#AMWRITING #BLOGGING - WE ARE A NATION OF HOLLOW DREAMS

For the last three months I have been in a voluntary quarantine. As soon as I heard about the Coronavirus and the first cases were announced in Seattle, I went straight to my PCP and in our short-hand lingo, discussed triage, supplies and what it all would mean for me, as I'm high-risk. Having worked in a tertiary care facility for four years, I knew that I was way down on the list for any kind of care, other than palliative, and in five minutes, I knew that I would be staying indoors for the duration of whatever this was, until a suitable vaccine was cobbled up, by our health industry.

I just had no idea that beneath the layers of what seemed to be a functioning (albeit, a dysfunctional one) nation, lay fault lines that were well-nigh insurmountable and that, moreover, the Powers-That-Be would not be swayed by a mere Pandemic to let their Better Angels out to save the day. No, all this lay ahead, to be peeled back in an ugly and rapacious manner that becomes uglier and meaner each day.

In early March*, when it seemed that we would have most of our work force staying “at home”, with the exception of the essential workers, and it was being bandied about in the House and Senate regarding Incentive checks and PPP for small businesses, there was also discussion about rent and mortgage “forgiveness” that would allow people to stay in their homes or apartments if they were furloughed. It was called H.R. 6515 and introduced 4/17/2020. This was to take care of folks to make sure that the homeless population didn't worsen, and to keep PEOPLE IN PLACE, during the Pandemic.

*Not precisely sure of the time lines, or when this was first talked about. 

I hate changing tracks like this, but I must at this juncture; one of the reasons I haven't blogged as much as I used to, as everything has overwhelming, but this, this is too much. My fiancé came home the other day from work (he works for the DOD and IS essential) and had a small children's bicycle, and a kids' hot-wheels toy in the trunk. I asked him where they had come from.

We, of course, have no children. We're going to fix them up and give them away; it just breaks my heart to see them.

It turns out that there is an apartment complex about ½ mile from our house, and it is for lower-income people. Our dog, Ripley, always runs over there and plays with all the other dogs when he gets off of his chain, or out of the house; we're familiar with the people there. So, James told me that people are being evicted right and left there. There are toys, clothing; kids' clothing, furniture, all piled up out there. I'm just enraged. What happened to all this “forgiveness” of rent? Is it because we're living in a Red State, but this doesn't translate to a Black or Brown State? Did the money just disappear into some fat cat's pocket up there in Columbia, or Raleigh, or wherever?

The toys are well-used and also well-kept. The children obviously were proud of them.

Every one of those toys is some kids' ruined dream; a failure on the part of this country. We can't teach them, we can't house, feed, or clothe them. What is wrong with this society, and what do we have to fear by teaching everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, to the best of our ability, to be the best that they can be. NO child should have his or her dream, or ideal kicked to the curb by some money-grubbing fat bastard who doesn't need another goddamned dime from the American Public, or from anyone, period!

We have no way of knowing where the families may have gone, or if they're homeless. We're in a small town. So, they're probably in Greenville, or Spartanburg.

The Pandemic laid bare the fault lines that may have remained hidden for five years, or a decade. This country has become a weakened shell; a former chimera of itself. Our infrastructure has rotted to nothing. Bridges collapse daily, killing people in cars trying to cross them. Dams burst, flooding towns; two in Michigan burst last week. We have a golden opportunity to put together another CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps) to re-build our infrastructure, yet, our government is so corrupt with nepotism and incompetence and revolving door-ism, if Trump doesn't like the cut of someone's jib that nothing gets done, except some more GOP judges, who are unfit to judge dog shows are packed onto benches, because right-wing matters. If Trump doesn't like the news, he either lies about it, or he lies about what he just said, claiming it was "sarcasm". Who does that?

My baby Glenn, wondering why Mama's crying.

I've said this before and I'll say it again; two of the finest Americans who were at total opposites of the spectrum as regards politics are no longer with us and I'm talking about my parents. My father used to joke about how he was to the right of the John Birch Society and my mother used to say she was a bomb-thrower (Anarchist, for those not in the know), yet, we had some of the best political discourse around our dinner table that I'll never forget, and I'm so goddamned glad they're not here to see this mess of a country. I have a passport and don't think that I'm not thinking about maybe packing it in and making it back to the Auld Sod, as an Ex-Pat, when all of this shit is over. I'm so done with whatever is going on here and I'm not even sure if the U. S. is able to see its way out of the mess that is COVID-19.

