Signing for Cash-A Petty Thief Takes a Cue From the Nelson Mandela Funeral and Ends Up In the FBI Witness Protection Program

This is one of a series of short stories written in 2014 that feature a story line based on current events. Maybe someday I'll make it into a book.
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MY goodness I am just so impressed by that sign language interpreter at the recent Nelson Mandela funeral even though the world laughed at the guy.

Sure he was a fake but bow down in homage to this guy who managed to fool….who? THE ENTIRE WORLD!!

Here I am in hiding until the trial and I want so bad to find the guy, tell him how good he was, elaborate how I used his technique to steal funds from my church's collection basket.

But I get ahead of myself.

"I'm going to do sign language from the pulpit is all, Paul. Isn't it about time for the Catholic church to acknowledge their deaf parishioners?"

Of course Paul didn't buy my goodness of heart as he's known me all my life and is very aware of my tendency for fraud.

"Let me get this straight," Paul queried my most wonderful plan. "You are going to join all the priests who are in attendance to hear the semi-annual confessions and do what? Sign language? You don't think anybody's going to figure this out?"

Silly Paul. He's always been a slacker come the fine art of thievery while it's always been I, Bradley Milton, who figured out how to get cash funds when needed. Oh no, Paul never actually joined me in any of thievery exploits but he sure joined me in the fun we had later with the money I managed to obtain.

Stealing tips left on tables, for example. My theory is that all cash money has a period of time when it is stored or placed somewhere, however temporarily, when its subject to being "found". Thus money left by a customer by a used dinner plate is, technically, cash sitting around unclaimed for the period of time until the server picks it up.

There are times, like with Paul's father, when people store loose cash in their shirt pockets and I've grown quite proficient at slipping my fingers into that pocket and digging out loose currency. Paul got a bit upset knowing I was taking money out of his own father's pocket but he sure went with to the many movies we were able to attend for my skills.

So it was from the sign language interpreter that I met another fine rascal like myself and he gave me the idea on how to successfully abscond with money from the church's collection basket.

"I don't know Brad," wimpy Paul complained. Technically I was a member of St. Peter's Catholic church as my mother and father attended mass on Easter and Christmas. They'd drag me along but prayer was never on my mind. I eyed that collection basket filled with loose dollars and have been consumed with how to steal some of it to fill my own coffers.

"All you have to do is pretend to be deaf. We'll put cotton balls in your ears and you will have a piece of paper explaining that you are recovering from an operation on your Eustachian tubes and temporarily are unable to hear."

Paul was worried his parents would find out, jeez louise I told him, his parents don't even go to mass the two times a year that mine go though they send Paul and his brother there every Sunday.

Paul was known at St. Peter's church for his regular attendance, while I was not known for my two masses a year. It was a perfect plan.

"Two times a year St. Peter's brings in a bunch of priests from nearby parishes to hear confessions," I told Paul. "All the parishes do that as a way of allowing parishioners from having to confess to their own priests that they might know too well to be comfortable telling them about their lustful thoughts. Or whatever."

"Yeah. So what?"

"All these years," I continued to explain to Paul, even though "all" these years was only twenty-one as that was our ages at the time, "I've been scheming how to get some of that cash money out of the collection box. Thanks to the sign language interpreter at the Nelson Mandela funeral, I now know exactly how to do it."

How was I supposed to know that I would end up in a witness protection program, far away from my family and Paul, for that matter, for how badly my plan turned out?

I'm not a confirmed thief, in the truest sense of the word. I've always managed to snatch cash from the many places one can find it. Couch seat cushions are a treasure trove and I never visit anyone's house without searching through their upholstered furniture. Tips left on tables and bills in the collection box, like I said, I consider fair game for me to swipe.

Sure Paul tells me Jesus doesn't think the money is in any sort of "temporary resting spot" , that what I do is stealing and nothing less. I figured if Jesus gave me the brains to do it then it's HIS fault but Paul didn't buy it. Paul always enjoyed the joy rides we took in my jalopy gassed up with some waitresses' tip money. Paul didn't know that I often doubled my tip to that same waitress to make it up because it's never totally about the money but the joy of the game. And a time or two I've slipped some dollars back INTO Paul's Dad's pocket and he doesn't know that either.

Just as soon as I was old enough I got a part time job. I was a fairly good student in high school and will be attending the local junior college next year. I was on the high school basketball team and served in the Student Government Association. I always figured my "crimes" were small, as much a challenge as a method to obtain petty cash funds. My form of thievery would never make me rich.

While I knew that if I got caught I'd likely get a slap on the wrist from the juvenile authorities, at which time I figured I'd probably quit my little bit of fun, it never occurred to me that I'd end up in a witness protection program due to a St. Peter's parishioner confessing his sins to me. Sins that included a recent bank robbery and here I was not even a priest and forced to reveal the man's confession like a real priest would not have to do.

It gets complicated.

It was a weeknight in Advent when Paul informed me that what he called the "confession mass" would be held. I immediately sprang into action. It took a bit for me to get in the back of the church and get the priestly vestments I'd have to wear as my disguise was as a priest who also served as a sign language interpreter. Paul's job was to be the recipient of the sign language interpretation.

"I'll go up to the sacristy and explain who I am. It doesn't matter that the priests gathered to hear confessions won't know who I am. I heard that they bring in priests as far away as Wilmington. I will do the sign language of the prayers and homilies, even the songs, for you. I will also, of course, be "hearing" your confession. But by that time you and I will be out of there with big bucks in our pockets."

I slapped Paul on the back, assuring him all would be fine, just follow my lead.

I had no idea they did not take up a collection for this so-called confession mass. In fact, it wasn't even a mass. The people came in, St Peter's pastor led a few prayers, the organist played a song, the congregation sang a few hymns. All of the guest priests brought in to hear confessions were introduced to the congregation from the sacristy then were sent out into St. Peter's rather large church to take positions in the choir loft, in the nave, even in individual pews with areas blocked off to maintain some privacy.

I did manage to convince all the priests in attendance that I was a sign-language interpreter, I pointed to Paul, who was wearing big cotton balls in his ears. I explained that I would be interpreting the prayers and songs for him and would take his confession in sign language.

I did a great job with the sign language! I did way better than the Mandela guy! I was so good I convinced myself that I was "speaking" in my own invented sign language. Paul watched me dutifully from the pew and I noticed many other parishioners watching me. During the song I added a bit of a conductor to my sign language "interpretation" of the words. "Hallelujah" was interpreted in sign language as a wide wave of the arms up toward heaven. It seemed to me like the word "hallelujah" would "look" like in sign language.

The plan was that I would run to the back of the church toward the collection baskets once the priests were sent out to the church to assume their confessional spots. Had there been a collection taken, and I was really irked, don't Catholics take up collections for everything? Why not a confession mass?

