The Taleswappers’ Porch

I woke up the other morning, when it was still nice and dark.  I yawned and stretched, and then looked for some fun.  My bowl was empty, so I had a few laps of water; I started back out toward the living room when I saw it — a mouse, right in the middle of the floor!  It was absolutely still, so I knew it had seen me and frozen in place.  I froze, too, staring at the mouse, assessing my chances for taking this tasty bit of prey for myself.  I noted the position of the chair, the table, any places the mouse might try to escape to.  Then I hunkered down, ready to make my move… POUNCE!  I grabbed the mouse in my teeth, my paws holding it so that it couldn’t escape.  It smelled absolutely delicious, urging me to rub it all over myself.  The mouse still did not move, so I knew it must be dead, but that smell, that taste!  I wrestled with it, pounced on it, kicked it, and rubbed my face on it.  Ah, it feels so good to capture prey!

Eventually, the humans woke up.  I don’t know why they stay asleep so long, wasting so much of the darkness.  Don’t they know that sunshine is for taking naps in, and darkness is for work and play and exploration? Those silly humans!  They both went and sat on their litterbox, but they hadn’t cleaned out my litterbox yet.  Is that fair?  I’m still holding it, humans, and there you go, relieving yourselves in front of me!  Sheesh.

These humans do some crazy things.  They waste most of the darkness, and then they start getting themselves wet.   Ugh — I shudder at the thought of it!  First they get their teeth wet, rubbing them with brushes.  Crazy!  Then they start getting their whole selves wet!  They go into this little room where the water pours all over them, and they rub themselves with bubbles and then rinse them off.  But I haven’t told you the craziest part yet.  After they do all this work to get themselves wet, do you know what those silly humans do?  They take towels and rub off all the water again.  Yes, they wet themselves all over, and then they dry it off!  Why would you do that?  I mean, you could save yourselves a whole lot of time and effort if you didn’t bother to get yourself all wet in the first place!  Silly humans.

Okay, so maybe that isn’t the craziest part.  After the big deep-voiced human finishes drying off, he gets his face all wet again.  And then, even though he is practically naked, with no fur at all, he starts scraping what little fur he has off of his face.  It is so bizarre!  For a while, I thought only the big deep-voiced human did this.  But one day, I peeked into the little room while the small round human was getting herself wet, and she was doing the same thing!  But instead of scraping fur off of her face, she was scraping it off of her legs!  Why would you scrape the fur from your legs?  Can you imagine the indignity of being a Cat with no fur on your legs?  It would be utterly ridiculous!  Those silly humans!

The next part is even crazier yet.  After they waste all this time making themselves wet and then making themselves dry again, after they scrape off their fur… next they put on fake fur.  I’m not kidding!  These poor, humans must know they’re naked, so they have to put on fake fur!  Some of the fake fur is tight and some is loose; some of it has bright colors, and some of it is black like my fur; some of it is softer, and some is more rough, and some even feels kind of like fur.  But mostly, it just looks fake and feels fake.  Pathetic.

And once those silly humans finally have their fake fur on, then they get around to cleaning up my litterbox and filling up my bowl.  I can’t believe they make me wait so long while they waste time with this ridiculousness.

Okay, silly humans, listen up.  I want to help you here, so we’ll go over this for you.  For now, I’ll let you stay asleep when it’s dark, as long as I don’t get too bored.  But this morning nonsense has got to stop.  So when you get up, you really have to clean up my litterbox before you use your own.  It’s only fair!  I’ve been waiting for you for hours, and you just woke up.  Besides, I’d do it myself, but I don’t have thumbs like you do.  Next you can fill my bowl, like you’re supposed to.  Once you’ve finished these two tasks, then you can get on with your craziness.  We’ll work later on the wetting yourself and then drying yourself off, but for now, you really have to stop scraping off your fur.  Do you not see how ridiculous you look, with your naked faces and your furless legs?  Ugh!  I’m ashamed for any other cats to see you — it would be so humiliating!  This will also make you much softer for me to rub against, and it will keep you warmer so that you don’t need all that fake fur.  See?  It’s obvious, isn’t it?  There’s so much time you can save, and that means there’s so much more time you can be paying attention to me.  And we all know that’s how you really should be spending your time, at least, when I want attention.

But for now, leave me alone for a while, okay?  The sun is up, and the windowsill is calling, and I’m tired after waiting for you in the darkness, hunting and pouncing and keeping the mice away from our home while you slept.  I was hungry and needed to use the litterbox, but you kept snoring, wasting the whole night.  But that’s okay, you silly humans.  I still like having you around, even if you are completely crazy.  I guess you can stay.

