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Tuesday, October 30, 2012

On Leaving America - Part 25

House papers are signed with realtor yesterday—seems like there were about 15 of them (papers not realtors). It has started to rain in Seattle after an unusual 3 month drought. Now it is pouring and I see two of my gutter downspouts are not working. There is some kind of flex tubing that runs underground to the sewer. Neighbors tell me that most of these have collapsed over the years. No idea how to fix as trees are now growing over where the tubing was run—house is 30 years old. I am totally freaking. Had thought all the outside stuff had been taken care of—duh! And now it’s pouring which is what it normally does in Seattle, it rains. A lot.
So now the house is open to potential buyers. I must be available . . . or not. Perspective buyers and their realtors just come in if I’m not here, or if I am here I must leave. I got lucky with the cats. They are to be banished to a small upstairs bedroom when I am gone. They will not like it but it’s a lot better than the van. I just pray Bucks doesn’t poop on my bed. He has an attitude—you may have noticed.
The house must be totally clean and as empty as possible. No papers left laying around-things like toaster, blender, coffee, cutting board . . . anything that might be used to maintain life or comfort must be kept out of sight, plus anything that might be stolen. I have no idea where anything is now. My writing has pretty much stopped except for Buckminster on which I’m spending about 3 hours a week. It’s been fairly easy, pretty much just leaks out of my head when I’m at the keyboard . . . so far, but I worry the story will get stuck up a blind alley with no way out. I have no plan at all for how the tail will go. (Pun intended)

When I knew where everything was.

When I knew were some things were.

Now I don’t know where anything is!!!

Monday, October 29, 2012

Buckminster & Amber - 8

I’ve been watching Tom for the last hour.  He is watching me as well. He’s in our crow feeder with a smirk on his face. What are you going to do about it, he’s thinking.  My servants have some kind of need to feed. The leave old meat and pasta in the feeder for the crows and peanuts for the squirrels. That’s fine with me. Tom doesn’t look so tough. Four pounds at best, a little more than Amber, but not in my weight class. He’s fast though; I’ll give him that. 
            My servants never stop these last eight weeks . . . up and down stairs with boxes, in and out of the house all day. I hang around the front door acting nonchalant . . . uninterested. I could get out easy, but they’d see my escape. I’ve gotten out twice in the last six years but they hunted me down. I didn’t get very far. Last time lured me back with a sardine. I was under a bush and safely out of their reach, but there are some treats cats are genetically incapable of resisting. It was great being outside for a few minutes — another world. A world without walls and an endless variety of scents . . . totally fascinating. 
           You'd think Halloween should be a good time to escape, but it’s not. They keep us shut up in a small room upstairs when the little bipeds come for candy. But I’m watching more than Tom these days.

             I'm watching every thing and everybody, not to mention the laundry room window which was open for a while today, but then they closed it. This whole house is in a state of total chaos. You cannot depend on anything staying in one place for more than an hour. Strange people come and go. Sometimes they sit with our servants at the kitchen table, but they don’t eat. They just talk and pass papers back and forth. One of them smelled like dog. With all this going on I'm sure to get my chance, and when it comes I’m gone. I do not want to end up on the streets of Gothenburg, or Gotterdamen. If I’m going to escape it’s got to be here—and soon. 
             I wish my claws were sharper. It won’t be easy on the outside. I will not have servants and might miss a few meals, but I can afford to lose half a pound. I’ll have rock hard abs in a week or so, And sharp claws!

Friday, October 26, 2012

Buckminster & Amber - 7

I’ve taken Amber’s window seat while she’s upstairs taking her afternoon nap.
I’ve been watching Tom.

            Just look at him. Not a care in the world. Just lounging around, looking for birds no doubt and sitting on my human’s car! No sense of propriety. Poor breeding I suspect. God only knows who his parents were. He’s not much to look at and skinny, but seems agile enough. Sometimes I see him on the fence in my backyard, hanging around the bird feeders. My servants chase him away when they see him, but he has the whole neighborhood to explore and does so every day. It’s like he thinks he owns it. Free as the wind he is. Free to smell the green grass, chase mice and do whatever he wants. I’ve even seen him on the rooftop of the house across the street. It’s no big deal, but Amber thinks he’s very daring, a real cavalier. He even wears white high-top boots on his hind legs. A poser if there ever was one . . . show off.
            I’m so tired of living in this empty house. You want to know what life is like for me? Take a look at this.

They’ve even taken the rugs way.
            “Go sit on the cat tree,” Amber says. “It has nice soft carpeting.”
            I’m tired of cat trees. I want a real tree. I want my claws to grow sharp, and most of all I want to be free . . . but without missing too many meals. I’m twice the size of Tom and probably outweigh him by at least three pounds. I could be boss of the neighborhood. A few big dogs pass by once in a while but they are always on a leash which is as it should be. They are so compliant and outrageously obedient. They fetch! Go get the ball Rover. It makes me sick. Don’t like my attitude? Get a dog, that’s what I say.
            I’ve been watching the laundry room window. It was closed last night, but sooner or later I’m getting out of here.
                        Free to explore the world at will
                        Inhale the multitudinous scents as yet unknown
                        And fill
                        My cup of life with freedom!

            Tom has seen me watching him and gives me a surly look. I’m going to take that look and shove it up your tail, Tom. Just you wait. The big cat’s on his way!

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Buckminster & Amber - 6

            “I don’t know what you’re so freaked out about,” I told him. “Our servants will take good care of us.”
            “They’re going to ship us cargo,” Bucks says. “I do not do cargo.

            And what about the food? They eat horses over there . . . and it’s cold, and dark. I won’t have any friends.”        
            “You don’t have any friends here except for me and the squirrely who is probably nuts. And I’m sure they have warm houses and electric lights in Sweden.” He's not the smartest cat in the house.
            “I could make friends here if I wanted to,” he says. “If I. . . .”
            “If what?” I ask him.
            “I’m to tired to argue.”
            “You should try meditation,” I suggest, but he doesn’t answer. He’s like that sometimes when he gets stressed. I’m worried Bucks is planning something—no idea what. It won’t be good; you can be sure of that. I’m starting to sound like him—such a negative attitude.

Monday, October 22, 2012

Buckminsdter & Amber - 5

Today this round ball has appeared in the middle of the floor. They take my tree and leave me this stupid toy that’s too heavy to move and nothing I can eat. Why? They’re driving me crazy. What would it be like on the outside I keep thinking. To be free, like Tom. Do what I want. Go birding and chase mice. I could escape. There is a window in the laundry room left open sometimes I’ve been thinking about it a lot.
             Amber tells me I’m not thinking too much. I haven’t told her what’s on my mind.
            “You need to move around more,” she says. “You’re going catatonic.”
            Whatever. She thinks she's a psychiatrist and keeps giving me books to read.
They put me to sleep.
            Nothing helps. I’ve to get out of here, and soon. Before the big trip in the sky—trapped in a great silver bird - people speaking in tongues. If I leave home I can do wherever I want, stay out all night. meow at the moon and poop wherever I want.  I hate to leave Amber, but she’s still young. She would find someone new. Maybe some kind of Swedish cat. I could leave her a note. By the time you read this I’ll be far away. That’s how it would start. It would end with a poem I think.