I did run to the back of the church only an usher was in there watching over things. "Not here, Father," he said, grabbing my elbow and leading me over to a front row pew. "Sit here and we'll get some parishioners lined up. Must be a lot of sinners out there cause we're full up this year."

Of course I was then in total panic mode. This turn of events was not part of the plan at all! I looked around to find Paul to grab him at least so I could "hear" his confession. I'd be in deep do-do if a parishioner should come up and sat next to me to give a confession.

Then a parishioner came up and sat next to me to give a confession.

I looked around desperately for Paul because no way could I hear this guy's confession. I wasn't sure what law I'd be breaking to hear a confession while disguised as a priest but it had to be illegal somewhere.

"I saw you doing the sign language up there on the sacristy and hoped I'd get a chance to confess to you. You're young like me and talented like me. Glad I had the opportunity."

A tall, thin young man sat down next to me in the pew while saying those words as I prayed for the first time in my life what to do. I pondered if I should summon the usher right then and announce my priestly fraud before hearing the guy's confession. I figured maybe the prosecutor would give me a break if I did that. There was no need for me to reveal my former plan of stealing from the collection basket, damn it to hell if neither me nor Paul bothered to find out if they took collection at confession masses.

Before I could take any action at all the young man asked me to bless him Father for he has sinned. I did the only thing I could do. I looked at him very serious and, in sign language, blessed him my child and asked what troubled him.

"I know you priests aren't supposed to reveal what's said to you in confession but I figured, wow, to get a deaf priest I'm for sure he'll not "tell" anyone what I might reveal in the confessional."

Oh my goodness, the guy thought that I was deaf, I was getting weary. All these things I hadn't planned for were problems.

The fellow let out a reedy laugh, "Though I guess you could write it down or something. In fact, here's a pen and paper, you're going to have to write down my penance because I don't read sign language. But I can tell you're an expert at it."

I took his pad and paper and heard his confession, praying that he would not figure out that the very fact that I can HEAR his confession makes me...eh….NOT deaf. He wasn't the brightest bulb in the lamp one could plainly see. Evidently he had something very serious on his mind and wasn't thinking things through.

It would turn out that the young man confessing his sins to me had committed a bank robbery the prior week. To my surprise it was a bank robbery that took place just a few blocks from my house. I remember how shocked my family was as we'd heard all the police sirens and wondered what would cause such a stir in our normally semi-rural part of town.

"The thing is, Father, I didn't want to rob that bank," the young man, named, ironically, Peter, told me. I signaled shock by raising my eyebrows high upon my forehead, man I was getting good. Peter leaned into me closer, eyeing the nearby usher in suspicion. "It was a couple of my friends who threatened to hurt my family if I didn't man the getaway car. I swear Father, that's all I did, was wait in the car while they went in and got the money."

By now I'm getting fascinated. I would never rob a bank in my quest for money, but I did have a certain amount of admiration for bank robbers. I dreamt of having a pile of bills handed over to me, all crisp and new and neatly banded.

"I can't risk them catching me," Peter said, a sheen of sweat starting to glisten on his head. I signaled by shaking my head No….of course he couldn't risk that. "But my Dad just died and I don't want to risk going to hell where I know he is so I want to confess, do my penance. I didn't even get any money out of it. The dudes ran off and left me with nothing. What am I going to do, report them to the police?"

Again, I shook my head No, a look of sympathy on my face.

I was writing down Peter's penance on the provided paper….I figured at least 50 Hail Mary's….20 Our Father's….for robbing a bank?...when things got real confusing. The "usher" who'd been eyeing us suddenly came over and grabbed Peter by his arm pits and dragged him out of the pew. Of course I was outraged. This man had come to this House of God to give his heartfelt confession and he was being treated so rudely! And I was about to point this out to the nasty usher when another usher came and grabbed me in the same disrespectful manner.

"You got a lot of 'splainin' to do Padre," the ersatz usher said sarcastically into my ear as he dragged me down the aisle. He spoke as if I were Lucy and he were Desi, just too cool this dude was. As I am being pulled against my will down the aisle of the nave as parishioners watched with astonished eyes, who should I see but Peter.

"Where the hell you been?" I shouted, alerting everyone in the surround that I could speak quite well and appeared to be able speak quite capably.

"There on to you, Brad. Just tell them the truth. I already explained everything."

So I am, for at least six more months, in hiding, my identity changed. Paul was right. They were on to me right from the start. Seems my sign language routine fooled no one. The investigators, who I thought were ushers, knew something was odd about me so they let me play out my shtick. They were really tailing the alleged transport man of the bank robbery only the bank robbery was way more serious than your routine bank robbery. Though a routine bank robbery still intrigued me, turned out those bank robbers forced the teller to open up a safety deposit bank, one they had a key for but obviously the box was not theirs.

At some point even my eyes began to glaze with the depths of criminal activities involved in this investigation to include bribery and murder.

To add insult to injury, my "confessee" Peter knew I was a fake priest and a fake sign language signer as well. He was spooked about how close the investigation was getting to him and, of course, Peter was involved in way more than just driving the getaway car. He was feeling me out, seeing what I knew, who I represented.

I've since given up my obsession with obtaining cash money, coin or bills, in many surreptitious ways though I still search a couch or two. A psychologist I had to visit because of my "crime" of faking being a priest, something I had no idea was a crime but they had some code name for it, suggested that I was abused by my father and sought cash to assuage the emptiness.

Don't they all say that?

I am thinking of becoming a priest.

In a few months I can go back to my family. I am in custody for my protection, Peter the confessor is in jail, another perpetrator is in custody awaiting trial.

If I had known Peter was much more than the getaway driver that he claimed I'd have given him way more penance.

The Gerald/Santa Food Wars

Pic of Day
   

This is three women with paintings on their body parts that created this image.

 


It wasn't that Lily was evil.

At least as Gerald saw it.

But she sure was a grouchy cat, prone to howling whenever she was displeased or slapping anyone in her path to include humans, dogs or other cats.

Lily did not like Gerald, a rescue cat the humans brought into the household after the other calico, Lucy, passed on. Lily never much liked Lucy either, she barely tolerated Matthew, the big orange cat who was a little scared of everything, and Lily despised Lisa, a long-haired cat who Lily forced to live under a chair.

As Lily viewed her world, it was Gerald who was her biggest challenge for all things cat, to include food, catnip, cat toys, places to sleep and soft human brushings.

Matthew avoided Lily for his constant fear of everything though he'd fight back if Lily pushed him too far. Lily swatted Lisa to submission, making her stay under a chair though Lisa came out at will whenever Lily was asleep. Which was often.

