The Story of Mr Puss

An hour ago we buried Mr Puss. He was/is the absolute love of myself and Vladi's lives...we had such fun with him, we have three dogs, Polly, Dick and Lester but Mr Puss was special, he was just such a character...he waited on the wall for us at night to return home from work, he stretched himself up the fridge door to ask for milk, he would curl up on my cardigan to sleep or go into the linen basket or on to the book shelves. When Vladi would be cooking in the kitchen he would be there watching on, commentating....he had a way of approaching you in full body stretch mode, he adored belly rubs... he adored us. He followed me like a puppy dog. He would run up the tree in the garden and walk the canopy roof. He adored milk and first thing in the morning, he would circle my feet pleading for milk. On cold wet days, he stayed curled up and when I would kiss him on the forehead he would reply half-sleepily with a purr and and then cuddle himself in further to a ball and sleepily doze off again. He loved sleeping in, in the mornings, especially if it was dull and cloudy....he was the boss of the dogs...and could n't bear noise or mayhem and let them know what was what.  There are so many memories of him that I need to write down in order not to forget them or him....I loved picking him up and putting him over my shoulder, he adored that ...at every moment I was kissing him on the forehead, belly...he had the softest, most silky fur.....I was truly besotted with him. When I lay in bed with the laptop, he would make a funny little landing noise on jumping up on me and then come to my left side to cuddle in under my arm while watching the computer screen with me. He would try to ease himself further and further on to the keyboard and I'd eventually have to move him a little away as I coudn't see the screen. He knew his name and would come running to Vladi's special whistle for him.  

How he died is heart-breakingly tragic. My dogs and he seemed to have picked up some fleas from a stray dog that was coming to the house. A man doing some painting work for us, Antonio, said  he had the ideal liquid to treat them all....I hesitated about Mr Puss getting it but he said he had given it to his own cat so it would be fine. I held a squiggling Mr Puss while Antonio put the liquid on him. He leapt out of my arms into the undergrowth when all was finished. That was the last time I touched him. 

That evening I had to go to work. I asked Vladi to keep an eye on Mr Puss and to leave him in the kitchen before going out. Vladi said  that Mr Puss was behaving very strangely that evening and wouldn't come to him and hid under the sofa in what appeared to be a frightened state but Vladi didn't think anything of it. When I came home that evening, the house was so quiet that I didn't think Mr Puss was in the house as usually he would run to greet me and lie on the floor to get a belly rub. I left the door open and as I turned round I saw the tail end of Mr Puss belting out the door. I thought he was after a mouse. I left the door half ajar for him but he didn't return that night. The following day we noticed the food bowl empty and we thought he had returned to eat but that he was still in a huff with us over the flea liquid being put on him. We didn't see him all day yesterday. Last night we went to bed upset and worried. I had a restless night...images of where Mr Puss might be were coming to me and when I got up this morning I went to the neighbour's garden and in one of Mr Puss's favourite spots I found him lying there dead....rigormortis had set in. I broke down and cried like a baby. We are both devastated. I totally blame myself for allowing that liquid to be put on him. He was only 3 years old....we rescued him from a drunken previous owner who did not treat him well. I love/loved Mr Puss so....I have literally been rolling myself in the garden with heart-ache. I BLAME myself so....why oh why did I listen to Antonio....I feel as if I killed him dead myself......he loved life, he just plain loved us to the absolute hilt...we had such a laugh with him. Now that he is gone all the laughter is gone...I feel empty, alone and guilty. 

The really uncanny thing about all of this tragedy is that a few years ago, before we had Mr Puss, we had Siam the Puss. I was in Ireland at the time and had just heard I had won 700€ in the Listowel Writers' Competition. About the same time I heard this news, Siam the Puss went missing and I have never seen him since. On the day that Antonio put the liquid on Mr Puss, I had just heard that I had won 2000€ in the lottery. It just seems so weird to have lost two totally beloved pets on the same day that I get news about a money win.....I haven't cashed in my lotto ticket yet and really feel like giving that money away...I know that today I am in a raw grief state and need time to come to terms with this, if you are an animal lover, you will understand, if you are not, then possibly you may think I am nuts...but hey ho, I would not not be an animal lover.

