WEEK 433: Feral Advice; It’s A Big World Afterall; A to Z of the Kitchen

Feral Advice

Come spring, Feral Tomcats, nature’s charming blighters, seek the bliss of temporary domesticity. Such is happening in my courtyard; or at least the attempt is being made. Both my Feral Tomcat friends, Andy and Alfie are doing well. But Alfie has been smacked with lovesickness.

I usually see the boys at night, but lately Alfie has been returning during the day (not for food, though he never turns it down); he is smitten with a kept Calico Princess I call “Miss Garbo.” I often see him sitting on the air conditioner in Garbo’s window getting his “Rico Suave” on. Alfie doesn’t understand the concept of a “Housecat.” He cannot figure out why Garbo never comes out. But that doesn’t prevent him from perching on her air conditioner and putting on the smooth act, anyway, to which she feigns boredom but never leaves her window when he’s around, either. It’s a typical Feline Lady and the Tramp scenario.

I’m wise to Alfie’s hustle. The other night as I fed both him and Andy, I said, “Alfie, dude, you really ought to give up on Miss Garbo. You know that I know that you know you’re not in love but merely heeding a desire to fill yet another cardboard box in yet another closet with tiny individuals who look suspiciously like you, then move on to the next window. For you are a Ramblin’ Tomcat. Regardless of nature, that sort of thing is unpopular with people who own [yes, own–not momma or dad-dad of] female Cats. They always get hung with a mob of adorable Kittens who will instinctively set out to destroy the place as soon as they are able to climb out of the box. You never see a Tom raise the kids or seek visitation rights. Anyhoo, Apartment 22 is on to your routine. And there’s no way in hell that they will let Garbo out of the house while your Rambling butt is within a time zone of their window.”

Andy was taking in what I told Alfie, a thoughtful expression bloomed in his ancient eyes. Andy’s been around for an incredible six years, which makes him a Methuselah in the gangster world of Feral Cats. He reminds me of an arrow. He keeps his tail, head, neck, torso and even his ears all straight and parallel to the ground under his feet and sort of pierces his way from here to there. Some days he looks practically life-like, most others he is dilapidated and appears to have been dipped in formaldehyde. Even so, he is very strong, and although he’s four times Aflie’s age and only half his size, Andy is the boss of Alfie.

And I thought I heard him say, “Never mind the help, kid, the other piebald meatbags don’t take her seriously. We can talk all we want around her and no one will believe her if she says we can talk. Sometimes her mind comes up blank and she just makes stuff up, like right now.”

Alfie laughed, “You’re a funny guy, Andy.”

Andy got serious and dangerous looking. “Funny? Funny how? Like a comedian? Like a dancing Dog clown here only for your amusement?”

The boys often gaze through windows and watch TV. Just the other night I saw Andy looking at Goodfellas through one window and Alfie was watching The Karate Kid with Garbo from his spot on the AC.

I sighed and lit a cigarette. “Andy…dude, lay off the kid. No need to go Joe Pesci on him.”

“Yeah man,” said Alfie, emboldened. “Like Mr. Miyagi says ‘Fuck on, fuck off.’”

Things would have gotten ugly for reckless Alfie and fast, but I had a pull tab can of sardines in my pocket.

Now that this little vignette has keeled over, let’s move on to more elevating subjects.

It’s a Big World After All

Before introducing this week’s cast of stars, I invite each one of you to come back tomorrow and read something from Afghanistan. The only objection I have with western protesters is they seldom acknowledge the right they are exercising. It is not an automatic universal entitlement. There are many places in the world from which you will vanish without a trace when you express bad thoughts about the Powers That Be. It’s not a particularly brave thing to spit on a cop in the US, but try that with the Taliban sometime. For an inside look at of the often oppressive world we inhabit, please return tomorrow for a special written by our new friend Freshta Ayeh. Although she lives under a regime in which women are held in the same esteem as livestock, she has something to say and I hope everyone listens.

