Hey old man,
Do you ever look for my obituary
like I occasionally look for yours?
Just to know if I’m still breathing,
not to venture near my door?

I’d still welcome you
with open arms
if you tilted with a hey,
But be forewarned,
the pain you wrought
has rendered me insane.


Max & his cat, the ever feral Goldie Girl

I set her free. It took an open window, a trail of treats, and Max on top of the porch chair reassuring her at the sill to lure her out of the house.

Now before all you cat peeps freak out, please know that long legged munchkin is feral as can be… wants absolutely nothing to do with humans. We trapped and released her indoors last Fall when she was only a few months old, thought being that she would make a nice pet for two young girls who were wanting a kitty cat to love on, but there is just something wild in her that flat out refused to become domesticated.

Oh, she got used to me… but not enough to let me touch her or anything. Most of her days were spent hiding in the cellar, waiting for Max, or sneaking around the house pretending to be invisible while constantly watching me, always on guard, ready to flee.

What kind of life is that?
I had to let her go, had to set her free.

Tomorrow, I write

Max & Goldie… she’s the feral munchkin with the big eyes, always watching me, brave enough to hop on me bed, but I still cannot touch or pet her.

I have a lot to write about but the words are mulling in my mind, not quite ready to spill onto virtual paper. I miss blogging. I miss… sigh.

Tomorrow, I will write.

Odd Mugs

It has been awhile, months… and so much has changed. Goldie girl (the feral cat living in my house, a.k.a. “Baby Boo” in my last post) still avoids humans. We are making progress… she nudged my hand once. Mostly, she just watches me, meows long stories now and then, and chases balls all around the house. She loves the balls with jingle bells. Max is king cat now that KiKi, ye gath ddu (the black cat) is gone.

Long story short: the bee across the street got pissed off at me because I couldn’t keep her cat inside my house 24/7. The whole saga boils down to my neighbor asking me to adopt a stray cat and then, over a year later, tells me that she’s going to take my cat to the vet to get it fixed (thought it already was) and find it a new home. Like, who does that? Can I re-home her dogs? Come to find out, she was just using me to foster her pet. We went round and round… like whose cat is it, mine or hers?

Well, ask the cat… it hates being indoors, wants to live life on it’s own terms, come and go as it pleases… so, where does it go when it goes out? Right across the street. It goes HOME, where she would give it treats and love all over it when she wanted it there and then, if it showed up on her porch in the wee hours, she’d slam me with nasty text messages about keeping it in the house.

I watched the cat and I watched her… if the cat didn’t run over when she came home from work, she’d come out with a pack of tuna to lure it over, sometimes crossing the street and walking up my driveway calling for the cat. So, I told her okay, I’m done… that’s your cat, you take care of it.

That should have settled it, but she had to call me about a month later to scold me like a child, so I’m done with her, too. We’re neighbors, but we don’t have to speak or anything.

I got a new phone with a new number… a Galaxy s10, then designed my own case for it on Zazzle using the image of “My Aura, a self pour-trait” to play on words, since the art is a recent acrylic pour painting.

Yeah, I’ve been making art again… entered four pieces in a juried show scheduled for this summer. Still writing, but mostly just my morning pages now. Blink Poetry is out in paperback, available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble, as well as other major online book sellers.

What else is new?

Oh yeah… the frikkin plague. I might not survive this. That’s just a quiet knowing, like an understanding, not a fear or panic. I keep busy sewing masks. The ones photographed in baggies are for children.

My cremation is on layaway… set that up before COVID-19, much to the demise of my reputation as that nibby bee across the street saw “strange men coming and going” and jumped to the wrong conclusion.

Yes, most funeral parlors offer appointments in the comfort of your home to discuss pre-paid plans for final arrangements. It pays to shop around when you can do so with a clear head as they send out sales reps who will try to play on your emotions and the cost for similar plans do vary greatly from one funeral home to the next. You also might want to inform neighbors before setting up several home appointments so odd mugs and Gladys Kravitz types won’t think you’ve taken up prostitution.

Odd mugs… perhaps I should mention odd mugs in my obituary as I’ve always had an odd assortment of coffee mugs and most of them hold memories, some hold pencils or brushes, too. In some ways, odd mugs define my life.

It started in my 20’s. I had a rack on the wall filled with odd mugs, some belonged to neighbors and friends… suppose my place was the closest thing to a neighborhood coffee shop. Then people started gifting me mugs, usually just one, sometimes filled with sweets. It’s become a thing… not a year passes without a new mug from someone. It’s a good thing since I break a lot of cups, being blind in one eye and dim in the other. Those spacial relations can be tricky.

Maybe that’s my life… a mosaic of broken cups.