Catnapped

For 14 months she sat vigil at the corner of Main and Columbus in my tiny town watching the world go by. Then she was gone, just like that.

   In a mirthful mood, I had placed the metal kitty cat figure on the corner next to a stop sign in a bed of new gravel after weeding the overgrowth in what had become a traffic hazard. I figured seeing the kitty might trick Main Street speeders into slowing down. I believe the idea worked. The little metal statue on the street corner looked enough like a real live cat from a distance cars would slow down just in case. Also, seeing the statue might just put a smile on your face. I think that worked too.

    Then some creepy cretin decided to remove the kitty. The missing victim is black, about one foot tall. The kitty is strewn with holes so putting a candle inside will shine through at night. No scars or tattoos. No collar and no chip. Value is priceless.

    I’m hoping the kitty will be voluntarily returned, rather than I find it on my own since I am often misjudged. People think I’m sort of an Amishy guy in my soul. Cool. Level headed.  Nice. I am none of these things. If you could see my thoughts, you would know they belong on a wanted poster. That’s on a good day.

    The little statue belonged to my late mother who was living in Falun at the time of her passing. She is buried at the Falun cemetery. I mention this only because she was partial to the kitty figure and I believe she’s still walking the earth in her ghostly guise. You really don’t want to get on her wrong side.

     I have gotten on her wrong side from time to time since she passed and I have regretted it and she was my mother. Imagine how she would treat a stranger.

    I realize I could report the kidnapping to the local police and a crack detective would be assigned to the case. But I prefer pursuing my own leads. The cops have enough to do without having to go after a little gutless thieving weenie.

    You might imagine that this crime is minor in the scheme of things what with serious presidential candidates discussing important subjects like hair color and the shapes of female faces. But here’s the thing: Civilization’s downward spiral begins small:

    First a small black metal cat is stolen from an unsecured corner. Then the lowdown stinky robber decides to steal morning newspapers from porches, despite the perp’s difficulty with reading. Next, an outdoor plant goes missing. Word of this crime wave gets out and spreads. Neighbors begin to worry. A neighborhood watch is formed. Armed locals can be seen marching up and down the street at night. The reputation of the neighborhood becomes seedy. Property taxes plummet. Panicked homeowners try to sell, but can’t because the word is out: This is the place metal kitties go missing. Are our local children next? The worth of the entire town slowly disintegrates. Eventually the town disappears and an unpopulated lunar-like landscape is left behind. Hollywood hears about it, makes a great movie titled “The Kitty Chronicles: Death of a Swedish Village,” and someone makes a ton of money from our collective loss.

    No one wants to be a victim especially when thoughtless buffoons leave pain or loss or a sense of invasion in their wake. Most people have been victimized in one way or another some time in their life and they’ve survived. A lot of stuff is overlooked in life as trivial, part of life’s ongoing,  annoying minutia. Then again, sometimes we should not ignore those who trespass against us. Sometimes we should stand up for truth, justice and the American way.

     Return the kitty you little creep! No questions asked. My mother will take over from there.

 

   

 

Clarifying the wants from the needs

I didn’t need anything for Christmas, but here’s what I wanted.

I wanted a three-car garage, two bays for the cars and one bay for the indoor swimming pool. That way I can swim all year. What do you think that might cost? Maybe $30,000? More?

   This is why I buy Lottery tickets every week. I started buying lottery tickets way back when Dillons still rented VCR boxes and the lottery had just begun. We’ve all heard the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome. That’s what the lottery represents, but I buy into the saying that if you don’t play you can’t win. The brother-in-law always asks me to pick him up a ticket when the money overflows $300 million then he never gives me a dollar for the ticket. Something’s wrong here and I’m anticipating a nightmare of lawyers when he wins the darn thing with a ticket for which he still owes me a dollar; I have my eye on a particularly scheming lawyer to argue my end of the deal.

    I wanted an old red Ford truck. Old. I mean really old. With an engine that would scare a state trooper.  Don’t need it, but I wanted it.

    I wanted another chocolate Lab to keep me company although the daughter reminds me that animals are a commitment of one or two decades and then she reminds me of my mortality, which is like hearing about a rerun of some sort of terrifying horror show. Still, I want a Lab. Don’t need one, but I want one. Didn’t get one. That would have been free, although once they are off the showroom floor there’s the food, the treats, the toys, the fluffy bed, the vet shots, the leash, etc., not to mention the rug cleaner for the inevitable training days, which is how God tests our true love of animals. If you can get past this training without losing too many pairs of shoes or your patience, you’re halfway on your way to heaven.

