A Conversation Between Two Cats: Part VI

Autumn
sat on the meowing perch, caught up in her obsessive cycle of grooming.
The blinds were open, but there were no takers yet and the sympathetic
gesture of door opening was still only a wish.

Clem walked up and sat on the bottom step, but said nothing. Autumn continued to lick.

After 5 minutes had passed, Autumn's suspicion was piqued by the
silence. She looked down at Clem and saw a collar with a small aluminum
tag attached.

"Where did you get that?"

"What?" Clem's feigned ignorance was construed as genuine.

"The collar around your neck, Dopey. Where did you get it?"

"The family. That bigger boy came out this morning and put it on me."

"Really? I don't believe you. I'll bet you went down to the highway and copped it from some unfortunate road kill."

"Nope. It's mine. Come down and you can read the tag. It has my name on it."

"Read?" Autumn exhaled emphatically and in that breath uttered volumes of contempt for Clem. "I can't read, and I know you can't either, so just shut up with all this reading business."

"Sorry."

More silence.

"And I know you're lying, because if anyone were to get a collar around here, it would be me, the genuine family cat, not some adulterous hobo-cat with an unconquerable wanderlust and fur that looks like a Goodwill reject."

More silence, a twist of the knife.

"They still don't feed you either. What do you have to say about that? Not only am I being fed every day, but they bring me inside to feed me. How long since you've been inside? And I don't mean those times you've sneaked inside through the hole in the screen either."

Silence. Clem stepped down and slowly walked around to the front porch. He paused for a moment, then walked the other way around the house, taking a wide circle around to the back fence. Across the fence, under a small tree, sat another orange cat with a white face.

"Well? Did it work?," the cat asked.

"Oh, yeah! Can I keep this collar for a few more days, or at least until the fun subsides?"

"Sure. Keep it as long as you wish. It's not mine anyway. It belonged to Shadow, that black cat down by the highway. She was wiped out last month by a fast moving Kia."

"Oh, that's too bad. Didn't know Shadow myself. My wanderings have been strictly north and south, so I stay away from the highway. Thanks for the collar. I'll let you know if anything else interesting happens."

Blogging and You

Scott Adams, the creator of "Dilbert", sent this in his DNRC e-mail
newsletter. It is funny and pretty much sums up the whole notion of
web-logging (I hate the term "blog").

People who are trying to decide whether to create a blog or not go through a thought process much like this:


1.    The world sure needs more of ME.

2.    Maybe I’ll shout more often so that people nearby can experience the joy of knowing my thoughts.

3.    No, wait, shouting looks too crazy.

4.    I know – I’ll write down my daily thoughts and badger people to read them.

5.    If only there was a description for this process that doesn’t involve the words egomaniac or unnecessary.

6.    What? It’s called a blog? I’m there!

The blogger’s philosophy goes something like this:

Everything that I think about is more fascinating than the crap in your head.

The beauty of blogging, as compared
to writing a book, is that no editor will be interfering with my random
spelling and grammar, my complete disregard for the facts, and my
wandering sentences that seem to go on and on and never end so that you
feel like you need to take a breath and clear your head before you can
even consider making it to the end of the sentence that probably didn’t
need to be written anyhoo.

Funny, eh? Just think...the whole notion behind Xanga is an egotistical
desire for other people to hear your thoughts. I must confess, for I
think this is true.

A Conversation Between Two Cats: Part V

It was the evening, so the cats sat in the back yard, enjoying the evening shade. Autumn sat on her meowing perch, taking advantage of the chance that the blinds would open and the house dwellers would see her outside and mercifully deliver her from her pitiful state. Clem sat on the bottom step. The blinds were yet to open, so Autumn busied herself with feline vanity: a thorough licking.

"I'm hungry."  Clem, whose tongue was not quickly or frequently drawn to cat fur, needed a task and easily fell to idle conversation. Autumn, as usual, ignored the comment.

Moments passed. The sun had fallen to the horizon and the shadows now stretched long, feathering at their end, their ends lost in the ebbing orange glow.

"I'm really hungry."

Autumn paused her grooming, looked disdainfully at Clem, and resumed her lickage.

After several dozen more licks, Autumn paused and said, "They aren't feeding you because you are unwanted."

"I doubt that," Clem said. "They play with me constantly. I've been inside quite a bit, you know."

"But you are still unfed. Don't you get it?"

"Well, I intend to stick around. We'll see what happens."

"'Hope springs eternal.' I heard a human say that once. In you it is manifested, you hopeful buffoon."

"They will feed me soon. You'll see. I'm just proving my faithfulness to them to earn the priviledge."

"You are so stupid. I despise you, you orange puke."

Clem, rather than wagging his tongue, put it to better use: grooming.

Tribute to a Dog

 

Our dog died today.

 

I’ve had dogs before, and eventually they die. It’s always tragic. It’s always painful. Why is that, I wonder?