As long as people keep lying to themselves and going outside and doing all of the things that are counter-intuitive and playing politics, there is going to be THIS Pandemic. Coronavirus don't care if you're GOP, DEM or INDEPENDENT. It's not about politics. It's not about your stupid freedoms. You're not having a “Rosa Parks” moment, by defying any government's (Federal or State's) orders and herding up together with your friends. Your Civil Rights are not being trampled. Imagine this were WW II. Would you go outside in London during the Blitz, because the German bombs were taking away your rights to stand in the streets and get blown to bits? I thought not. Think on that, this Memorial Day, and remember those who died for us, so we could live.

#A-TO-Z-CHALLENGE – LETTER “G” - GLENN WALLACE, THE CAT

Glenn Wallace, the cat is a pretty amazing cat, although it must be said, he's actually pretty ridiculous most of the time. He's scary-smart. My better half named him after my late father, who was himself a pretty amazing, and scary-smart man, and also had his ridiculous moments. Glenn came to us in a rather startling way; we live out in the country on a corner parcel. There's just a lonely water tower and not much else around. Part of the land is abutted by forest and that's where Ripley the yodeling dog's imaginary pals live.

I spend most of the day ensconced in a house that is very secure and because of the day and the age, I am very aware of what's going on around me. It's quiet and Ripley will bark if people show up, so we're pretty safe. However, someone managed to sneak a black-and-white tuxedo kitten into our front door, between the screen door and the front door and there he stayed for a full ten hours, while James was at work. Now, the kitten may have wandered in there and gotten caught, I don't know. All that I do know, is when James came home, he said “Mary, how did the cat get out?”, when he opened the door. He was holding a black-and-white tuxedo kitten. I had not been out all day; hadn't opened the door. Our two chuckleheads were inside, busily dismantling the bedroom.

This is what Glenn looked like his first night with us. James was calling him "Kitler" from an old website from the 00s, that featured kittens with Hitler mustaches, that I had remembered. I was like, "Erm, no."

I pointed behind me to the two hoodlums and said, “I haven't opened the door all day; haven't been out! Look, here are our two goons!” I thought to myself “That trickster. James; he's just looking for a way to sneak another kitten into this household. Ha ha!” And he was looking at me like, “Mary, she's such a card! Looking for a way to get another new kitten in this house!”

Glenn, as he looks now. Don't let the beauty fool you; he's thinking of either his next meal, or what kinda shenanigans he can get into next. His favorite thing is to run rampant under my kitchen cabinets. I've told him that's Chthulu's timeshare, but Glenn doesn't care, much as my father wouldn't have cared.

James came all the way into the house with the new kitten. We could see that he (we checked that out right away, and he was an un-neutered male) was distressed; hot, dehydrated, hungry and rather skinny. He was about the same size as our two kittens. This was in October, so he was about six months old. Our kittens were both inoculated and up-to-date on their vaccinations, so he couldn't make them sick. The first thing we did was call the shelter for the county we now live in. They had no room for a kitten and the earliest they could neuter the kitten was in December. I didn't like that they had no room, and this wasn't a “no kill” shelter, so we decided to keep him.

James bathed him. This wasn't like the epic baths that my father used to give our cat, Oliver, when Oliver rolled in motor oil. My dad would lock them both in the bathroom and the yowling, screeching, and tearing of shower curtains and crashing around would commence. They'd both exit the bathroom, licking their wounds and treated bath time as some type of blood sport. The pair had an on-going feud? game? for ages, which my mom and I both enjoyed.

Eddifer and Glenn draped over, sleeping on the corner of my bed. Glenn looks like Superman or something here. I gave up trying to make the bed, because they all run around under the sheets, like a bunch of worms. Honestly.

Anyway, after Glenn's bath, we introduced Allie and Eddie to Glenn. We still hadn't picked out a name for him. We didn't have a feel for his personality. He was fine with the other cats, but was really, really hungry, so we fed him.

And, continued to feed him. About this time, I noticed that my hamburger buns on top of the microwave had a gnawed corner, in the bag and one of the buns had had some tiny bites taken out of it. I thought we had mice and since none of the kittens had really had mothers to teach them to hunt, I assumed that a tiny intruder was in my kitchen.