 

              

Letting Go

Today in the midst of my being ill myself (chest, throat), alongside Vladi, we had to make one of the hardest decisions of our lives. Páidi, our near 16 year old Husky, kids called him 'el lobo,' (the wolf)had to be put to sleep.

He was the hardiest, most determined dog and adored out walking in the valley with me and chasing our other dogs. He had been on medication for his heart and arthritis for years. I loved him like a true soul-mate, he was born in our kitchen just 3 months after I met Vladi and moved in with him....Páidi and I settled into life here on Gran Canaria and today I had to make the decision to let him go ....his body was becoming full of sores, he could hardly walk...this morning he lay down and didn't want to move, he peed himself and refused all water and food.I knew in my heart it was time. I had heard him crying out in his sleep all night. I carried him to the garden twice to pee and it was a struggle....my heart was breaking and continues to break...

I don't think I'll ever come near to loving another dog the way I loved the wild wolf soul of this amazing dog....the sad thing is I know I will have to grieve alone with my husband, I want to shout from the roof tops the pain I feel after losing him....but who is to hear or comfort, unfortunately to lose an animal friend is not looked on as 'grieving' for real but by heck, it feels like it. I loved Páidi like a member of my own family,...it hurts so much that he is gone, I know I need to find strength for this and I will find it, there is no alternative....this Blog has become like my trusted, always-there friend, even if no one reads this, I feel comfort in shouting to the virtual world that I loved this feisty dog...and that I will allow myself to grieve for him.

'Nearly' Does It...Tiny Burst of Poetry-Warm-Feeling...

I'm sneaking in here ('sneaking' as in it feels like this Blog isn't my joint anymore after such a long spell away!)) to share some news that gave me that warm-poetry-buzz that I haven't felt in ages. It's been over two years since I submitted any poetry to mags or comps...apart from one submission to Strokestown this year. Due to a sleepless night last night, and having nothing better to do at 4 am, I remembered my submission and thought I'd check the Strokestown Festival page to see when the festival was on in case it coincided with my trip to Ireland in April and I found the shortlist, which I'm not on, but below the shortlist was the following message:

The following poems were just some of those very nearly shortlisted:

On the Occasion of My Wife Going Deaf; Ulugh Beg’s Relief; Airport Bus; On Birkrigg Common; On Looking Up; The Old Dears; every time; Introduction to origami; When You Grow Up Catholic; Duparc: A programme note; The War Effort; U.S.S. Iwo Jima; Another wash; Genji at the Chester Beatty Library; Run to Seed; Notes to Daughters; Cracking Hardy; Poem 1: Swirl with My Daddy; Blend; Canzone: Cunning; The backlogger’s Last Blog; The Day She Married My Father; Sex Like a School Staircase; Falling Out; The Most Quiet; Lights; In the Front Room; Pin-Up; The Disappeared; Father’s Day; Polymath; The Hag Does Not.

And yipee! my 'Swirl with My Daddy' was nearly shortlisted... didn't think hearing about 'nearly making it' would make me feel excited but it has done... : )

Hopping on the Bus (While Straying from the Path)

I've just hopped on the bus, driven by Karen and inspired by her challenge of Paths, and anywhich way but up! ; )Thanks, Karen.

This Path

This path had bits of grass in the middle. On Summers days
with the tarmacadam hot, this path led to a holy well. We
corked bottles of holy water with tufts of grass from this path.
This path had splits down its sides. I fantasised earthquakes,
quicksand and Paul Newman rescuing me, at the drop of anything.

This path had bits of grass in the middle. On school days
with my yellow wellies squeaking clean, I hated this path. This
path had a ditch I hid behind. They came for me with the heads
of dandelions. A dandelion under the nose was tantamount
to being a silly pee-the-bed person. Their arms swayed.
Their *rods peeled. They swung these rods and the air sucked.