For now.

I was expecting a visit from a dear friend in August. He’s from Ontario, where butter tarts are a favorite treat, and I live in Virginia, where nobody has ever heard the words butter and tart put together that way before. I wanted to surprise him by having butter tarts for him when he arrived, a taste of home, and something I know he could very well eat at (if not for) every meal in the day. But I didn’t know what kind he liked best. Raisins? Nuts or no nuts? If nuts, what kind - pecans, walnuts?

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Once, long ago, there was a Yard Art Bear.
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Molly trudged up the mountain. Sweat rolled down her back as the humidity of a Virginia August combined with the work of hiking uphill, toiling after her trim mother and her mountain goat of a little brother. Christ, but I hate these trips! Molly thought. I could be playing Sims, or on MySpace with Jenna. Hell, I’d even rather watch The Wiggles with Lucas than be here climbing this blasted mountain!

Molly knew better to say any of this. She knew how Mom felt about her spending time on the computer when she could be outside riding bikes or playing soccer or doing anything that would make her hot and sweaty and tired. Molly couldn’t wait until April, when she would turn 16. She was already signed up for the behind-the-wheel class at school in the fall, and she planned to be first in line to get her license the day she turned 16. Then she could pack up her laptop and go to the library or the sandwich shop or the coffeehouse, and she could do whatever she wanted. But until she had a car, she was stuck going where Mom drove her, which was never anyplace fun.

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My son first cussed when he was about two-and-a-half. He didn’t realize that cussing was a bad thing, or that he was saying something he shouldn’t. He was just mimicking his (naughty) parents. He toddled into our bedroom from his room and announced, “Oh s**t, there’s monsters in the hallway!”

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July 18, 1997

In the summer, we always sit out on the porch after supper. The trees overhead keep us cool, almost s cool as Mom’s fresh lemonade. Last night my cousins and aunts and uncles came over to visit. And after supper, we went out to sit on the porch and watch fireflies and tell stories.

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From 1993 to 1999, I lived in a townhouse with my husband and children. Both children were born when we lived there - in January and December of the same year, in fact. Yes, my kids are ‘Irish Twins.’ Right around the corner from the townhouse was a gas station and convenience store, so close, in fact, that it took less time to walk to the store than to get into the car and drive to it. Beyond the convenience store was a little strip mall, and then the day care center where the kidlets spent several years. They loved it when we would walk them to “school” in the morning or back home in the evening, and I enjoyed the opportunity to get out into the air. One afternoon, there was a man smoking a cigarette outside the convenience store when I walked past to get the kids. I nodded a hello, and skirted pretty widely around him so I didn’t have to breathe the smoke. On our way back, my adorable three-year-old son said very loudly, “Eeeewww!!! Mommy, that man is smoking!!!” I wanted to sink into the earth. After we were safely past, I began to explain to him about addiction, and how some people want to stop smoking but have a very hard time with it, so we should be kind to them. (Well, we should be kind to them anyway, but still. It was the moment.) He’s always been a smart little booger, because he never exclaimed like that again.

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More little snippets for your Sunday…

My kids have always loved hiking in the mountains, in the woods. I remember when they were little, Becca was fascinated by ferns. Whenever we passed a glade of ferns, she would stop us so that she could pet them. I couldn’t imagine anything cuter than a little three-year-old stopping her whole family in mid-hike to toddle over and gently, tenderly pet the green ferns in the dappled shade of the mountain forest.

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I remember Mom measuring me on growth charts when I was young. She would step me up to the wall where the chart hung, tell me to stand up straight, and make the mark at the top of my head. I would be so excited to see that I’d grown half an inch in the previous year, and Mom would dutifully note the date next to my new mark. At some point, the growth charts disappeared. I’m not sure when, and I don’t know what happened to them. I suspect Mom has them hidden away with my baby clothes and those teeny baby shoes, but she won’t admit to it.

I know I’m a rotten mother because I don’t have growth charts for my kids.

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September, 1997

Robbie likes to play pretend. Pretending is very serious business for a three-year-old boy. When he becomes Darth Vader or Freakazoid or Daddy, Robbie becomes that character one hundred percent. You much call him by his correct name when he is pretending, and woe to you if you don’t know who it is that he is pretending to be! You must act as he tells you to act in your role. If Darth Vader tells you that you are Luke Skywalker and you have to cross light sabers with him, then by golly you’d better.

A few weeks ago, Robbie became God.

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