That week, when we went to the grocery store and I brought home a fresh loaf of bread, Glenn – who'd earned his name by doing something asinine that amused James, who while laughing, said “I'm gonna name this kitten after your Dad!”, and I, of course, being in on the entire ridiculousness of the situation, said, “Please do!” – saw this fresh loaf of bread and took a tiny, kitten-sized chomp squarely out of the middle of it as I watched, and I realized who the “mouse” in the house really was. I took the old loaf's sleeve and the piece Glenn had tried to eat, gave Glenn the chomped piece of bread, put the old sleeve on the new bread, took the new sleeve with the chomp in it, tossed it in the garbage and put all of the bread either in the microwave or the fridge, for safe-keeping. I give him the heels and now, Eddifer's in on this game of playing with/eating pieces of stale bread, when I make sandwiches. I don't give them much; just a bit to play with, and then eat. They're supposed to be carnivores, after all.

I know this is blurry; a testament to my fine picture-taking and my essential tremor, but this is the saddest pair of eyes I've ever seen. Poor Glenn! He only had to wear the cone for about 48 hours, but it was an eternity in terms of the Drama that unfolded in his mind, I'm sure!

Glenn is also the longest cat I've ever seen; long legs, tail and whiskers. He's almost four feet long when he stretches out on the floor and he's not fully grown yet. Like he's part Cheetah, and he gallops around the house like a little horsey. I think he revels in the sound his feet make on the hardwood floor. All he needs are little horsey shoesies.

He's also the one who goes in for all the weird, odd, and animated toys that James brings home. Glenn will be right on those crazy things and play with them for hours. He knows his name and will heel to hand commands, too. I've only had to tell him once and it's embedded in his little cat brain. Of all the cats, he's most bonded with me, with Misty being a close second. They are the two smartest, but I worry about Eddifer. Sometimes he gets lost in the scrum of life and will go off by himself. I make sure Eddie gets plenty of love. Allie is James' cat and she loves him to death. I'm an okay substitute, but there's no doubting who she loves best.

See what I mean about Drama? Allie is asleep all calm and Glenn is like, "I'M READY FOR MY CLOSE-UP, MR. DEMILLE!"

Ripley just kind of watches it all, bemused and the birds just add to the general life and noise around here. It's a happy house, with the animals, people and the music. We feel blessed. I hope everyone is having a great #atozchallenge!

I hope you stop by on April 19^th, 2020 to meet Andy Toppin, Jr., and learn about his book “Rowan's Chronicle, Volume 1”. He's an awesome person, and a terrific writer!

#A-TO-Z-CHALLENGE – LETTER “F” - Eddi-Fur; OUR FOSTER KITTEN

When we decided to throw caution to the winds and get hitched; without having even been in one another's presence physically, although, to be fair, we had done plenty of talking during viola lessons for a few years, we knew we were going to buy a house and fill it full of critters and music. We both play instruments and my fiancé has a fine singing voice – along with perfect pitch. I do too; I may have mentioned that I inherited it from my father, who had me singing harmony as a wee child, before I even knew what the word meant. But, I digress.

My father; a pilot in the Air Force during Korea. He flew B-29s and commanded a wing briefly. He was hilarious.

We got the house, and Ripley, the yodeling dog in the same week, and as we were moving in, we decided it was time to add in some kittens for more chaos. We had to start out with one, since you can only have one kitten that doesn't have siblings at a time from this shelter (you have to wait a week to adopt from another "family", so to speak), and the one kitten they did have was so tiny and cute; I about broke my neck running to the room to pick it up, before anyone else could see it. I'm ruthless when it comes to kittens and I wasn't going to let any little boys or girls deprive me. We found this tiny, tiny kitten, who wasn't available for adoption yet, but was available for foster. His little “biography” sheet said his name was “Tad” and that his birth date was April 20^th, 2019. We were seeing him in early June, so he was less than two months old, and no bigger than a mouse, it seemed. I didn't see the “Tad” part, or the D.O.B. part until later. My fiancé had already run off with the paper to start the fostering proceedings.

Allie is in the background, chillin'. Eddie is photo-bombing the daylights out of this pic. He just popped up when I snapped the phone. Understand, that I take horrible pictures and that this is usually the norm for me. Confusion and body parts that all seem so random.