 

I’ve always said that dogs are of God and cats are of Satan, their respective fathers. Dogs give unconditional love. They are protective and friendly. Cats aren’t. They are self-centered and conniving.

 

I remember every dog I’ve ever had (or most, at least). I remember crying when these dogs have died, feeling as if I have lost a human friend, hurting as if my family is suddenly one member smaller. I remember being told that dogs go to heaven, even before the stupid cartoon came along. I remember feeling loss when, as an adult, I realized that this may not be so. We’re given no inkling in Scripture that it is. In fact, animals have a very low position in Scripture, and why would God let them into Heaven?

 

I like to think about Heaven. I look forward to it. Some people don’t. I think that they don’t because they’re afraid. Perhaps they’re afraid of the judgment part. What I really think they’re afraid of is leaving this life. They love this life too much. I don’t hate living, but being here doesn’t prevent me from looking forward to something better. What will that something better be? I don’t know. I’m confident though that the Architect of the Universe has come up with something really good. Heaven, I feel, is God’s material magnum opus.  It’s the pièce de résistance. It’s what we’ve all been waiting for.

 

I have an idea of what Heaven will be like. All my dogs will be there. After all, why would God create an animal, pour into it great traits such as faithfulness, empower it with such unconditional love, and then exclude it from Heaven? Doesn’t make sense, does it?

 

Penelope was a good dog. Not a smart one, but a good one. She loved popcorn. She loved to play “Sockie,” which is our own private brand of “Fetch.” She had claimed a blue chair in our living room as her own.

 

We saved Penelope from what I’m sure would have been certain death. She was in a pound in Sherman, and we rescued her from her unwanted existence and gave her our love and our home as her own. She had a crooked front leg, evidence of her former life that she couldn’t hide. It didn’t slow her down, though. Everyone loved Penelope. Those who didn’t were not to be trusted.

 

She fancied herself bigger than she was. She would bark at cars passing by, or people walking down the street. She even attacked a deer, which called her bluff and scared her silly. I’m certain that she felt the same mastery over the four-wheeler that ended up taking her life today.

 

She would sit on the floor by my chair and wait for me to invite her up. I’ll miss that.

And now for my vision…

 

I walk into the gates of Heaven. The Lord of Heaven whom I’ve read about since my childhood meets me there. He holds out his hand. There hovering above the wound that never healed is the world—the whole world. I feel the brightness of the sun in His presence, but I don’t squint. I soak it up. He turns aside to reveal everything I’d hoped Heaven would be. My mother, whom I’ve missed so much, steps up, hugs me, and, seeing the wonder in my eyes says, “It only gets better. It only gets better.” She then takes me by the arm and leads me along that golden path, lined on both sides by people celebrating my arrival. The crowd is all smiling. They’re all people I’ve loved and people who have loved me, their old bodies rejuvenated as only the Architect could. Everyone wants to shake my hand, but it always ends in a hug. Everyone’s glad to see me, but not because of me. It’s one more voice in that Heavenly choir—one more voice to sing the praises that can no longer be contained.

 

I notice a smaller crowd gathering at my feet. It’s another group of old friends. Ruff, Smiley, Snoopy, Red, Mouse, and Penelope. Tails wag. I bend down and pet them all.

 

Thinking about all of this, I recall a bumper sticker I once saw:

 

“Lord, make me the kind of man my dog thinks I am.”

 

 

 

 

 

A Conversation Between Two Cats: Part IV

"You tricked me!"

"You're stupid. It was fun." Autumn continued to lick her paw.

"You're mean! You give cats a bad name."

"People expect cats to be mean. They don't expect them to be stupid. That's a dog's job. Therefore, it is you who gives cats a bad name."

Clem, hurt, slinked off, head to the ground.

Later that day, they both sat on the porch. Clem was at the corner. Autumn was in her Illegal Entry Mode, flattened against the wall, waiting for someone to open the door.

"Why do you keep doing that, Autumn. You know they don't want you inside."

"Shut up, Dog-Breath."

Within a few minutes the door did open. The man was coming out. Autumn crouched, as if to pounce on a vole. She hesitated for a moment as the door was opened, looking for retaliatory measures before making her move. Then she dashed in, belly low and moving quickly. Just not quickly enough.

The man pinned her to the floor and door jamb with his foot. It was firmly planted behind her head, so she could neither advance nor retreat. During one of her attempts to retreat, he released his hold and she scrambled to both escape and save face.

Clem sat on the corner of the porch. He found himself unable to stifle a snicker, which mutated into a belly laugh.

A Conversation Between Two Cats: Part III

Clem left his usual loitering place by the front porch. He hadn't seen Autumn all morning and was curious.

Autumn sat on the back steps, licking a paw. Clem sat staring. This unnerved Autumn.

"What do you want, idiot-cat?"

"Just wanted to see what you're doing."