This path sucked. If you stray from a path on purpose, is it
straying? No matter, I purposely strayed. I simply grew
wings. I was on Paul Newman's bicycle saddle, my legs spread
out from the spokes of the wheels. Their rods still
whooshed. I did not call out
'Catch me if you can'. My head stayed on
Paul Newman's back. We went like billy oh away
from that path, over the head-over-heels pot
holes, I saw the grass in the middle bend to the wind. I was
a latter-day bird. I whispered 'Hi-ho Silver,'
into Paul Newman's ear.

Far away from that path, I stopped losing
my hair, my yellow wellington boots stayed on,
Paul Newman and I never stopped
chatting. I rang the bicycle bell. I never looked back.

* stick

Halloween, the Lakeside and Black Kittens

(Lake reflections early morn)


(Lake over roof top)




(Black Kitten Antics)

It's Halloween, you are minding your own business but in a place where you are having at the same time a break away, when suddenly the whole day is made up of black kittens. We are talking ace of spades black except for a tickle point under the chin where a few white hairs have gathered. Ordinarily, black kittens would just be a joy to watch. You would not read into them being anything other than black kittens but this is your breakaway weekend and you are breaking away on Halloween night and yes, now these black kittens become the stuff of not quite nonsense but the stuff of witches, stakes and burning and something not as everlasting as a long life. They run rings around us. One in particular ends up with a hard lump in his belly from eating too much leftover baby goat scraps that I had smuggled out of the restaurant in a serviette...(guilt-ridden about this and I am reminded again about why I most definitely want to become a vegetarian). I distract this greedy one so that an even tinier one can have a few bits of gristle that I throw to him but it gets caught in a cactus within spitting distance of the tiny black kitten that has not learned to spit yet. But no doubt will. I had a great Halloween, how about you?

This is Halloween: Hooting and Howling Poetry Prompts

Hello, poetry-bussing people, congratulations on keeping going with the weekly writing, I confess to having fallen by the wayside a while back, poetry-wise,but am doing some picking-myself-up and some dusting-myself-down, but gently does it.... ; ) So enough banter and on with the poetry prompts.... I'm a bit early with the prompts but thought it best to give as much time as possible in case we get caught up in Halloween itself and run out of poetry writing time.... ; )

Autumn's here, the clock's are about to move back, scariness in its many shapes and forms is loose and on the run amongst us and yes, it's Halloween in all its ghoulishness and what I want you to do is dig deep and come up with something to bring us back to the apples and nuts of our childhood Halloweens or/and scare the living daylight out of us and to do this here are a two suggestions to choose from...

1) Write a Triolet Halloween poem(either light-hearted or scary). The triolet is a French poetic form. It consists of:

*8 lines (often in iambic tetrameter--daDum daDum daDum daDum)
*The rhyme scheme is ABaAabAB
*Lines 1, 4, and 7 are the same
*Lines 2 and 8 are also alike

There is often a change of viewpoint in the second half, and the refrain (last two lines)is frequently a play on words or a pun.

EXAMPLE: (8 lines of 8 syllables with ABaAabAB rhyme)

DOPPELGANGER

Line 1: I'm a ghostly double of you, A
Line 2: which amuses me to no end. B
Line 3: The devil tells me what to do; a
Line 4: I'm a ghostly double of you. A
Line 5: My crimes I'll pin on you-know-who, a
Line 6: and I'll drag you to Hell, my friend. b
Line 7: I'm a ghostly double of you, A
Line 8: which amuses me to no end.


OR

2) Choose one (or more) of the following prompts (or please feel free to freewheel with your own prompt ; )) and write your Halloween poem based on it....

