Stuffed

“And the leaves that are green…turn to brown.”  (Paul Simon)

My cats Mulder and Scully went to the veterinarian’s office for yearly shots today.  The hardest part of the whole thing for them, of course, was … the whole thing.

The hardest thing for ME was schlepping the cat carrier up and down the stairs and loading it in and out of the car.

When I first adopted Mulder and Scully, each little black ball of fluff weighed only a few pounds.  NOW, Mulder weighs nearly 14 pounds and Scully is right behind him at 13 pounds.

Apparently, they are thriving.

And like everyone and everything, they have changed and are changing.

Right now the cats are ignoring me and napping — relegating the horrors that were inflicted upon them by me and the vet to a purry dreamland of forgetfulness.

They are lucky that way with their selective memory skills.  They will forgive me for stuffing them into a box with a handle on it and then making them ride in a distasteful automobile.  But … they will NEVER forget what it means when I pull the dreaded cat carrier out from the storage heap.

Cats are good at not holding grudges, especially when there is something that they require, such as a lap or a hand to turn on the faucet.

Me on the other hand … well, it’s not always so easy to get past a curmudgeonly grudge.  Actually, I rather excel at them sometimes.

It is reasonably easy to forgive … but to FORGET … well, that is another story.

I forgive God for landing me in one of the dadgum HOTTEST towns in the whole state of California … but I ain’t never gonna forget the 16 miserable summers I have perspired through here.

And this is not a bad thing to remember.  The cats never forget what follows when the cat carrier comes out … and thus are able to make the stuffing of them into it as hard as possible for me.  Thus I will NEVER forget that my next address will be in a cooler climate.

In other words, we learn from our sorrows and mistakes.

If Mulder and Scully had never been stuffed into a lockbox, so to speak, they would have no reason to avoid it.  If I had never lived in a boiling sinkhole I might never have realized that it is better sometimes to make well-thought out choices, rather than impulsive blunders.  Now I know that I can make it harder for myself to be stuffed into a carrier where my fate is not in my own paws … er, hands.

The trees are just beginning to change color — there are scattered crispy brown leaves tumbling along the sidewalks.  There is a breeze; there is a forecast of rain.

Mulder and Scully will continue to thrive and change and forgive and not forget.

So will I.

©September 2011 by Phyllis J. Hanniver

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About pjh95811

I am a writer and poet living in California. I love cats, dogs, nature, poetry, spirituality and the Pacific Ocean.
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