Gerald had been in his new human home over a year by the Christmas of 2012. But he didn't remember his first Christmas in the home all that much as he was just a kitten and was busy dealing with Lily and the big dog.

Lily told Gerald about this Santa Claus human but Gerald thought the silly stuff about a big, fat human dressed in red and white was just Lily lying like she always does. Especially that bit about coming down the chimney, sheesh, Gerald figured Lily must think he was born at night, LAST night.

"It's an eating contest," the human female called Nan shouted out to her human male, called Jim. Gerald knew the human voices as he'd learned them through the years. He understood the human language a little bit but mostly only words that had something to do with food.

Gerald had learned, over his first year in his new home, words such as "eat", "food", and other words referring to hunger and consumption to avoid. His ears did naturally perk up at the human female's mention of an eating contest.

"You know you can enter," Lily whispered to Gerald.

"I can enter an eating contest?" Gerald responded, though his usual norm was to ignore Lily and her words which would bait him.

Of course the contest to which the human female referred was for humans only but Lily much cared about facts. Besides, she had a plan that might get rid of Gerald forever.

"Why don't you and Matthew enter?" Lily said. Gerald pondered the concept of entering an eating contest and he rather liked the idea. Although Gerald could not imagine Matthew ever eating more than him, assuming there was a winner to such a thing. "I'll enter too," Lily said, a catty smile encircling her face.

Lily figured out how to squirrel away food over the week before Christmas. She told Gerald the contest would be on Christmas Eve and that if he won he might get to go on a trip on Santa's sleigh.

Lily had never seen Santa Claus in her home but she'd seen him on TV and such. She knew Santa wouldn't likely come by her humans' home as he concentrated on homes with children. But a lie will do should it come to getting Gerald out of her home on a permanent basis.

Lily did not know that the human grandchild was spending Christmas Eve in her home, that Santa Claus, would, indeed, be coming down the chimney to enter the home of Matthew, Lily and Gerald.

The humans piled a bunch of those gift things under that Christmas tree thing….Gerald couldn't get over the concept of a real tree actually inside a human home. He was excited about Christmas, the lights, the presents with the crinkly paper, the tree. And Lily says the Santa Claus person will be visiting though Matthew was a little bit scared.

Finally there was the eating contest. Lily assured Gerald that there will be plenty of food and if he should win he would have complete access to any spot on the human bed for the entire year then coming up.

Gerald was left off of the human bed because...well Lily would howl and hiss every time he tried to wiggle in between Lily and Matthew and he felt it wasn't worth the hassle.

But to have first choice at a sleeping spot on the human bed? Not to mention eating all the food he could at one sitting, Gerald was psyched. His dreams were filled with banquets of Temptations, Friskies and human food he adored, to include shrimp, chicken and bits of beef.

Gerald was positive he'd win the eating contest, no problem.

Gerald knew it was Christmas Eve as the human grandchild was around and was noisy as human children can be. Also the humans were all busy running back and forth, cutting stuff, slicing stuff, busy, busy.

"Meet me in the dining room after the humans have all gone to bed. I have the food ready. Matthew is all ready and so am I. Good luck."

With Lily's words Gerald got excited. He remembered his days as a kitten, walking the streets with his mother, eating whatever could be found. The thought of all the food he could eat thrilled Gerald. He was sure he'd beat scaredy cat Matthew and Lily's just a little thing while Gerald was as big as a panther cub.

The house was quiet as the three cats met in the center of the home. Stockings were hanging on a door hook while the tree flashed bright to welcome Santa. Gerald did hear some rumbling on the roof but the world was filled with strange noises as Gerald figured, most of them caused by humans.

Lily had laid out three piles of Meow Mix. When Lily nodded all three cats dug into their pile. Gerald got through the pile within four seconds. Matthew got scared of some chimney noises and came in late. Lily didn't even half finish her pile and Gerald asked her why.

"I'm taking it easy," Lily responded with a somewhat evil smile. Lily had no intention of making herself sick like Matthew does from time to time via over-eating of food entirely too rich for a feline belly.

But Lily knew that Gerald had never yet met a quantity of food he would not consume. At some point Gerald would eat until he got so sick that….

….well Lily didn't know what would happen but she figured the upshot will be one less Gerald in her home.

Lily kept putting out plates full of food, some Temptations, some Friskies, Gerald didn't know how Lily did it, but she managed to get some of the dog's food as well and laid it out. Matthew gave a loud burp and was visibly slowing down. Lily seemed to never eat a thing yet her food disappeared. Gerald figured she was cheating somehow but it was no mind, he was too busy enjoying endless amounts of food with the possibility of having first choice human bed rights very close to a win.

But Gerald was also getting a bit...let's just say Gerald wasn't as hungry as before. In fact, Gerald was…..

"Ho, Ho, Ho," a loud human male voice shouted, loudly. Gerald was not feeling so well but Lily was out-eating him and he couldn't have that.

Suddenly Matthew ran off for fear of the big human in the red and white outfit. Lily too backed off in fear but before Gerald could turn around and see who was behind him, a big red-gloved hand picked him up by the scruff of his neck.

"What do we have here?" the big human in the red and white suit said, lifting Gerald by his scruff then settling him comfortably in the nook of his warm red-sleeved-lined arms.

While in the animal shelter, one volunteer used to lift up Gerald and nestle him warmly in her arms. This Santa human's action made Gerald automatically cuddle up and start purring.

"So you like being held, huh?" the Santa human said.

Oh Gerald knew he was the Santa human; he had the red and white suit Lily described. Even more identifying, there was a glass of cold milk and a plate of sugar cookies, both safely covered by human Tupperware lids, sitting on the side table. Gerald had earlier in the eve pondered perhaps getting a few licks of the milk, maybe a taste of the cookies.

Now, as Santa settled down to his milk and cookies, after settling Gerald in his ample lap, Gerald was not interested in cookies and milk at all.

"I don't know what you cats were doing down there with all that food," Santa said after taking a big bite of cookie and a long swallow of milk. "I see all sorts of things when I make my rounds but this is the first time I found a bunch of cats participating in some kind of eating contest."

"I'll tell you what," Santa said after finishing his milk and cookies. "How about you race Santa in the food-eating contest?"

Santa placed Gerald on the floor. There were piles of Friskies, Temptations, Meow Mix all around but Gerald simply was not interested.

Gerald didn't want to hurt Santa's feelings. He seemed like such a nice human guy once you got used to that loud HO HO HO thing. But Gerald had no more room in his stomach for food and besides, Lily was peeking out from behind the bathroom door and giggling like a kitten. The last thing Gerald wanted was to get sick and make a fool of himself in front of Lily.

Gerald turned from Santa and started to slink away.

"My goodness!" Santa shouted to startle Gerald to a complete stop. "Little fella, you ate all the food! There's no food left for me! I guess you win!"

