 There are some
things you may think would be easy for a writer to talk about or to lay
down on paper -- you know, those every day events. But, believe it or not, those simple everyday stories in
life can be, and usually are the most difficult to write. So, I stay away from many of them and also ban stories
and columns about pets from entering my repartee.
Today, though, I am making an exception. In recent weeks I spent many
hours sifting through boxes and boxes of old
photographs that I plan on putting on my web pages. It is a tedious and frustrating
task. Thousands of photographs taken over the last 15 years or so in
more places I can remember have gathered in every nook and cranny.
Not only do I have review, identify, and catalog them,
but, I also have to digitize and restore them. It has become overwhelming.
Hundreds of photos found their way into the trash heap. I am so
blurred-eyed now that I don’t know what I should keep or chuck. I am
sure I threw some good pictures away and kept many I should burn.
This task, though, has reminded me of a couple of
things that made me smile. The first is how lucky I am to have traveled to so many places, do so many things, and meet so many people
because of writing and photography. I am indeed fortunate. The second is
remembering my cat, Rocko. I came across some interesting photos of him.
No, I am
not going to go off here on some sentimental jaunt or wondrous story
about the greatest cat in the world. (Cleveland Amory already did that,
telling us about Polar Bear.) Everyone knows the mystery and magic of
cats. If you lived with them you know first hand, and no story I tell
can be any greater that what you could tell about your own cats.
My cat was cool, though. He fetched like
a dog and always was there, lying in the driveway, waiting to greet me
when I came home from work. He had friends, too, as all our cat and dog
pets seem to have. One of Rocko’s friends was a squirrel.
Rocko loved playing in the leaves in the
fall and just couldn’t wait for me to rake up the pine needles that
infested my yard into the huge soft mountain they became every year so
he could create a nesting place for him and his friend to lie in. He
became bitter and wouldn’t have anything to do with me (other than
letting me feed him) for days after I picked up needles and trashed
them.
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 One day Rocko was acting sluggish and out
of it, just not his normal self. I took him to the vet and was told he
contracted feline leukemia somehow and had to be put to sleep. It was a
sad day for me.
Stay with me while I go off on a tangent here. I
love reading about customs. I wonder where they came from or how they
started. Some are strange. One I haven’t figured out yet is why we bring
food over to the house of a family that just had a member die. It seems to
be some pagan ritual or whatever. I don’t get it.
Chicken wings, casseroles, bread, brownies,
salads, and everything you can think of is brought over to the grieving
family's house. There is more food than the family can possibly eat and
this is not the time you’d expect them to throw a party. But, this
ritual make those who bring the food happy and I guess if sadness can be
offset by happiness . . .well, why not!
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A couple days after Rocko died I heard his
friend chattering out on the front steps. He jumped up on the handrail and
when I opened the door he seem to be asking if Rocko can come out to play.
I looked at him, smiled, and said Rocko died. (Now, I am not sure when the
last time you talked to a squirrel, but, this is a time the camera should
have been on me!). The squirrel seemed to understand – I guess
– I mean I really don’t speak squirrel. He jumped off the railing and sat
at the bottom of the steps for a while before scurrying off.
The next morning when I stepped out
the front door to go to work my planner and papers went flying and I hung
on my dear life as I slipped on something on the steps. After regaining my
breath and slowing my heart rate back down to 120, I started to gather up
my stuff. I wondered what it was I stepped on. After I got
myself and things together I noticed two chestnuts at the bottom of the
steps. |
Note: The above pictures of the
squirrel were taken as he sat on the hand railing outside my front
door. (Believe it of not.)
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