Chester came home today in the neighbor’s car. She waved and I waved back, busy unpacking from our trip. I heard her laughing, turned to see Chester stretching in the back seat. Today I realize how easily I am replaced in his sphere but happy he loves life.
Toby is quiet. Hanging around the back door being quiet. He survived the four days I was gone.
The neighbors are warming up to our furry friends. They know not to bother us with their whereabouts. Chester & Toby are free-range and no one gives us a difficult time, albeit are they cold or hot, hungry or otherwise. If they do I send my husband to fix their attitude.
People listen and respect men. Me? Not so much. Feeling a bit like Toby hanging around the back door. J
(*my intention is never to bash mankind or any particular belief unless and only if it is detrimental to personhood. And even if a belief harms another it does not mean the philosophy, psychology or religion is at fault. Deep inside we all are flawed. End up harming another in some way. We can be versatile, possess world views similar in outcome and remain miles apart. Many have felt a belief to be true but have witnessed the belief perverted for personal gain. Even that thought, perverted and true, will rumble together and result in individual outcomes. The world is simply love but exists in never-ending controversy. We are complicated poets. All of us.)
“They brought home what?” I hung on the voice, miles away, tell the story.
I had been gone for a week. There was one fuzzy video. I never would have believed, had the blood splattered in the sun room, the torn blinds and lifeless organs been cleaned up. Body parts belonging to a half-eaten snake, several voles and a kit, just a few weeks old, strewn about with no regard, left me standing there.
Those innocent eyes that drove their purr into my heart were shattered glass. I was left to sweep up the shards before I moved any farther. Chester and Toby were on the prowl, striking fear into the neighborhood. They approached their first birthday having managed to revolutionize our once tranquil street.
Everyone knows Chester and Toby now infamously named Rambo and Rocky.
Over the past few weeks Toby and Chester have made themselves at home in my garden, now their playground. Lucy and Louie have graciously accepted the “cat’s” presence and everyone respects each others space. No one trespasses against another.
The gang hung out in my “promise gardens” yesterday enjoying the coming and goings. Chester coyly saddled up beside me, purring as a token of his affection. He felt comfortable enough to roll over for a belly rub. He let me know when he had had enough, I put off by his rebuff.
Toby was awol for the day and towards evening crawled up to his brother. They nuzzled long enough to know each intention. I joined in; the sun burning, the smell of lilac intoxicating, the company peaceful. A cat sleeping is almost an angel.
Toby has revealed in recent days a different side of his character. Two weeks ago he was too shy to be known. My promise garden has Toby spreading out and putting Chester behind him. Despite the Doberman and Pit Bull next door, Toby jumps the fence and slyly meanders through the neighbor’s grass. Curiosity trumps safety in Toby’s mind. Jimmy the Pit Bull looks out the kitchen window and rapidly barks. Josh lets him loose. Safety trumps curiosity.
Home, Toby goads Chester into a round of chase. Garden playtime involves an obstacle course through favorite evergreens, a weeping willow, hedges of lilacs and viburnums. Exhausted, Chester calls uncle and both land at my feet. “Did you see me?” Toby purrs. Chester sits in the corner.
Toby make-ups. Chester seemingly does not hold grudges witnessed by their sweet sleep. Is Chester dreaming of revenge?
Chester is enjoying my company this morning. Toby is still in a nocturnal mood, aloof and wandering. Have I mentioned breakfast is served and waiting? It takes mighty willpower to resist tuna and salmon.
Thoughts have resonated in the back of my mind since early April when I took a Scrivenor tutorial. Time was spent contemplating a return to the idea of putting together a few poetry chapbooks and even writing that novel I dreamed of in high school. (A thousand titles exist somewhere.) Knocking out past dreams, a few new poems swirl in a milky whipped cream concoction and I release my other planned intentions, allow them to drown in creative ecstasy. I admit at this rate I will never publish. I have to let it be.
At one point in time I never considered visibility, shame inside left me catatonic. Ok, I still feel inferior, not so much that my poems are not worthy, I do feel my writing has improved but I retreat. I hate to be known, not so much that I like being lonely as that produces anxiety but rather I twirl in depression. It is a scary place to live: four walls and no windows, doors non-existent. Those who suffer might understand. Some may not. They retort “Get over it already, won’t you.” I admit I drag everyone down.
Believe me when I say I search for the sun, desire the limelight. Inevitably I shrink in my shell. My mind sees you and I shudder. “What are they thinking?” I mutter.
I live in a moving hell. Occasionally I suffer from annihilation. Non-existence suits me well. In this state I am calm and I am happy. Voices remind me “They would miss you, family and the kids you tutor.” I contemplate the residual pain, not inside of me but within my friends.
No solution to this convolution. A decision involves burying my head in ideas and releasing them on my blog. I hope you would continue to read them no matter how I leave them unedited. I realize some are quite ambiguous and senseless as if I live in a different world. I suppose I leave you scratching your head, a desire to run away. “She’s crazy!” you say and today I can’t disagree. Enigmatic. Eclectic. Take your choice of words, I wear them well. I am proud to exist in the borderline of well and unkempt. This is who I am.
This is my life and I will enjoy the sun today, the stars tomorrow, the forecast of rain, inevitable icy winters and those four walls encroaching, I buried in a blanket. Regardless, if I disappear, do not fret. I will miss you. Please think “Perhaps she is putting that chapbook together.”
Today, be happy your alive to wonder! Look out the window and admire the wild. 😊💛🌻
Did i say i like cats a few weeks back? Cat lovers will want me to confess I do but will they demand loyalty even after reading Chester and Toby destroyed my writing room last night? I took them to the vet yesterday to be fixed, to do my part in helping take care of the pet population boom in Hamilton County and the stress experienced by the Humane Society’s overabundance of feral cats and unwanted pets. Wanting to keep Chester & Toby safe, being drowsy from pain meds, I kept the doors shut to keep them inside.
I ask “This is how cats treat my love? Destruction?”
In time I might forgive them. They have eight chances left. Or maybe their love is misunderstood. If so, they express it in funny ways. Is anger a sign of affection?
Done writing for the day as my computer keys are sticking and typing sporadic letters and other annoying computer glitches. (April 25, 2017)