Gerald looked over where the food had been spread all over the floor and noted it was all gone.

"And here's your prize, little one!" Santa said, grabbing his big bag and pulling out a cat toy.

It was a round plastic circle, not completely joined together in its circumference. Inside the opening in the circumference was a white ping pong sized ball. A cat could get its paw barely inside of the circumferential opening, enough to push the ball further around its round path. The circumferential opening would not, however, allow the ball to escape.

Gerald eagerly put his paw inside of the opening and gave the trapped ball a push. The ball moved around the circle noisily. Gerald was enthralled. What a fund game this was!

Matthew came out from behind the couch for his fear. Lily pranced right on over to the toy, demanding that Gerald get out of the way, that SHE wants to play.

"Nope, sorry calico girl," Santa said, lifting Lily away from the toy. "Santa watches all year and knows who's been naughty and nice. You, Lily, have been naughty. Here's your gift, calico one."

With that Santa sat down a bag which did cause Lily a cat's curiosity. She sniffed inside of the opening and a billow of black dust came flying out of the bag.

"It's a bag of coal, calico one," Santa said. "It won't hurt you and by morning not a trace of coal powder will be left. But you will remember it, calico girl. For this upcoming year, always remember Santa's bag of coal and be a good cat."

With that Santa bid adieu and disappeared out of the home some way. Gerald continued to tap the ball in the round toy, Matthew smiled and watched, now totally unafraid. Lisa came out from under her chair prison and Gerald let her tap the ball in play.

Lily was now covered in coal and if a cat could cuss Lily showed how it's done.

That's the story of the time Gerald beat Santa Claus at an eating contest, proving that there is not enough food in the world to stop Gerald.

This, Gerald always knew, was the truth.

Criminal Appliances Aim to Murder and Maim;Guest Writer Michelle Drivels

Pic of Day

An Albino Hummingbird

Appliances Causing Mayhem and Murder

Harry had always been a creative guy, an inventor of sorts, one who looked beyond the details to see a bigger, more efficient picture. He was eco-smart way before eco-smart was cool, he was a multi-tasker when the concept was just so much gobbly-gook, his mind went beyond the boundaries of ordinary thought to greater heights than most humans even attempt.

He was mostly an ordinary guy, however, not one to show off his talent or become insufferable in his cleverness. He was a forklift truck driver for a local manufacturer and in that capacity he did manage to “invent” a lot of efficient methods of making and testing the product, up to and including sloppy paperwork that made the task more grueling than necessary. Through the years we had a strong extra income from his awards through the company’s suggestion system and I was so proud of my man.

Tomorrow I will be putting Harry in the ground and I have to write his eulogy. I, of course, am saddened by Harry’s death but it was by no means sudden. Our children will be at the funeral and are writing short memories of their own.

Only I, however, know about the time that one of Harry’s inventions solved a murder while another broke the denials of an abused woman and another caused my mother to win ten thousand dollars on the lottery.

Harry did not plan on any of those outcomes with his cockamamie invention of the emailing appliances and after the terror of it all was over, it really was quite funny. My beloved Harry never got any credit for the amazing results of his “inventions” and I figure he at least deserved it in his death. The local detectives, my newly freed and invigorated sister-in-law, not to mention my mother, will be quite surprised by it all and even if after he’s gone, they can thank him with a prayer that he rest in peace and maybe go to heaven real soon.

“Cheryl my sweet,” Harry said, “I been thinking.”

Oh how my skin prickled at those words. I’d heard them often throughout the 33 years of our marriage and they always preceded a long stint by Harry out in the garage as he sawed, hammered and planed a dog house out of an old shed. At other times he would get the hot glue gun and some empty soda bottles and before too long a bird-feeding station would be set up, sunflower seed filling various ports to accommodate all bird fellow types, all easily filled by one chute as designed by my Rube Goldberg husband. Indeed Harry did cut out a hole in the side of our house that emptied into a buried trash can at our curbside.

 On trash days Harry just pushed the button and the big can came up from under the ground, filled with our trash that we disposed of via that hole and the underground route Harry designed to get it to the buried trash container. I don’t know Harry did this, all I knew is that I’d empty the kitchen’s trash once a day into that special place as instructed by Harry and…well that was the end of it. Same with the all the small trash cans located throughout the house. Don’t go thinking there was no recycling going on either. We just threw the plastic down the trash chute painted red, the glass down the chute painted yellow, cardboard down the container painted brown. This sort of rubbish didn’t go all the way out to the house’s curbside but instead was somehow collected in underground containers at the side of the house. Every once in a while Harry pushed a button and called up the filled containers and hauled them off to the recycle centers.

Harry had no fear of the computer either. Indeed it was the computer that occupied his brilliant mind in the later years of his life, that consumed him the final year before his heart, the organ of many years of fear, finally stopped its beat.


It was when the appliances began to send their emails to other addresses in our cyber-address book that things began to run amok.

 While Harry might be the guy pictured under the words “computer illiterate”, with the help of our son and Harry’s complete fascination with this machine of his creative dreams, Harry made the computer stand on its head and talk if he wanted.  Almost literally.

Allen, our youngest son, did apply for a patent for the game he and Harry jointly designed. For creating computer games was of no interest to Harry. He wanted the computer to make daily life easy, to take the pain out of life’s problems. Ah, but a 3-d computer game, THAT was something that caught Harry’s eye and held it.

“Every Day Warriors and Superheroes” is controlled by the computer but it is an actual board game. The game is loaded into the computer’s memory while the game board is set up on the table much like Monopoly. Allen and Harry spent many months perfecting this game and it is quite imaginative, utilizing the game board as a sort of theater backdrop for the various plays and options, creating weapons and strategies upon player request, setting up scenarios on the fly, designing costumes at the whim of the player.

Still and so with all of his talent, Harry never wanted fame or even sought admiration for his clever ideas. He did what he did and around our house it was just accepted that vacuum hoses could be pulled out of the wall within any room, the end attachment could be pulled out from a nearby built in cabinet, with the flick of a switch on the side of the hose the rug or floor could be cleaned, the sucked up dirt going somewhere, then the hose recoiled into its hidey-hole, the end attachment snapped into its assigned place and boom, no one would be the wiser.

The computer, of course, made it easier for Harry to set up control of all this devices from his desktop or even from his cell phone. Harry’s entire cell phone fit directly in his ear, don’t ask me how he did that. It was when Harry designed all of the household appliances, even the car, with the ability to send email that all hell broke loose.

“Just think, Cheryl,” he told me with a smile as he labored in the refrigerator installing I could not imagine what, or why. “We’ll get an email when the water filter needs replacement,” Harry told me. I noticed that Harry was then installing a new water filter but there was also some weird wires hanging down from behind the refrigerator’s ice filter that concerned me. Much less the concept of the refrigerator sending me emails but that would be an issue for a later time.