And, as always, this week’s run of five are all bravely written pieces about the human condition. For me, the word “diverse” has been greatly injured by those who wield it on others like a weapon, but in the case of this week’s writers it is apt in the positive sense. Our writers are from everywhere except other planets (though such persons are encouraged to submit). They vary in age, gender, nationality and experience, yet each one, like Freshta (and Andy and Alfie, for that matter) have something to say

The week opened with the great Tom Sheehan, who has been publishing since before and now after Queen Elizabeth’s reign and he keeps rolling along, with more to come. The Confrontation is indicative of Tom’s technique and talent and life-long love of the Old West.

What I’ll Lose by site newcomer Phebe Jewell examines the unexpected price of faith. Often embracing religion brings a person closer to God but can place a distance between that person and other people. That, of course, is not the purpose, but it happens. The MC’s wry observations on her father are especially well done.

Literally Stories content comes from all over the world. On Wednesday IY Abushama gave us a glimpse of a place in which tension and danger are always close in Chasing Sleep on a Hot Summer Night in Gaza. Yet in spite of the stress, the people get on the best they know how, which is one of the strengths of the human race.

Write Me A Story in the Style of Hemingway by Stephen Jones tells of something that might be big in the future because it is nibbling on the corners of the now. I hope I am dead a long time before the premise of AI writing takes the stage. It has already ruined pop music and has made all the big budget films indistinguishable from each other. This story makes you consider uneasy ideas which I hope will always be out of the reach of microprocessors.

It’s rare when a contributor lands her/his first two stories with us (I know I didn’t). Quite often a slew of successes follow, but that second one can be a bugaboo. Athena Vasquez easily avoided that curse with her second site story Foster, which is her immediate follow up to her debut last month with Purge. I am familiar with plenty of the world she examines in this piece and Athena captures it with stunning accuracy.

Hats off, strike up the band and hooray for all who were on stage this week. And please make a note of coming by tomorrow morning to meet Freshta.

And now I wrap this wrap with more nonsense from my endless supply of such…

Caloric A to Z

I love to eat. But little of what I love to eat is what you might call healthy. I have always viewed health food as being the serving of canned corn on your plate; or the little lettuce, tomato and onion set “sit down” restaurants give you on the side of your eight-hundred calorie cheeseburger; or the blueberries in a muffin the size of a boxing glove.

So, today I present a list of why there always is more of me to love than maybe there should be and perhaps amaze people that I am still alive. Please share your own favorites.

A: Applesauce cake (anything with a fruit associated with it helps you lie to yourself)

B: Biscuits and gravy (outstanding after a long night of boozing)

C: Creamed spinach (with meatloaf)

D: Whether you spell it Donut or Doughnut, both serve the Lord.

E: The underrated Eggo (outstanding raspberry jam delivery device)

F: Fondue (the seventies will not officially end until the last fondue pot goes under)

G: Garlic bread

H: Ham slow baked on a Sunday afternoon

I: Ice cream float (vanilla with RC Cola or Guinness Stout for grown ups)

J: Jiffy Pop Popcorn (sentimental reasons)

K: Kentucky Fried Chicken mashed potatoes and gravy cup. (Used to trade my brother a piece of chicken and my coleslaw for his)

L: Lemon Meringue pie

M: Mince pie (Since the sad passing of the last of our elder relatives, years ago, I am the only person in my family who likes them. All for me is even better than more for me)

N: Neapolitan ice cream (you’ve probably noticed the huge amount of pie, ice cream and candy on this list)

O: Orange sherbet and vanilla ice cream cups (only complaint is the “serving” size that wouldn’t satisfy a Ghost)

P: Pulled pork on a hoagie roll

Q: Quarter pounder with cheese. A classic. (I worked at McDonalds a million years ago. We called the Filet O Fish the “Quarter Flounder”)

R: Reuben sandwich

S: Spumoni

T: Day after Thanksgiving Turkey sandwiches

U: Uno candy bar

V: Velvet cake

W: Waffles (few things are equally great with strawberries or fried chicken)

X: Xanax Brownies (just checking to see if you are still paying attention)

Y: Yankee pot roast

Z: Zucchini bread

Leila