I didn't know what this kitten's name was, just that like with any kitten, I was in love, but there was something about this little guy – honestly, they're all like that; distinct personalities from the start. This little black-and-white tuxedo kitten blinked at me and I blinked back. Pretty soon, James came back with a cardboard carrier and a soft blanket and said brightly, “Okay, Eddie Scissorshands and I are ready to go! Let's pack him up!” I said, “Wat?” -- I say that a lot now --  “I'll tell ya in the car,” James says. So, we bundle up the kitten and off we go. In the car, James tells me, that he decided on the spot that this was “Edward Scissorshands” because “Tad” was just about the lamest thing he'd ever heard for a name for a kitten, even one as small and practically formless, as our new “Eddie”. So, “Eddie” it was. All of our animals got new names; the shelter is the only place that comes up with worse names for animals than I do. “Ripples” became “Ripley”; “Mittens” became “Misty”. Only Glenn came to us nameless, and James has heard all of these fabulous stories about my father, so now, we have “Glenn Wallace, Jr.”. There are days I swear that cat channels my late father.

Eddie and Allie; the forelegs may be Glenn's. It's just hard to tell. Allie has more white on her face, and Eddie has like this checkerboard pattern going on on one side of his nose. Their differences physically are subtle, and when they're up to mischief, a stream of pet names, some long-deceased issues forth... smh.

Eddie squeaked a lot on the ride home, and we had a fair piece to ride; close to 45 minutes as I recall. The ASPCA had given us kitten food and some instructions and some de-worming medicine for him. When we got him in the house, we gave him a while to decompress from the car ride, before we brought out Ripley. James had already thoughtfully gotten a kitty tree for little ones, but Eddie mostly ignored that, at first. He was too busy trying to be a kitten; prancing sideways, climbing jeans and playing with his imaginary friends – all of our pets seem to have LOTS of imaginary play mates!

When Ripley was introduced, we got the famous puff-up, dance sideways, hiss and growl – which sounds like a lion that has inhaled nitrous oxide – and then, he spent a good 15 or 20 minutes trying to figure out how to un-do all that shit, all the while going in circles backwards. The best entertainment ever. Later that night, after James fell asleep, Eddie cavorted up and down on top of him, doing somersaults and handsprings; kip-ups and lay-ups, with his tiny, tiny claws getting caught in the blankets for about 45 minutes. I didn't dare try to take a video, the light would have woken James up, but, damn! That was a riot. That kitten had the best time!

This little mite of a kitten was (and still is) just a hilarious little thing. Now that he's growing up, he's more "serious", "supervising" in the kitchen with this same look on his face. The look that really means, "Just what in the HELL am I seeing here?"

When we got his sister Allie Cat or KittenMcGrabbyPaws, the following week, we outright adopted her. We still had Eddie listed as a foster. He apparently, had not been raised by his mom. I've always worried about him; he's a week older than she is, yet she is sturdier and seems to have hit certain benchmarks earlier than he did. He did manage to catch up as they've reached the one year mark, though, and he's quite a good-looking cat.

We finally were able to adopt him at the end of July and he had to be neutered, and of course, we were both so nervous about that. We were afraid something would happen, but he came home and was fine.

Eddifer considers himself the Supervisor of the Kitchen. He must come and inspect anything we do. He's not a pain about it and doesn't get in the way and doesn't try to eat the food; he just likes to watch. I had to laugh about the people on Twitter who have several names for their animals. I have several names for all of mine; Eddie's are Ed, Edward, Eddifer, Son, Asshat (generally, when he, Glenn, Allie and Misty are playing “Viet Nam” or “The Floor Is Lava”). When they crank those games up, they A) either start knocking over the kitchen chairs and vacuum cleaner or B) it's 3 a. m. in the damn morning and they use the corners of the bed as launch pads. I must admit, as they've gotten a bit older, the 3 a. m. rampages are slowing down and they're more apt to sleep through the night.

Allie (foreground) and Eddie behind, horsing around on Ripley's blanket, while he's out going for walkies. They're very close and like any two siblings, have their spats. When I hear the tiny roars, I make them stop and fight nice.

The only other thing that makes Eddie stand out from the other cats is that he is not fond of loud noises or weird toys, or anything he doesn't understand. He heads right to the underside of the bed and stays there until the strangeness goes away, or he can figure it out. It's just one more thing that sets him apart from the others. I hope you're all having a great #atozchallenge!

April 19, 2020 is the date for Andy Toppin's blog tour on this website for the 1st installment of his book, "Rowan's Chronicle, Volume 1". I hope you'll join me for his interview! He's a good friend of mine and a wonderful writer!