It wasn’t but a few days later that I got an email from Jeep@verizon.net that had me pondering what this is all about. At first I thought it was spam but before hitting the delete key I wondered if maybe my Jeep was really sending me email. You get like that after living with Harry for a while.





“Air filter” was the only text inside of the email from the Jeep. Now I didn’t expect the Jeep to be all that wordy. It was a great vehicle, always starting when I turned the key, never failing to give its best to get out of snow piles. But it was more the strong silent type than a talkative jabberer, as I envision my Jeep that would send me emails. Harry told me that what else do I need to know, the Jeep needs a new air filter. “It’s a SUV of little words,” Harry smirked as he called the local parts store to have them set aside an air filter for a 2006 Jeep Liberty.

Indeed I began to get all sorts of emails from the appliances around the house, even some of Harry’s inventions sent me warnings about dust filters and kinked hoses. Harry somehow programmed these things to send emails and Harry was not one to say more than needed saying.

Thus the refrigerator’s email text might be “water filter”, or the air conditioner might ask to “test compressor”, or the TV might warn of improper color settings. Harry was forever putzing around with the appliances. I’ve no idea how he got them to send emails except it had something to do with a processor and an Internet receiver. And the emails didn’t necessarily come to me. Harry and I had an email addy that we both used for purposes of receiving email that applied to us both. I got so I didn’t even open the email from the appliances, figuring Harry programmed them with what to say, when to say it, how to phrase it. All I know that there was seldom anything around our house that didn’t work at its most efficient and I couldn’t even guess when the last time something broke down around the place.

It was when the appliances began to send their emails to other addresses in our cyber-address book that things began to run amok.

“Cheryl, I could swear that I just got an email from your refrigerator?” my mother told me, asking this somewhat unusual question softly lest I laugh at such an absurd assertion. Indeed I did giggle a bit although part of my mind was racing in the pondering of just how my refrigerator got my mother’s email address.

“What did it say,” was all I could stupidly ask.

“It just had three numbers on it..’492’,” my mother answered, then said she was sure it was from MY refrigerator in that a)I’d told her about Harry’s programming of the emailing appliances and b)no one else’s refrigerator had ever emailed her and she was not sure anyone else refrigerator COULD even email her.

“What’s so weird is that these are the last three numbers of my SS#, not that your refrigerator should be emailing out such confidential information. You better tell Harry to check it out. Meanwhile, what the hell, I’m going to play those numbers on the lottery tonight.”

Later that day Harry explained that those numbers were the number of the ice filter mechanism as he needed to know this to try and obtain a part. It was only my mother calling me with a scream that she’d won $10,000 on the lottery that kept me from asking Harry that if I were to understand him he’d actually sent an email TO the refrigerator?

Harry promised to look into the problem of the appliances emailing others on our email list, murmuring something about how this problem just started right after he’d programmed the processors to actually receive email. Again, the excitement of my mother’s lottery win so occupied my mind that the concept of the appliances RECEIVING email went right over my head.

Two days later my sister-in-law got a visit from the local social services agency. Seems they got an email from our air conditioner. The email contained a picture of Emily with two black eyes and a severely swollen lip. As Harry explained how this happened my eyes began to glaze with the technical detail. What was most important was that someone, even if just an air conditioner, finally got Harry’s sister to take that first step to freedom from that abusive man she’d been living with for the past six months.

Harry and I, along with his other sister and his elderly mother, had spent many hours begging Emily to kick that man out of her house. Why on earth she even brought him there defied logic but Emily denied that the bruises and cuts she began to sport on a regular basis were caused by her new love. The picture that our air conditioner sent to the social service agency was actually a picture taken surreptitiously by Harry on one occasion when he had a chance to snap a pic with nothing more complicated or secretive than his cell phone.

We’d intended to go to the social services agency ourselves to somehow get help for Emily. But when Eve, Harry’s other sister, went downtown to get more information she was told there was nothing they could do unless Emily herself sought help.

“FREON!” Harry shouted in response to my accusations that he somehow programmed the air conditioner to send that picture to social services.

It would turn out that the chain of events wasn’t quite that simple. The air conditioner actually sent a picture of Emily’s abusive boyfriend to the social services with one word ‘FELON’. The social services sent the email on to the police department because they didn’t know what to do with it. Harry never was much of a speller or typist and he’d somehow programmed the air conditioner to notify us via email with the word ‘Freon’ so we would know when that chemical that helped chill the air needed replenishment.

It would turn out, to nobody’s surprise, that Emily’s fine boyfriend was, indeed, a felon, and a detective then involved with finding the guy suspected in the severe beating of a former girlfriend chanced to see the picture. Then began a frantic exchange between the police department and the social service agency and by connection of the email addresses of the original picture of Emily’s beaten face and the picture of her boyfriend sent by the air conditioner combined with the memory of a social worker who recalled the plea of Eve, well it all came together to the point where the social service department came knocking on Emily’s door and promised to keep her from harm if they’d help them catch the criminal she was living with and the rest, as they say, is history.

While we do live in a small town it still seemed like a strange set of coincidences and I confronted Harry with my suspicion that he somehow orchestrated that whole exercise via his emailing appliances.

“And I guess you figured I rigged your mother’s lottery win too,” Harry snorted then walked off shaking his head in a pose of humorous muse.

Everyone on our address book got an email from our security system less than a week after Harry's sister finally broke free from her abuser.

“I saw what you did last night,” the email said, a really strange sentiment although Harry laughed and said what the hell was so odd about a security system seeing what we did last night?

“I thought it was kind of a funny way for the security system to tell us it was working all right,” Harry laughed at the memory of his programming wit. “How the hell did I know it would send out email to all the people in our email address book like that? I really thought I’d manage to fix that code that was making the appliances send out emails to others in our address book,” Harry ended, scratching his head as he puzzled how he failed to stop our appliances from spamming everybody with cryptic and ominous sounding messages.

Only our family knew it was an email from yet another out of control appliance in our household and by this time everyone was kind of used to the strange emails emanating from our house. I can only imagine what our many other email friends thought about the weird message coming from security_camera@verizon.net but Harry and I had a good laugh about it.

Perhaps it was a coincidence that our neighbor reported his work buddy was the one who shot and killed a co-worker, leaving him for dead at a warehouse near us. This crime was all the sensation as we had very little crime in our neck of the woods. The weird thing was a bit of gossip our next door neighbor told us.

“He said he got a strange email saying the sender saw what he did last night and it was the last straw for Butch,” Glenda, our somewhat gossipy neighbor told me as my eyebrows raised. “Seems Butch and a couple other guys were trying to break into the “Wheel In” warehouse cause they heard the owner had a stash of weed in the back. Butch said his buddy got nervous and shot a guy just passing by with an itchy trigger finger. Said he’s tired of keeping this secret and that strange email was enough already.”