    I wanted a new car. Don’t need it. The Japanese vehicle I’ve driven since 2011 still works well and keeps me in business. Still looks pretty. Wanted an update though, so that’s about $25,000, although the car I actually want costs $65,000. This car has heated front and back seats along with a heated steering wheel. I mean a heated steering wheel. C’mon folks, that’s why we’re all Americans, right? Don’t need it, but I want it.

    I wanted a paying job. Don’t need one, but I want one. An interesting professional situation, where people start your name with Mister or Professor and someone takes you to lunch at the local private club where all the service people know your name. I like a job where you can go in late and leave early, that pays well and that allows booze displayed on top of the desk even though I wouldn’t imbibe. I like an office that resembles a Mad Men set, although their clothes are atrocious. I like a job that allows sweats and ball caps, but inside where it remains cool or warm depending on the season. No outdoors work for me. I am not motivated by calluses.

    I wanted a new computer with a huge screen, but I don’t need one. I imagined a screen the size of a wall, make everything huge. Didn’t get it and don’t need it.

    I wanted an apartment on Chicago’s Gold Coast to be near the daughter various times throughout the year, but I don’t need an apartment. I can stay with her. Still, I want a pretty view of Lake Michigan. Don’t need it, but I want it. Staying at her apartment means sharing a bed with the cat. That is not my idea of a vacation.

     I wanted the usual peace in the world and health for everyone, but I can’t say I will ever get it. There is a young woman I’ve known all her life who is gripped with cancer, but is not defeated, even after years of illness. I admire her strength, her fortitude and her will. I wish I had a piece of her will power, just a teeny tiny piece and I would be a different human from the one I am.

    I wanted one of those three-wheeled motorcycles with all the chrome and do-dads. This would be an excuse to wear leather and to wear that silly German helmet with the spike on the top. Don’t need one of these vehicles, but I wanted one. Maybe red, with lots of leather satchels to carry all my important bike stuff. This would also be my reasonable excuse to finally let my hair grow into a pony tail, with tattoos not too far behind. Once I had enough hair for a ponytail I would comb it all forward to cover up the vacant lot up there. Speaking of which, I wanted a hair job, although I don’t need one. Bald men fascinate women. Ask them. I’m not joking. Would I kid you?

     I realize I really want a four-bay garage, one bay to house my rock ‘n’ roll band. Oh yeah, I want a rock ‘n’ roll band. Didn’t I say that before? Don’t need one, but I want one. Where else can a very bad drummer show off a lack of skills?

    Of all the seven deadly sins—wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony—

my list embraces most of them. Not a good way to start the New Year. Don’t need to pick up lots of bad karma. Draws attention to yourself. Not a good idea.

    Better to be safe than sorry.

    What I meant to say is that I’m happy as a pig in mud, got everything I need and I feel like the luckiest guy in the world. Don’t even want karma, good or bad. Keep it. Go on. Keep it all.

    Forget I mentioned anything.

    Never mind.

   Good day and good night.

    I’m not even here.

    Remember, you never even saw me.

Holiday letters of regret come in handy

Rummaging through paperwork from the family archives, I came across these communications, which may or may not be from members of my family who are more hooliganish than even I thought. The letters and notes are not dated and I don’t recall many of the folks named here, but since some of these excuses certainly sound plausible, I thought I would share them as a public service. The holidays are difficult, especially if there are expectations of us visiting relatives outside the state. If I had to cancel a visit to a relative I might use some of these excellent excuses. Feel free to use any or all portions of these notes and letters to adapt to your own circumstances in your holiday correspondence.

 Dear Uncle Buck,

I can’t come to your place on Christmas. I’m so sorry. I’m very disappointed that I won’t be able to eat Aunt Mabel’s corn-oyster-ice cream-soufflé again this year. I’ll also miss your home brew which you favor so much we generally miss you most of the afternoon anyway. I know that home brew has a kick as I learned the last time. Was that the 1966 Dodge or the 1998 Thunderbird you all found me under last time? Ha ha! That sure was a good old time.

