Juanita - It's Hot!

11:45P

This rhyme was written 05/04/97, a delightful memory of our kitty Juanita who didn't realize she was fourth in the pecking order at that time. She didn't care. She was always first in her own system, as were the other three first in their own systems. Happy days!

We already had three cats when our next door neighbor's employee brought this tiny kitten to our door one morning saying, "I know you love cats and wondered if you would take this little kitty who was wandering in the middle of the street out front just now. She's so cute, but I can't take her because I am moving to a new place which won't accept pets, and she's going to get killed out there." "We don't need another cat," I said, but took the baby into the office.

Someone working around our place that day said if we didn't want her, he would take her home and let her be an outdoor cat with a dozen others he fed. An ace in the hole. I showed her to Roy, telling him the circumstances and making it clear we didn't need another cat and that our workman would provide for her when he left for the day. Roy said okay, and I asked him if he wanted to baby-sit her until the workman went home that afternoon. Yes. I put the kitten on Roy's lap and left him with the wildly curly furred kitten.

I checked out the situation in the mid-afternoon. It was all over. Roy was sitting at his desk, Wall Street Journal in his hand as he posted the stocks he followed for the day, gingerly moving as he turned pages so as not to disturb the kitten on the back of his neck draped like a contour pillow, sound asleep. He said to me, completely serious, "You can keep her if you want to."

He named her Juanita for Juan Peron, but that's another story for another time.


Juanita

My kitty cat is tabby striped
in tan both dark and light.
Wild fur looks like she's been plugged in
a socket overnight.

No lap cat she, too wiggle-ee,
just full of energy.
She loves the outdoors when she isn't
under the settee.


Respectfully submitted,
Miss Peach

The Silent Menagerie

10:25P

I get up this day and try to wake up. I am still sleepy. I sit on the couch amongst all my animals, cozy inside. It is cold and overcast today, a grey grey day, no shadows I can see, even under the patio beam at the wall or under the patio table, an even grey grey all over. The lion fountain is mum, his water being turned off for the night. The goldfish and mosquito eater fish in the pool are invisible from the couch.

Inside, Victor the sculptured greyhound is looking outside through his glass eyes waiting patiently without barking for the sun to come out, one foot raised and bent in anticipation.

The twin bronze hares from Thailand are staring at me in tandem, their big ears straight up as if to say accusingly but wordlessly about the grim day, "You did this."

The six-inch unmoving turtle is looking outside through the glass door, ready to move when there's something to move about but definitely not talkative.

The concrete-casted coyote pup waits by the sliding door looking out, face raised to howl soundlessly or to see when the overcast will succumb to the sun, ready to make his move.

The brightly painted Mexican papier-mache parrot with his beautiful tail and folded wings is on his perch with an American flag, looking over his shoulder at me with a beady eye, claws gripping his bar as if to say inaudibly, "Why not now?"

The white furry kitty with pink ribbon around her neck is close behind my right shoulder on the couch, looking questioningly at me when I turn to look at her.

The wooden cat on the small table between the two barrel chairs crouches in a sphinx-like position facing me says speechlessly, "What now, boss?"

A metal serpent on top of the Korean chest by itself silently winds its way around a candle stick in perpetuity.

The carved walrus from Alaska is sitting on four CD's by Roy's chair surveying the situation mutely.

The Steuben frog on the shelf above the walrus is hunkered down as he has been for years and years, voiceless.

The papier-mache yellow bird on top of the keyboard/bookshelves is overlooking the whole room with unsung songs from his papier-mache vocal cords.

I live with a silent menagerie, just bursting to communicate!

Me, or them?

I'm awake now after this little amusing exercise. It's still overcast, though.

Miss Peach

Welcome, Cameron!

11:30P Santa Monica time

A couple of months ago a client/friend and his wife sent me an email announcing the birth of their first grandchild, for whom the new granddad had written a short flute piece which he played when they met for the first time. He wrote in his announcement: “When she heard the flute, her eyes lit up and she stared at the flute in utter fascination. We’re going to have lots of fun with this beautiful Black Chinese Filipino Polish Italian little creature!” I clicked on the attachment to bring up a delightful picture of Mama, Papa and Baby, all three with broad smiles, looking at me from my computer screen.

I emailed back to the grandparents, parents and babe:

Hi, Congratulations, all of you!!!