Harry just shrugged when I told him how yet another email from our appliance got insinuated into an ongoing crime investigation, this time solving it.

“Seems our appliances should be made deputies for the Marimot county police department,” Harry snorted, then assured me that he’d solved all email matters regarding our appliances and from now on the messages they will send would be clearer, he’d spell-checked his messages, he’d blocked them all from access to our email box.

As for me I raised my weary eyes to heaven that my life was never boring and nobody would believe my story even if I shared it.

Now Harry was gone, felled by the bad heart he’d had all his life that finally gave up trying to beat. The year of the appliances email was solidly behind us, our son was perfecting the 3-D computer game Harry and he had created. I sat and pondered my eulogy to my very creative husband and how much of my strange story I should reveal. A slight ding from my computer informed me that an email had arrived in my e-box.

It was from harrysheart@verizon.net. I couldn’t suppress my gasp. The email was evidently from Harry’s pacemaker. “Play the game with Allen” was all it said.


“Wow,” Allen said, “Dad really made some big changes to this thing,” Allen said as he moved his marker around the board. “Amazing how it gave you the right numbers to win the lottery,” Allen smiled and I tried to keep my face neutral.

So far Allen’s character had solved a couple of crimes as the detective he was during one round. My character had a close friend who’d been abused and via a series of electronic messages on the game’s equivalent of Twitter, necessary intervening help was obtained. As for the lottery, I was given a “gift” of choosing my favorite combination of three numbers, which I chose. The numbers I chose DID win me lots of money in the fictional role playing game. I supposed that Harry knew what three numbers I would choose and he’d programmed it to come up.

Allen vowed he would continue to finesse the program, that he’d gotten an email from an investor who was interested in helping to finance the project.

“Besides,” Allen said as he wrapped up the game with a wink, “I got an email from Dad’s pacemaker urging me to stick to developing the game, that there would be great rewards both in terms of money for our family and benefits to society that might come from the game.”

I was shocked and stunned by Allen’s casual comments.

“Dad could always dream big,” Allen said as he waved me good night. “But you know Mom, with a proper algorithm and some insight to a person’s thinking you could predict the chances of a lottery win. The air conditioner DID kind of nudge Grandma to a big win. As for solving crimes,” again Allen winked and beamed at me with Harry’s smile, “we’ll see”.

I didn’t mention anything about appliances that sent emails to win lotteries or solve crimes in my eulogy for Harry. I just described my wonderful, amazing and somewhat strange life with a most wonderful man.

 
Drivel: Snippets


I've been telling myself that I needed to Drivel. Life's moments have been passing by, unremarked and unshared. Little did I know that I *really* needed to Drivel. Now, the little things I haven't told you about have been overshadowed by something larger.

But why should you suffer? Old news is still news for those who haven't heard it, and if I save the big one for last, perhaps you'll get a sense of what life was like for me before yesterday. Right? Let's try it and see.

The first thing I kept meaning to write about was the aquarium. It's doing well right now. We've had two more hiccups in the path, but I think we're on the upside now.

After we set up the golf course, we let the aquarium sit fish-empty for awhile, like you're supposed to. About a week before I was set to put fish in it, I tested the water levels. Ammonia, nitrate, nitrite, all good. pH, not so good. Hardness, out of this world. Harry and I were puzzled. We'd used the machine - the water should be filtered and non-hard.

Disaster, if we didn't get it fixed, and quickly.

I borrowed a friend's son (and luckily he brought her SUV since the Tundra wasn't available) and the three of us drained the aquarium and refilled it with good water. You know, if you have a ten gallon tank, that's pretty easy to do. When you have a 125 gallon tank, it's a bit harder. We spent several hours just finding water jugs and filling them.

It took two trips to a Walmart, one trip to a Food-4-Less, and three trips to the local water-dispensing machine, with eight five-gallon jugs each time to do the deed, and we ended up emptying one of the machines. I didn't know that was possible.

The scramble paid off - within seven hours we had the tank emptied of bad water and refilled with good water. Once again, we let the aquarium sit fish-empty for a few days.

I put a few fish in it (eight, I think) and promptly lost one. Then another, and then a third. Water levels tested good, so after about five days we put in some more fish. A week went by with everything looking good.

Then one afternoon, I noticed the orange tetras (embers) were looking a bit odd. By the time I went to bed, they were all showing signs of fungus - white fuzzy patches on the body and some had opaque eyes.

By morning, all twenty embers were dead and the other species were showing the fuzzy stuff. I got fungus medicine and dosed the tank. Some fish still died, and the cure killed all five shrimp we'd bought, but most of the fish survived it.

Today, they're looking good and have for two or three weeks. They've visibly grown, and the species that change color with maturity, like the congo tetras, are starting to show signs of those colors. Next Tuesday, we add more fish. Keep your fingers crossed!

Then, I was going to write about being sick. Harry and I both caught that whatever it is that's going around. Cold? Flu? I'm never sure which. He got it about three days before I did, so I got to watch his symptoms to know what I would soon share. It was comedic to me that the fish were sick, Harry was sick, I was sick, and I could predict how I would be feeling in three days' time.

I still have a bit of the cough, but that's normal for me.

Then on Thursday I had a rain story. On the drive home from the other work office, it was raining pretty hard. Windy, too, and it looked a lot like tornado weather. My little Honda isn't the best for rain driving - it's too short, light, and reacts badly to rolling through puddles of any depth.

I had a tense drive home, an hour plus, in weather where the cars ahead of me threw up clouds of water droplets. Being passed by a big rig going the other way resulted in a deluge I couldn't see through.

There were two accidents I passed - one looked like half a car was blocking the other side of the freeway, where an overpass goes over it. Not sure what happened to the missing half of the car, and I prayed for the driver. (I thought *my* drive was bad.)


I noticed the car behind me looked odd. When I really gave it my attention (rather than just "car behind"), I realized it looked like the loser in a dogfight.

 But that's not the story. The story here is about the crazy drivers. Bad weather seems to bring them out in droves and I don't think you have to worry about the weather so much as the idiots. One passed me on a double yellow line. (In the rain with bad visibility.) One passed me *and* another car, at a stop sign.

Seriously.

One was just scary. I noticed the car behind me looked odd. When I really gave it my attention (rather than just "car behind"), I realized it looked like the loser in a dogfight. The driver's side mirror was hanging down against the car door. One headlight was brighter than the other and pointed a bit sideways. One fender was a different color.

