s really strange that I am still here, when I stop to think about it. But, “strange” is what I asked for! Sporting multi-artificial joints, and with now more than 30 surgeries to my credit, I let nothing stop me for very long, and today I enjoy a very rich, full and often energetic life.



I tried  much, sampling all kinds of things the world offered. Of them all, music remained my mainstay – and I became what some call an accomplished musician and pianist/organist. Music became my anchor and it saw me through some pretty tough times, such as divorce, death of my parents, dealing with my sometimes off the wall teen age kids. And now, as an older adult, music is like the tapestry that I wove along the years of my life, a tapestry I can enjoy dragging out and examining over and over again. As a professional pianist-accompanist for a local performing choral group, my life has only gotten busier in my later years. Wow! Who would have thought?!

Yes, the good Lord kept his word: my life was filled with the bizarre. But, I kept mine, too and turned to Him more often than not. So far, my life has been an adventure just  chock-full of the unexpected and truly unusual. You know what they say: be careful what you pray for - you just might get it!

Peace, all!