In my mind, I'm five years old having a high old time wandering and wondering. In reality, I'm now approaching my late 60s, wowza! I tell you a lot of creativity is still to be found in this old young self. In you, too, whatever your age. Welcome to my barefoot world!
It's not that I don't have something in mind to write about. I do. Lots. But, work words must be written first. So, for today, I give you photos of a pink sky on the last evening of 2011. Until Monday, dear readers.
It has almost been a month since Mr. Cat was part of our lives. In all, Mr. Cat was with us for six weeks, from just before Thanksgiving to right after New Year's Day. We really couldn't have asked for a better Christmas gift than his presence.
Okay, I won't leave you hanging about the half-naked man with which I ended the story last Thursday. Unlike fictional stories that would introduce such a minor character, nothing happened. Short and simple, the true scene played out as such. "Is that your cat?" I asked, pointing to grey cat beneath the bushes. "Yes," he said, nonplussed, as if every morning he opened the door shirtless to answer an old lady about his cat. That cat which, by the way, quickly ran into his house. "Sorry," I said, thinking that I would not be riding my bicycle down …
On the evening of January 2, Mr. L. Gatto Cat mewed loudly at the front door. It was only 8 p.m. He had left the house only a couple hours ago.
"What are you doing here so early?" I asked as I opened the door. It was only luck that I happened to be walking by the door. Otherwise, I would not have heard him over the Mama's TV in the living room and the husband washing dishes in the kitchen.
"Meow. Meow. Meow," Mr. Cat said, rubbing my legs, then rubbing the bottom of the door. He stood inside the door, looking out.
"Do you want to come in or not?" I asked, holding the door open. "It's cold."
"In or out? Out or in? Make up your mind," I leaned over to pet him.
He slipped outside. "Have fun," I said. "See you later."
As I closed the door, I saw him jump into the rose bushes.
The Husband and I took turns opening the back door later that night to let him in. We went to…
Last week, I began the tale of Mr. L. Gatto Cat, "our" cat for a very brief while. Here are the links to the prequel and Mr. Cat's first appearance.
I was just minding my own business. In the late afternoon, I liked to hang out under the old lady's rose bushes to grab some of the last of the sun's bubbles before it scooted over the rooftops. The old lady had a very pleasant and tidy garden. No leaves to muss me up. No rocks to dig into my body. The plants and her house protected me from the wind. And, best of all, the birds flocked to the bird feeders on the tree in the middle of the yard.
It was only right that I politely said "Thanks" whenever the old lady, the bushy-haired tall guy, or the younger old lady walked by. The guy always petted me and said kind things to me. I didn't get much of human talk until evening. As for the women—they ignored me. I think the old lady was hard of hearing. The younger old lady sometimes glanced at me and sai…
Although Mr. L. Gatto Cat was "our" cat for a very brief while, he made quite an impact in all of our lives—the Mama's, the Husband's, and mine. Click here if you would like to first read the prequel to the Tale of Mr. L. Gatto Cat.
"Hello. My name is Susie. I live up the street. Are you missing a cat?"
It was a warm April evening. The husband and I were walking up and down our block, looking for the house where a young, friendly grey cat might belong. That morning, at breakfast time, the cat had sauntered up to our screen door and mewed as if to say, "Let me in."
"Go away," I said through the screen door. "You don't belong here."
"Meow, meow," it answered.
A couple hours later, the husband went to fetch the mail. The cat came out from under the rose bushes. He petted the cat. On the way back from the mailbox, the husband stopped and petted him again. Yes. I have been told that I married a man who was pure of hea…
This is what the Husband, the Mama, and I wrote on our 2011 Christmas letter (Yep. We're that kind of people.): The gang of. . .<our address> has expanded to four. Mr. Cat, aka Mr. L. Gatto Cat, aka Mr. Lionel G. Cat adopted us around Thanksgiving Day. A stray budding YA kitty, he suckered us with his cuteness and friendliness.
Mr. L. Gatto Cat left as suddenly as he arrived into our lives. It was almost like he had been on vacation and we had been his vacation destination. He was given a winter shelter. He was fed topnotch food—no grain fillers. And, he had attentive humans to pet and play with him when he was not sleeping. Mr. Cat cat slept a lot, I tell you what. I never knew that cats sleep so much.
We had cats when I was a kid. Lots of cats. There were always at least three or four of them wandering outside in the backyard. During the winter, they slept in the garage. Almost daily, they liked to slip into the house when anyone went through the door to the garage. I …