   I also miss seeing Junior, my first cousin and friend since birth. Has he gotten to the dentist yet? A set of teeth are really going to make a difference in his life. I heard he was thinking about going to a department store for work. A full set of teeth just may help. How’s he doing on that home-schooled GED he was pursuing?

   The reason I can’t come down to arKANSAS to see your brood is simple. We’re dead broke. Like all Americans these days I’m sitting right dab in the middle of Bustedville. I don’t understand why we’re in this boat. We make the Corvette payments on time, and we don’t go out to eat but 4-5 times a week since we cut back. Baby and me both need new jeans but we’re holding off until better times.

    I hate to ask, but in the generosity of the season I was wondering if you could see your way clear to send a little help my way. I’d ask my old man if he was still with us, but he  doesn’t make much producing car plates over at the state pen.

   The reason I need dough is that I’ve got a few problems. Baby’s in jail. I don’t understand how my wife got to jail, but they said she was in the car with some drifter at the time she was arrested. I suspected she may have been kidnapped, but no one’s given me details. Anyway, Baby’s in jail and we’re trying to get her out for the holidays. It’ll cost $500 and we can’t bond the house since we’re renting. So there’s that.

   The other thing is the busted furnace. The landlord said we busted it trying to roast that deer kill I found over on Highway 35. Otherwise, we’re doing OK so far. I rigged up the barbecue in the living room and opened that window so we don’t get poisoned and it works for the most part. But we need a part for the furnace that’ll cost $236.50.

   I sure hope you come through for us. Maybe you could sell that Thunderbird. It sure would be nice to have Baby out for the holidays. Hope to hear from you.

Sincerely,

Your loving nephew Perry

 

Dear Grandma and Grandpa,

 I fear I must reveal that I cannot be with you for the holidays though I wish I could, but I can’t because I’m trying to dry out in the city jail after being picked up for speeding and not stopping when I was told to, although I don’t remember any of that and remember things completely differently, but like it was a dream that is now a nightmare because the bunk here smells mightily and my roommates are not friendly but threatening and I can’t sleep because I fear they are after me in the love sense, which is not my way, so I am sending you this note to allow you time to organize a box or two of goodies to send me here at the jail.

Thanks,

Brad

 Dear Mom and Dad,

I cannot come home from college this Christmas. I have volunteered for charitable work in Boston so will miss out on all the family doings. Please tell Aunt Stella not to mail me her Slumgummy pie as it really melts in the mail and gets over everything. The last time the pie exploded in my room and I can still see some on the ceiling here. I have met a boy. His name is Jimmy. He lives in the Boston area, but that’s not why I’m going there. It’s only a coincidence. He lives in a big house with an indoor pool, and all his rooms have bear rugs. I can’t believe how soft bear rugs feel. I mean I can only imagine. Anyway, Jimmy’s parents must be rich. They are in Morocco for the holidays. I think that’s near Germany or Holland, so it’s far away. Jimmy will also be doing charitable work is the only reason I mention him. He’s invited some of us to his house for Christmas, but I don’t know. I’m still thinking about it. Anyway, I’m late for geography (I had to take it over again, remember?), and then off to my Bowling Club. I got a strike last week, my first. Please tell everyone.

Love and kisses,

Melissa

 

Dear Sheriff,

Just a brief note to let you know I won’t be returning to the county facility. I have left the country so I will miss my court date as well. I know I told you I would see you during the holidays, but I lied. It’s that simple. Anyway, I wanted to share with you the news that I have met and married a beautiful woman from Russia, who responded to my letters in search of a bride. Had I not met Katya I would readily return to the facility since I figured I would get released following my trial or at least not receive much of a sentence. After all, no one pays their property taxes anymore so why should I be singled out? The deal is just sell the trailer and keep the proceeds. I hope that will square me up with the county. If it doesn’t, well, tough donuts! I don’t care. I am in love and we have enough food for the week. I hope you and the Mrs. are well. I very much enjoyed her singing during my stay in the facility and her fine work on the tambourine. I also thought her Jello recipes were superb. It had never occurred to me to have Jello for breakfast. I guess you learn something new every day. Bye for now, or as Katya says, VyeVye, darlink!

Sylvester

  

 There are many more letters, but I hope the ones I chose prove to be of some use to you. I know they work for me. I’ve already gotten 12 invitations for the holidays so I will be very busy writing letters of regret over the holidays. Which is why I won’t be answering the phone if you call.

    Otherwise, have a memorable Christmas, with or without your relatives.