Welcome, CBT, to this Wonderful World, of your entry into it as an Only Child, a Firstborn, of doting parents, grandparents, and lots of other relatives you'll find are relatives Forever too, of music from flutes composed specially for you, of dancing under the stars, of chocolate, of dogs and cats and hamsters, of laughter and giggling and smiling knowingly, of crazy limericks and rhymes, of pottery and pasta, of color and space, of wind in the trees and in the desert, of ethnic food and heritage including apple pie and brownies, of joy in being alive and well and living in Southern California, of God's blessings on your arrival here and your past, present and future life, of freedoms expected and unexpected, of body and soul and spirit as you try them out, and of Love all around you, unlimited, overflowing, reciprocated, human and divine. Go for it, Cameron, have a wonderful life! Xoxoxoxox!

Love, Great-Auntie

Sent from my iPhone


I read it and re-read it, and re-read it. God made this wonderful life! Enjoy it with Cameron and me!

Miss Peach

Can This Marriage Be Saved?

11:30P Santa Monica time

Oh, no, rhymes again. Oh, well.

Can This Marriage Be Saved?
(Sub-Title by my mother:
If He Isn't Jealous of the Cats, He Should Be)
January 28, 1992 Re-Visited

Dedicated to Evita, Maria, Domingo and Juanita
with Apologies to Roy.....

I buy their food
I don't complain
I lug it home
I don't complain
I plan their meals with great variety.
I open cans and boxes, too,
I note the things they didn't like
So I won't get those things again.
I don't complain.

I open doors
I don't complain
I close the doors
I don't complain
I get up from a nice warm bed
To let them in or let them out
The upstairs window though they have
A cat door one floor down.

I welcome them upon my desk
They push my pens and pencils off
They lie upon my paper work
And yet I don't complain.
They lie upon my monitor,
With paws or tails obscuring screen,
They eat the printer paper some
And still I don't complain.

I pet them every time they pass,
I welcome them with lap inviting,
Laugh at how they move, and sit,
And talk and pout and stalk.

I smile to see their little faces
Waiting at the door to greet me,
Tails erect and posture
Queen-or-kingly,
As the case may be.

They are so careful, stepping cat-like
In and on and inbetween things,
Never making one misstep
Or damaging a thing.
But if they did
(They don't, but if)
But if an object would be damaged,
Broken, torn or toppled, well,
I'd easily forgive them, since
I know they couldn't help it
And I know they wouldn't do
That thing on purpose, anyway.

They're welcome on the bed although
They might have dirty feet,
But then, they'll clean their feet
(Although they do not
clean the spread itself.)
And if they choose the middle of the bed,
I don't complain,
I just arrange my life and body
Right around their little space.

And when they leave, I don't expect
Their telling me their destination,
And I do not ask them
When they're back
Where they have been.
I worry when they're gone too long,
I call them loudly and I don't
Particularly care
If all the neighbors
Think I'm strange.

I'm patient, kind and loving, with
No expectations from them, for
What else could they add
To our joint relationship
That we don't have?

They're perfect little beings
That were put on Earth to save us
From our "daily" daily living.
I'm in love.
I don't complain!

Our Cats and Life July 02 1991 Archive

12:50A Santa Monica time

I was keeping my diary in rhyme in 1991, a stressful year when Roy had a heart valve replaced in January (a St. Jude 23 mechanical model). St. Jude had a reputation for quality and NO failures which we were happy to accept, although we followed the Wall Street Journal faithfully to see if St. Jude was ever mentioned. Roy died at 80 of other maladies in 2008, the St. Jude still clicking away to the end, a unpaid testimony for St. Jude!

My Diary on July 02, 1991:

Maria tucks her head beneath her paw,
Domingo stretches out, quite self-possessed.
Juanita cleans her fur, she's at her best;
Evita's on the chair. She needs her rest.

Roy's tucked between his covers once again,
He's snoring just a bit, but that's okay.
He went to cardiac rehab today.
Life's looking better now, I'm glad to say.

My covers have two cats. There is no law
That says one can't have cats upon the bed
Or that cats have to eat what they are fed
Or that they have to go where they are led.

Sometimes I think how dull life would have been
If things had not occurred the way they did,
For just one cat starts fun to pyramid,
Now we have four, no more, may God forbid.

Miss Peach