I was fascinated. Here I was, in really bad weather, driving a car not exactly geared for it, and I was being followed by a car that looked like a bulldog with a tattered ear. No way I wanted to tangle with that one! I hoped it would pass me, too, but it didn't. That car followed me for miles. I sighed in relief when I got off the freeway, as it kept going.

Good thing. I'm not sure what I would have done if it came off the freeway with me, but I am very certain I would not have let that "stray dog" follow me home.

So, I hope that was a happy journey for you. Mostly, I enjoyed it, too. The aquarium is a joy to behold, I love rain, and I survived the disease.

Ready? Here's the big news now, the work update.

I'm losing another boss.

In less than ten days, my current Supervisor will move to a different department and my whole team will shift reporting structure to a different Director. We'll have a new Supervisor, and while we've beengiven hints (like it's some tortured guessing game), we don't know who that is yet. The person has been offered the position, but until he or she accepts, everyone has to pretend that no one knows and we can't be told who it is.

I hope we find out before the ten days are up.

Stop laughing; it isn't a joke. When I was moved last July to this team, that was part of a major reorganizational shift. A *lot* of people were moved around. All that moving and it wasn't enough. Those of us who support the production teams were in limbo - not quite in the new structure and not quite outside it. Many things didn't mesh - like security reports. I was (and still am) Security Coordinator for my old area, pre-July. All of the employees in that old area look to me (and a few other folks) for various access needs. You need a new program on your computer? Yes, that would be me. But wait . . . I don't even report in that line of management anymore. Isn't there something wrong with having power over that for someone else's department?

When we brought it up, over and over again, we were told something was in the works. They're looking into it. They've got a proposal on the table. (It was a good one, too.) They're just waiting for the last decision. They'll know by October 14. They'll know by sometime in November. They'll know by year's end.

We’re still in limbo. Somehow, I can't get energized about my new nameless Supervisor.

Yet, at least. To be honest, that move in July was a good one for me. Perhaps this one will be, too.

It just doesn't feel like it right now.

I had lunch with a good friend on Thursday. She was a teammate back when I was on the IMPACT team. I spent a wonderful hour in the Thai restaurant with her, happily chatting about how great my team is and why I like the Supervisor I have. I had no clue betrayal was brewing.

All the uncertainties of that move in July are back, full force. Lying in bed tonight I kept hearing words. Finally they drove me out of bed and here, to the keyboard. Words like "I want to make sure you have what you need." Words like "Our people are our most important asset." Words like "We promise to tell you as soon as we know."

My head knows the words the company says are just words. They don't really mean anything. My heart keeps forgetting and eventually I get sucked into believing them.

Again.

Michelle
 The Desk Drawer writer's exercise list

Santa Claus Eats Cats!

Pic of the Day

Santa Claus Eats Cats!

Matthew is a big orange tabby cat. He has a sweet face with wide, round kittenish eyes. Until recently he lived with three female cats, now two female cats. It's been a long time since Matthew had a few male buddies as housemates and he especially missed his all time favorite cat buddy, a big orange tabby like himself that humans called Bruiser. Bruiser did live up to his name as he was a big fellow, though as gentle as a lamb. Bruiser was the head cat of the then 6 cats living in the human household and Matthew adored him.

One day Bruiser was gone and recently, a female housemate cat, Lucy, also suddenly was gone. Matthew fretted about it all as co-cats seemed to come and go in the human household and Bruiser wasn't sure what it all meant. For the past several human months Bruiser has been feeling some aches and pains in his joints and it's all made him a bit grouchy.

And while Bruiser tolerates his female co-cats, the youngish Lily will pluck his very last nerve from time to time.

Lily is a calico cat, seven years younger than Matthew and by the way she bounces and flounces around the human household she might as well be a kitten next to Matthew's cat curmudgeon self. The other co-cat, Lisa, is a meek thing and always yields all things of cat interest to Matthew or Lily, and before that, to Lucy.

Matthew wasn't sure what happened to Lucy except she spent a few weeks under the couch while the humans called and cajoled her. Matthew, familiar with the ways of cats, knew that Lucy was sick by her behavior, so did the humans for that matter, but Lucy wasn't old, darn she was five years at least younger than Matthew. Matthew heard the humans fussing over Lucy, debating whether to take her to the Vet. Matthew hated the Vet and hoped Lucy wouldn't have to go. He wanted Lucy to get better and for awhile it appeared that she would. Finally Lucy evidently went to the same place as Matthew's hero, Bruiser, as well as some other co-cats that died of old age as all creatures do.

The humans have pictures of all the pets they've had through the years and while human written language is something beyond Matthew's ken, he's seen the humans' picture of something called Rainbow Bridge on their wall with pictures of the former co-cats who now live there, including Bruiser's picture. Matthew figured he would someday also go to this Rainbow Bridge place but he hoped it wouldn't be for a long time. For now he'll settle for a rambunctious life with Lily and a peaceful co-existence with Lisa. Matthew sure would like to know that his best buddy Bruiser is okay and waiting for him at Rainbow Bridge, maybe even say Hi to Lucy.

Lily is just an unbelievable cat, always getting into trouble, always declaring whatever suited her fancy as her domain. At times she demanded control of the communal food bowl and jumped on everybody that tried to get around her for a bite. Lily teased poor Lisa so much, at times even causing the long-haired black cat turmoil as she used the litter pans, something considered forbidden in the world of proper cat protocol.

It was when the humans put up what they call their Christmas tree that Lily got totally unbearable.

All the cats get a bit excited when the humans go changing things as a house cat's life can be very routine, some would say dull. Cats are creatures that mostly like routine being creatures that sleep over 20 hours a day. Still a change in scenery and routine is most welcome if not too often or disrupting, the change from the normal being the sort of thing that makes the routine more precious when normal returns.

Indeed Matthew too got excited when the humans got out the Christmas tree thing. Whatever the thing was for, it always had flashing lights and hanging things and boxes all around it. Everything a cat loves can be found around or on a human Christmas tree. And when the humans got out the Christmas tree they also added lots of things around the house, pretty colorful items of red and green, sock things to hang on a door frame, stuff with bells, shiny objects….a cat's love.

Of course Lily considered it all for her and this just made Matthew mad. What with Matthew being so much bigger than Lily Matthew could slap Lily back to her unrestrained senses and at times, in complete exasperation, he did. Lily would run screaming from Matthew's big swatting paws and too often the male human would yell, his yelling directed at the frustrated Matthew. Matthew was, after all, just fighting for his right to sit by the human Christmas tree, to swat at a hanging bell, to lay upon an opened gift.

"Santa Claus eats cats!"

This phrase shouted by Lily during one swat session that Lilly needed for her refusal to allow him access under the human Christmas tree caused Matthew to stop in shock.

