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Bedford the Cat Goes Reluctantly Into A Christmas Eve Storm

Bedford the Cat had been stuck inna house for three days. He did not take heed (really) to the explanation that it was -17C with a windchill, and iffen he went out, he would freeze off his ears. He complained and sulked and batted the tree ornaments. Oh, yes – and sulked.


But this morning, the temperature was reasonable (even for thin ears) and his kindly humans decided he could skedaddle into the outside. However, when the door was opened, he was met by a howling snowstorm. Howling loud enough to almost – almost – drown out his howls of complaint.


“This is it, kitty cat,” said one of the kindly humans

Get your arse in gear,” said the other.
For, you see, the kindly humans had already rugged themselves up – hats, scarves and mittens – and that darn cat was going out.

And out he went.


Now, the kindly humans were not so kind that they planned to stay out long. Only long enough, for Bedford the Cat to get a decent run of exercise, and (with luck) desire on his lonesome to go back in.
Well, down the street he trotted, taking some time to bat at snowflakes. And then he reached the end of the street where the fence is, and looked around, and sniffed the air, and then, in the blizzard, took a great, heartfelt, and long-lasting poop.

Although Bedford-the-Cat had adequate facilities inna house, it looked as iffen he had not utilized them. And after this triumph of satisfaction, he proceeded to cover it all up.


And then he proceeded on his usual way. This is along a rough little road, with trees and a field and bushes to explore. There are also two abandoned vehicles near the other end, and he went under each in turn to get out of the storm.


Then, Bedford the Cat came to a narrow lane, which leads up a hill on the way back to the house, where he had been HELD A PRISONER for three days, so his ears wouldn’t fall off.


He was now more used to the blizzard, and took some time to sniff under favourite trees, and look into a backyard to see if his friend, the orange cat, was there. Then he sensed where a more familiar trail might be, under the snow, and went in that direction. He was back near his house, so his kindly humans let him be, and beat their fearless way back to the house themselves.


In about ten minutes, Bedford the Cat was himself at the front door, letting his humans know it was time to open the door. His benevolent humans did as requested.


Bedford the Cat went to his food dish, got a bit of food and a bit of a treat, and went for some rest on the couch.
Bedford the Cat has not indicated a desire to go out since.


DE

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Winter Storm Races Over Land And Sea

Colossal big storm!
Hell-of-a storm!
Knock-ya-ass-

Over-tea-kettle storm!

HUGH Kraken storm

Is on its way.
Paw,
My cat/kitten
Black as a thunder cloud
With one white mitten
Has let me know
In no uncertain terms.
By acting in his unusual ways.
He is never wrong.
So,
I take heed of his meows,
His clawing at the bed covers,
His wild dash to the ocean
To stare,
And pace,
And growl.
I batten the hatches
Tie the rope from the Lighthouse
To my Keeper’s house.
Get bedding in case I have
To sleep on the cot.
And ready Paw’s carry case.
And say prayers.
We both say our prayers.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2024 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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Hurricane Of My Youth

Place seems to be an important part of my memories. So, when I was seven or eight, I was on the lawn leading to the woods beside our house. This was the third house I had lived in. 

It was small, one-story, and the “front door” led directly to the woods. It was a rarely used door. The door from the kitchen was the main entrance, leading to a deck, and a flight of stairs to the driveway. No one coming to the house would think of using the “front” door.

So, I don’t know why I used it that day. Perhaps the wind was exciting the trees. It was exciting me. I apparently have always liked the wind – the more and the faster the better. Still do, though – maybe – I don’t appreciate a great, rushing wind the way I used to. It can probably knock me over far more easily than in those days of my youth.

But, out in the rushing wind I was. I know it was strong enough to make me stumble, though not fall. The trees were wild. Leaves and branches and missile-any raced through the air. I pondered if I might fly along with it.

I don’t know how long I was in it. I suspect two or three minutes  (every one of which I enjoyed thoroughly). Ready to fly. However, the unused front door burst open, my father dashed out, grabbed me up, and carried me into the house.

He said I was in a hurricane. He told me it was dangerous. He said not to do it again. I suspect he might have wanted to ask if I was crazy.

I generally obeyed my father, but must confess – today I did not. Nor have I done so many times in my life. I always try to get out into a hurricane. Sometimes unwisely, but generally with more attention to being careful, than I ever did going out that front door. 

Just did it this morning, going out for my ten minutes in Hurricane Lee. It really is as exciting as ever.

DE

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Kafka And His Fate On The Ides Of March

ides-of-march-calendar-300x225-1

In my novel, Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the missing entries of his actual diaries.  There are many days to fill, as he either did not write during these days, or he destroyed the record.

Franz Kafka had his famous conflict with his father. He even wrote a book about it.   For The Ides of March,  I imagine how Kafka pictured the will, and the actions of his father.  Beware.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

15 March 1917

Had I been born into a different family  – with other parents – I would be a different person. I was doomed from my first breath to have the father I have. My life is shaped beyond the reach of my choice.

I have lived so much of my life defending myself, that I marvel I have advanced at all. It is difficult to have achievements while continually looking over your shoulder for a knife in the back. Harder still, when you have to stop periodically, reach awkwardly around, and pull out the blades embedded there from childhood.

Cut and bloodied fingers make it painful to pick up the life spread before you.

But, my father is not always content to stand behind. From any alley – indeed, from any room, across any table – my father can charge at me with an outstretched lance, or a sword held high to come chopping down across my neck, with the full intent of severing my head from my body.

That he often strikes blindly makes his attack no less destructive.

Beware

[Image] https://earthsky.org/upl/2019/03/ides-of-march-calendar-300×225.jpg

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A Bear Does Whatever It Wants In The Woods

bears-trail-camera-nova-scotia

One Christmas season over a decade ago, I looked after a dog whilst her owners went out of town.

Tibbit is a big, friendly dawg who likes inspecting piles of leaves. She has a long lead which her benevolent human allows to go as far as possible. She knows (better than her accompanying human) that there are treats at the end of each walk.

One Saturday I didn’t get Tibbit out until after dark. We skirted the university (where her masters work) and went up a street bordering the campus. We both liked the Christmas lights. Near the top of the street we met an inebriated gentleman, warning us of a bear in the surrounding woods.

“Flush him out,” said he, pointing at the dog, “And I’ll get my 3 aught 3.”

“Get the rifle first,” I replied.

We then went our respective ways.

Tibbit and I doubted the veracity of the gentleman, so when we came to a trail through the woods, we took it. I will admit I did peer more intently into the gloom than usual. One trail led to a larger trail, which led back to the university. We advanced without incident.

On Sunday, I again walked Tibbit toward the university, though from a different direction. It was a crisp, clear day, and she gamboled (as much as the leash allowed ) through the new fallen snow. Sunshine gleamed. This time we were on the other side of the campus, but our walk eventually led to a position about half a mile away from where we were the previous evening.

We followed another trail into the woods, and admired the sun through the fir trees. The path was wide and sloped. It came to a turn some distance away, that led us even closer to where we were the day before. At the top of the slope, Tibbit stopped dead in her tracks.

She stared and stared. 

She glanced briefly into the woods, but mainly kept staring along the trail.

I saw nothing nor heard anything (and I was intent upon both).

Tibbit did not move and made not a sound. She just kept staring. After a solid two minutes of this, I started to backtrack.

She made no complaint.

You betcha she got her dog treats.

(image) https://i.cbc.ca/1.4288335.1505334305!/fileImage/httpImage/image.jpg_gen/derivatives/original_620/bears-trail-camera-nova-scotia.jpg

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