"OK, so you've seen. Now get lost, or better yet, go lick the stripe in
the middle of the highway. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than
seeing you as road pizza."

Clem was quiet, nursing hurt feelings and showing a rare moment of vocal restraint.

Finally, Autumn spoke. "Say, listen...I'm sorry for being so mean. To make it up, I'll let you in on a little secret, OK?"

"Sure!" Clem gushed.

"You see that comforter drying on the clothesline?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"Well, the lady lets me do something that is really fun. Come here and I'll show you."

The two cats walked side-by-side, an illusion of friendship,  toward the clothesline.

"Watch this," Autumn commanded.

She proceeded to climb up the comforter with her claws. Since it was
draped across two wires, there was a valley in the middle where the
comforter drooped. She gazed down at Clem from the precipice.

"See. Now watch this--here's the fun part." Autumn then slid down the
other side, using her claws to slow her descent, but not without
causing serious damage to the fabric.

"Wait a minute, Autumn. Won't they get mad because you're tearing the duvet?" His pronunciation of "duvet" was gauche, the last syllable rhyming with "pet".

"Nah. They don't hang anything out here that they want. This will
probably be thrown away and she's just getting it out of the house."

"Oh. OK, then." Clem then started to climb up the comforter. As soon as
his back was to Autumn, she ran toward the back door, mounted her
meowing perch, and started her five-alarm meow regimen.

Clem called from the promontory, "Hey, this is fun! I can't believe they would let us do something like this."

The boy came to the door, witnessed an orange cat scaling his mother's best comforter, and sounded his own five-alarm call.

Clem was slowly making his way down the other side, not as sure of his
dismount skills as Autumn had been. About half the way to the ground,
his revelry disintegrated. The woman had come out of the house, broom
in hand. Her stalking had been unintentional, yet Clem's preoccupation
caused him to miss her approach until first contact from the broom.

Clem's shock and alarm was slowly realized, giving her time to make
contact two or three more times before Clem dropped to the ground and
made for the hills. She had shown no restraint in swinging the broom.
The orange cat, once to safety, limped off into the bushes.

Autumn sat on her meowing perch and licked a paw.

(To be continued.)

A Conversation Between Two Cats: Part II

Autumn continued to lick her paw. Clem shifted from paw to paw, impatient at the silence between them. Clem would inhale as if preparing to speak, but the words would not come out. Finally, he could stand silence no longer.

“I don’t know why you don’t like me.”

Autumn paused in her bathing long enough to look at Clem. The look communicated one thing: “I now behold the stupidest thing on earth—and in the form of an orange cat.” She then resumed her hygiene regimen.

“I just don’t know why…”

“I heard you the first time. As with most things you say, it didn’t warrant a response. Is it so hard to believe that someone despises you? I would say that you should get used to it. I am certain that I am not the only one.”

A little boy came outside and sat down beside Clem. The cat rolled over on its side, assuming a playful posture. The boy began teasing Clem with a weed. Clem batted at the weed as if it were a mouse he was tormenting. After a few minutes, the boy picked up Clem and threw him around his neck like a mangy, orange scarf, and began a journey around the yard. Clem was wholly indifferent, acting as if it was his high calling to be traipsed around the yard in the guise of a small boy’s stole.

Autumn, now watching the activities, rolled her eyes and shook her head. Having completed her personal hygiene, she strolled over to the front door, awaiting an opening that she could slip through. I get in this time, she thought, and I’m going under the girl’s bed. I can’t stay out here with this idiotic, sycophantic fleabag. I deserve to be inside where it's cool.

The opportunity did not come soon enough for Autumn’s satisfaction. She moved around to the back door to take up her meowing perch on the handrail by the back steps. Here she could peer into the living room and witness the human activities of the day, assuming the blinds were not drawn. If they were, intense meowing would have to suffice.

As she rounded the corner into the back yard, she saw the boy and the cat-stole moving across the yard. Clem seemed proud of his station. He looked like an emperor reviewing his troops from a sedan chair. Autumn shuddered.

(To be continued.)

A Conversation Between Two Cats

Clem sidles up to Autumn. "Why don't you like me?"

Autumn ignores Clem, licking her paw.

"All-Dumb, why don't you like me?"

"My name is Autumn, you ignorant putz. Get it right or feel the claw!"

"But the man calls you..."

"He can get away with it. You cannot."

"Why don't you like me?"

"You're fickle. Even for a cat, you can't be trusted."

"Why do you say that?"

"You used these people, eating their food, then running away."

"They tried to kill me!"

"That was an accident, and you know it. Remember how much they spent to try and save your mangy hide?"

"Yeah, but I still have these bad dreams about laying in those bushes, convulsing in the rain for two days. I can't help it."

"You wuss! You disgust me! Suck it up and be a real cat, if you have it in you! Catch a mouse,  for Pete's sake!"

The cats sit, side by side, no other words passing between them for several minutes. Autumn continues to lick her paw.

(To be continued.)