Prompts:

Candlelit Eyes; A Jack-o-Lanterns Point of View
Memories of a Halloween Character
The Night I Dressed As A________
Excuse Me, Is That Your Broomstick?
Bewitch Me, Please
Thrills and Chills
Pardon Me While I Scream
Big Halloween Moon
Fun With Apples and Nuts

Hope there is something there to suit everyone! I'll leave you to get into the 'spirit' of things and eat, drink and be scary...looking forward to reading your poems, leave a message in the comments box to lead me to your poetry... ; )


(Add on: I had forgotten that I am away Sunday and Monday so I am putting up the poems now as they come in and the others I'll put up on Monday night when I get back....)


The Poems

Susan's Triolet

Karen's Unspoken

Dick's Big Halloween Moon

Peter's Triolet

Jeanne's Triolet

120socks and the Deadly Hold

Rachel's 'the night she dressed as a....'

Kat's taking liberty with a Triolet

TFE being spooked by King of the Cats

The Bug and her night as a Pirate

Dave's Pardon Me While I Scream

Museswings and the shambling werewolf triolet

Enchanted Oak's Pardon before screaming

Carolina and Why I Believe

Emerging Writer and She Stoops to Conker

Mrs Trellis and Grow It With Music

Jinksy and A Hard Day's Night

Titus and The Vampire Triolet

Argent and A Witch's Lament

Lucy's Halloween Haiku

(Sat. 30th - another add on: with so many poems coming this way, I got smitten and got something poem-like down too...it's been an age so no great shakes or anything....I'll paste it here at the end, cheers)

(Monday 1st - back from trip away...just uploaded everyone's links, I hope I haven't forgotten anyone...let me know, if so. And well done, one and all, on the triolets and poems of every sort... keep it up!; ))

Hints of Halloween

I watched 'Driving Miss Daisy' last night, home alone,
with someone else's Jack O' Lantern sitting
outside on the garden table. It is not exactly the stuff of bumps
in the night, or so I thought. She, a stubborn old lady wants
to drive her own car, he, an insistent old man, compares his
task of making her accept him as her chauffeur to the time
it took him two days to wrestle a hog to the ground. In the last
scene he is feeding her pumpkin pie. With each swallow she gives
one of those grins that happens when you know
you are giving in but not minding in the least. This whole
week in one shape or other evolved around Marilyn Manson's
'This is Halloween'. My students and I tried to keep up
with the speed of his song, mostly ending up breathless
with tearful laughter stinging our eyes. I explained
'Hail to the Pumpkin' unwittingly letting slip the example
of both 'Hail Caesar' and 'Hail Hitler.' We moved on,
and I discovered that Spanish ghosts do
not say 'Boo' (but woo!) when the answer to a riddle
on where ghosts go on holiday is Maliboo. The joke about what
one calls a witch who goes to the beach was not booed
out of it. On the contrary, for a fleeting instant,
someone answered 'mother-in-law' and I took it upon myself
to stress the word `sand-wich' way beyond necessity. The lady
who wears bright colours is having a party for her husband
whose birthday falls on All Saints' Day. She said he is no saint.
She is having the party on the night of the dead. She said she is
not providing chairs. On the night of the dead, ghosts sit,
or so I remember my father saying, as he
pulled the most hard-backed chair towards the hearth.

Rain, rain stay a while...

(rusty wellington...!)

I had made a clearing here a while ago, cobwebs swept sideways, curtains left to blow through half-opened windows, small tea-maker by the keyboard but I could n't psyche myself up to actually sit down and write a post...that is until just now, because you know what has happened, the first rains since February have just fallen...gentle, soft but wet, wet, wet rain which I have been out walking in with 15
year old Páidi, our hardy and beloved dog.... and the rains seemed to have de-cobwebbed myself which I actually hadn't thought needed doing but obviously did....; ). So easy does it, I won't go overboard with it....just a short post to say I hope to catch up with favourite Bloggers and quite possibly do some more Blogging myself and wonder of wonders, I even feel a sort of longing to start writing some poemy scribbles....hi-ho-silver! please gentle rain, stay a while, right here (maybe not on the plain exactly) but in Spain... ; )