Now Matthew knew about this human Santa Claus person, having watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade with one sleepy eye and seeing various human items about with the Santa person on it. As Matthew cat-figured it, the Santa human had some connection to the Christmas tree and, indeed, the human grandchild would talk about upcoming Santa activities during her visits. At least the little grandchild girl, who also made Matthew nervous with her young human jerky motions, only was around once in a while. Matthew had to tolerate Lily every day of his nerve-wracking life.

As Matthew figured, this Santa human was a jolly guy, a big human but that didn't bother Matthew. He was, after all, a big cat. The thought of the Santa person eating cats scared Matthew more than he ever wanted to let Lily know. But Lily sensed that her words somehow scared Matthew and in the days leading up to the expected Santa visit Lily repeated the warning that Santa ate cats over and over.

Matthew has lived many of the human Christmas' for his years but so far as he knew Santa never visited his humans' home. Or if he did, Matthew slept right through it. This year was different in a way because the human girl grandchild and her parents would be spending Christmas eve with Matthew's humans. As Matthew heard his female human explain to his male human, they don't want to be driving far on Christmas day as there's an expectation of a bad snow storm. So the plan was for them all to come to Matthew's house and Santa would somehow be directed to deliver the human grandchild's gifts here.

Matthew tolerated all the human uproar once the human girl grandchild and her parents arrived, their loud talk, the little girl looking for him like she always does and Matthew, like he always does, hid under the bed, safe from small hands. He did hear all the talk about this Santa human coming down the chimney and Matthew decided he would stay far away from any human who ate cats. Not that Matthew believed that lying Lily but just in case.

And so Matthew waited nervously after all the humans finally went to bed. He couldn't resist a peek out from under the bed but he was a bit scared. He actually began to shiver when he heard the loud "HO! HO! HO!" coming from the roof for it would seem that Santa would be visiting his house this year as promised to the human girl grandchild.

Matthew did his best to stay hidden under the couch as the Santa human placed those present things under the tree. It’s a cat curiosity thing. For even though Matthew feared this Santa human who eats cats, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by the big red human. The Santa human, however, saw Matthew’s orange paw and before Matthew could run he was being held by the Santa human.

“My aren’t you a big boy?” the Santa human said, stroking Matthew in a way he quite liked. Matthew shivered in his fear that he would soon become Santa’s snack that the human girl grandchild said she had to leave for Santa.

With a booming voice that again startled Matthew, the Santa human bellowed a Ho! Ho! Ho! “Who told you that I eat cats?” Santa asked Matthew, only the Santa human didn’t quite “ask” in the same way Matthew’s humans asked what he wanted when he meowed. In fact, the Santa human’s mouth didn’t even move but somehow, to Matthew’s surprise, the Santa human knew of his fear of being eaten and told him about it without making a human sound.

“Hmmmm,” the Santa human said in muse, still stroking Matthew until, with no power left to resist, Matthew began to purr, “I see you’re worried about your co-cat Lucy and your buddy Bruiser”. Matthew purred on as the Santa human stroked, still amazed at how this Santa human “spoke” to him.

“Come on,” the Santa human said, “let’s go for a ride”. And before Matthew could utter a meow of protest he was soaring through the sky on the Santa human sled that didn’t resemble his humans’ cars in any way. The Santa human talked to his reindeer in the same way he talked to Matthew.

“This is Rainbow Bridge, Mr. Matthew,” the Santa human, parking his sleigh beside some sort of cloud. Matthew’s kittenish eyes opened wide with the beauty of what he saw. When Matthew saw Lucy and Bruiser sitting side by side, purring and enjoying each other’s company in that age-old manner of cats, Matthew couldn’t hold back his meow of delight.

“Yes, Matthew, Lucy and your buddy Bruiser, and Liberty, and Ernie and Julio, and Gloria, and Jimmy, and Phantom, and Pinky and Cleetus and Herb and Liberty, they’re all here.”

Matthew did remember some of the names the Santa human mentioned. Some of the pets Santa named were the human pets before Matthew came to live with them. Matthew didn’t know this but he sure knew the big dog Gloria and Jimmy and a couple of others. Some of them were playing, some were drinking from the sparkling stream running under the Rainbow Bridge. Matthew tried to catch his friend Bruiser’s eye but couldn’t.

“No, Matthew, you can’t talk to your friend Bruiser,” the Santa human said, again surprising Matthew who was trying to grasp a concept of reading minds, much less with a cat brain at that. “But you can see them and you can only see them because I brought you here. See, I can ride up in the clouds in my sleigh. So for all your fear that I eat cats, you’re kind of lucky I came to your home tonight.”

Matthew settled in the Santa human’s arms and purred as he watched his former co-pets frolic in that place called Rainbow Bridge. Evidently his own humans knew about this place judging by the pictures on their wall. Matthew paused his purr as he considered when it might be his time to go to Rainbow Bridge.

“You still have quite a few years before you’ll be joining your friend Bruiser, Matthew. Your co-cats now, Lily and Lisa and that new black kitten coming to your house tomorrow morning all need you around for your comfort and great head-lickings. And don’t forget that dog which you adore. Just know that you will be with them all again when the time comes.”

The Santa human settled down again in the driver’s seat of the sled-car and Matthew gazed in wonder at the stars and clouds passing by his kittenish eyes. Matthew also wondered what the Santa human meant by his reference to the new black kitten.



“You shall see tomorrow morning, Matthew. And tell that Lily that the only cats I eat are calicos named Lily,” the Santa human said.

The next thing Matthew heard was the shouts of the human girl grandchild shouting to her parents to come see the gifts Santa left under the tree. All of the humans came out from their bedrooms and Matthew looked around for the human Santa.

Then Matthew heard a small meow. “A KITTEN!” the human girl grandchild shouted and to Matthew’s surprise there was, indeed, a small black and white fellow walking out from under the human Christmas tree. Matthew heard his human female tell his human male that the kitten was a gift for him, that the house needed the joy of a kitten after losing Lucy.

Matthew’s eyes followed the kitten as he played with the wrapping paper stuff torn off with vigor from the human girl grandchild’s gifts. Matthew listened to the sounds of the humans, he watched the kitten play, he smelled something good being cooked by his human female.

Matthew settled down in his private nook and began a good nap.

“Lucy's at Rainbow Bridge,” Matthew heard the human girl grandchild say.

“Now, now, there’s no such place,” Matthew heard the human girl grandchild’s father say. “But it’s a nice thought,” the man finished.

“You don’t know that there’s no such place, Daddy,” the human girl grandchild told her father. “It’s a part of heaven only it’s a place where pets to wait for their humans to get them before they all go to heaven.”

Matthew saw the human girl grandchild’s father pat her on the head indulgently. Matthew settled down for his nap in his private niche, a feline smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

This time Matthew knew more than the humans around him. He also knew way more than that silly Lily will ever know.