Portrait of a Lola

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Flashback II: Julius

At the time he was little more than a pup.  But even then Julius was a gift to a lonely day.  This, my dear Reader, is Flashback number 2.

The alarm clock went off and Julius went on standby. Stood up stock straight and still, his eyes followed my hand to the bedside table half-hidden beneath shaggy doggy brows. Snooze – ten minutes. He watched me roll over and slid back down to a crouch, resting his chin between his paws.

Ten minutes of gentle breathing FLEW by. As usual. Off it went again and Julius was back on standby. Attention! His head just below bed level. I looked the little beast in the face with his little pink tong peeking past his teeth as he panted quietly.

OK… up we go. As the feet swung over the side, Julius jumped up in celebration, tail wagging and a flurry of kisses on his hind legs. Front paws pausing in the air before bouncing off the side of the bed.

She’s up! She’s up! Come… lets get moving. He runs to the door and runs back, all excited about the walk that is sure to follow.

It’ is an honour and a privilege to have someone rejoice in the fact that you got out of bed this morning.

I imagine the angels tugging you out of sleep. OK… she’s drifting back… let the alarm go off. Ok… 10 minutes snooze? No problem. Hold the ceiling fan up… beat off that disaster. Keep the tree outside the window standing straight… another danger averted. The car that just passed the front gate… keep them headed straight and safe. Just can’t be too late – she has a full day of God’s work to do. Counting down again… 10, 9, 8… 3,2,1. UP PIECES UP. TIME TO GET UP. Legs swing over to meet Julius and there they are… trumpets sounding silently around me with the confetti – a job well done. Kept alive through a night’s sleep. How many didn’t make it this morning?

Thank you Father for getting me up, keeping me safe, providing food and shelter, and giving me a list of things to do today. And thank you Father, most of all…
for Julius.

To see the other Flashbacks in this series, visit the links below:

To be the victim of a stalker…

…is not a nice feeling.  Particularly when you know the stalker is of the wild predatory type.  You always feel as though someone is hiding in the bushes…

stalker hiding in the bushes

…and if you actually catch him watching you the look in his eyes can be quite chilling…

Oh no! He's looking at me!

…God forbid if he were ever to make his approach…

Someone help me please! There's a stalker at my door!

…and give you a piece of his mind!

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! He speaks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This little smarty-cat made my day!  Julius went wild – he loves cats – and the little animal would not go away.  When he finally did get to the door he gave Julius a right piece of his mind.

No More Morning Walks

It is out of the question today.  My dogs and I are home-bound and limited to our porch.  On the orders of my family men.

Yesterday I was followed as I walked Julius and Lola and cut my walk short.  A guy the colour of copper with corn rows to the middle of his neck crossed me on the street in a white truck and slowed down to watch me closely right as I was stepping out of our gate.  I scowled at him and cursed him on his way.  He pulled over not far behind me and put his truck in park.  It was an old white Chevy and I took the number down.

He stayed there a little while watching his mirrors as Julius and Lola thankfully did their jobs and I stood rooted to the spot.  I wouldn’t be walking further from safety at this point.  And seeing he wasn’t moving I pulled out my phone, turned to face the parked vehicle, and took a picture.  In fact, just to make sure he got the idea I took a few.  And typed them into a message.  Just in case.

The truck started and pulled out, did a three-point turn and drove toward me.  He didn’t slow and he didn’t look but went back the way he came.  I kept my phone in hand until he was gone.  Got the hell out of Dodge.

This didn’t used to be a problem.  Morning walks were safe with or without company.  Evening walks were safe all the time and night walks were safe with a big dog.  Now all walks are dangerous.

I will need to get myself a bigger dog me thinks.  Mine are little ankle biters and can do some damage but not enough.  But yesterday as I recounted the story to my father and brother I decided, rubbish, I’ll get a gun.

This blog was never intended to be a forum for political opinions.  But this morning I find myself housebound because I do not feel safe.  Two women have disappeared since January.  The hunt for their captors has been clouded with the aspersions cast on their characters.  Who cares if they had known criminal associates?  What human being doesn’t know a criminal?  They are missing.  Likely dead.

It begs the question, if I were to go missing tomorrow would you be looking for ME or would you be looking for a way to justify why the world is better off without me?

MEOW!!

Last night I went out to dinner with my parents and some visiting delegates who were here for a conference my mom was hosting for work.  She was telling the story about her Grand-puss in Kingston.  The table got to hear her explanation that she has two Grand-pusses; one in Kingston and one she is caring for at home while her son, my brother, lives abroad.  A lady across the table, with the sound of England in her speech, said “Well, I am now caring for my Grand-gerbil now that my son is gone to Sweden.  We aren’t doing very well are we, darling!”

Now.  We have had this conversation.  Grand-gerbils and Grand-pusses and Grand-Lolas and Grand-Juliuses – they are much easier to babysit.  So I was proud of my mom (so well adjusted!) when she said as much to the table.  I had been holding my breath.

So the Grand-pusses had some issues this past week.  Caly-puss, the Kingston silver tabby Grand-puss, swallowed a ball of string.  Bloody animal swallowed the whole thing after playing with it and beating it half to death.  See why I prefer dogs?  They eat sensible things… like their own poop.  Bro found her, after coming home from a long shift at work taking care of human bodies, with a lump in her tummy and a cord hanging out of her mouth.  And rushed her to the kitty hospital.

She had to have surgery and he made the arrangements with narratives to home via blackberry messenger.  Poor guy sat waiting for news of his second daughter’s fate having to deal with his sister on the phone every five minutes with “What are they saying now?”  “Is she out yet?” and when he’d had enough “Why aren’t you answering me?”

Turns out Caly-puss somehow had one end of string tied around her tongue and the rest of it had perforated her bowel.  Whatever that means.  They tell me these things like I should understand.  But this much I got – my niece is sick bad.  All this from his girlfriend after he’d quit talking to me.  So they opened her up, fixed what they could, sewed her up and wished for the best.  The family was then assured that kitty bowels heal really quickly.

My sister, here at home, was impressed upon by Anji-puss, the home Grand-puss, to send a message.  She must have been so worried!

The best part about this whole thing is that Anji is the Darth Vader of cats.  More likely to have sent a “DIE BEATCH!!!!” message if she’d had any say in the matter.