Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Inspiration for 'My Life with Hairy Scary'
In my writing class where I developed the 'My Life with Hairy Scary' story, the inspiration came from the short story 'My Life with the Wave' by Octavio Paz. You can read the (translated) story in full here: http://oblivio.com/others/020820_paz.shtml
Monday, April 6, 2009
My Life with Hairy Scary
Copyright 2009 by David L. Fisher, All Rights Reserved.
She wasn’t my first choice. I had been eyeing her brother and litter mate. He was a runt. Tiger stripes all over his back with a cute, white foreleg that was pure white up to his mid-thigh. After hemming and hawing and playing with all six of the kittens, I decided it would be unfair to only take one to replace my beloved Midnight. Midnight had come into my life but she was only with me for eight years. You see, when Midnight crossed over, there still was a grand old queen left in the house. At fifteen years old, I reasoned (rationalized?), a young kitten needed somebody his own age to play with.
I cast my eye over the remaining kittens unspoken for, and there she was: a precocious little ball of long, fine fur. She was also striped, but with orange over a pewter grey undercoat. She was busy kicking one of her littermates ass when I plucked her up by the nape of her neck and settled her against my chest. She sank her claws through my worn out t-shirt and into my chest, clinging on for dear life. I looked down at her and she hissed into my face. I smiled, Hairy and I had a connection, however timorous, and I knew she and the Queen would bond over their glee at tormenting the human that deigned to call himself their master.
Two weeks later, the pair of them were old enough to come home, so into a box with a rag smelling of their mom they went. I spent the ride to the vet for their first shots trying to keep the female from crawling, leaping, tipping, whatever she could do, to escape from the box. This was a difficult task to do as the box had no lid. The flaps had been torn off and the box was a bit dilapidated. Leaping up she would use her front paws to execute a perfect overhand pull-up so that her nose poked over the edge. I would gently press my hand on her face trying to discourage further attempts. This didn’t work all that well. Dropping back in, she would run to the other side and attempt an escape there. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
Oh, she was a mild mannered one with the vet, acting all prim and proper. However, I could see the calculating and scheming that was going on behind those wise eyes. With a start, I felt like she was on her umpteenth life and I was the reason she had come back in a lower form. The vet asked me their names. “Ummmm, aaah, I hadn’t really given it much thought,” I stammered out. “I think I’ll call the boy Pegleg because of his one white leg and the girl, she’s pretty hairy.” Hairy it was, the scary would come later.
Into the new home they came. It was the dog days of summer in the upper Midwest. The anvil shaped clouds predicting rain and humidity for the afternoon. The air conditioner was humming along, almost as loud as a jet turbine. Unfortunately, it was losing the battle against the heat. Clutching the box with the two kittens, I went into the basement to escape the heat.
The kittens were mewing away, for what I wasn’t sure. Were they just upset with the new surroundings? Were they car sick? Maybe the vet visit had upset them (I sure as heck don’t like being poked, prodded and stabbed). Or maybe they just missed their mother. Well, there was a substitute mom waiting. She sat there placidly staring at me, her regal black stance encouraging her minion to genuflect before her and share his offerings. I gently set the box down, pulled the two kittens out and placed them before her.
Introductions, or shall I say radical displays of claws, hissing, and tails swishing in rapid, jerky movements, as eyeballs in the midst of REM sleep. The ladies quickly settled down and turned their attention to the boy. With a baleful eye twisted toward Pegleg, the Queen swatted his hind legs out from under him. Terrified, he ran around the end of the couch. Unfortunately for Pegleg, the two ladies had colluded in trapping him. Waiting around the corner was Hairy. As he scrabbled in urgent haste to escape around the corner, she was waiting. With a magnificent leap of sheer skill and timing, she landed squarely on his back, her teeth sinking into the nape of his neck. Effortlessly, she rolled him over and the Queen arrived to observe the fruits of their combined labor. Satisfied, the Queen wandered off, but her mentees lessons were just beginning. Poor little Pegleg just never quite figured out the game, and neither did the master. Those two ladies ruled with an iron fist. No good deed was to go unpunished, no setup too trivial to take advantage of.
The first Christmas really saw Hairy earn her full Hairy Scary moniker. Oh what a delight that first Christmas tree was! All of the flashing lights, the shiny bulbs, the heavenly smell of the garlands. I was in the other room when I heard a crash. Leaping up, I ran into the great room to see the tree on its side, poor Pegleg holding onto the top of the tree for dear life. I scolded him for climbing the tree and tipping it over. I was harsh and unrelenting. Then, I realized he’d been put up to it. Side by side, the two “ladies” were observing the proceedings with delight. Then, I knew what had happened. They must have chased the hapless Pegleg up the tree, where he was just trying to escape the clutches of their relentless assaults. I tried to find him to console him and tell him I was sorry, but he was in no mood to listen and I could not coax him out from under the couch.
After that episode, I tried to keep a more jaded view on the shenanigans of the ladies, but they were far too clever for me. One would innocently lie in my lap purring, distracting me, while the other pursued their ambitious agenda against Pegleg, the fabric on the couch, or the mooching of delectable morsels of food prepared for the humans. Nothing was off limits. A favorite shirt, why that must be for kneading my claws on to make it softer! Pictures on the shelf? They just get in the way of me lying in wait to leap on the “masters” head from ten feet up. No, those pictures must go, so with a swish of the tail or a nudge of the cheek, down they go to the ground. Isn’t it great fun to watch the master cursing and cleaning up? On and on it went, for several more seasons.
One day though, I thought I spotted a passing of the baton in progress. The two ladies were hiding in the corner of the basement where they had first met, whispering to each other in a conspiratorial tone.
“I know I don’t have much time left, so listen up young one. The ‘master’ thinks he’s locked on to what it is we’re all about, but he doesn’t have a clue.”
“He seems to get just how we manage to manipulate Pegleg into being the stool pigeon.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about kid. That’s the entertainment side of our business. Remember, your real reason for being here is to make sure the ‘master,’ as exasperating as he may be, has someone who unconditionally loves him. Remember, he saved you from a life of chasing mice for dinner and curling up with some hideous dog outside in the hay. Plus, he can be quite charming and knows just where to rub you to get rid of that itch.”
“Really? I’m really supposed to be there for him?”
“Hasn’t he always been there for you kid?”
“Ummm, yes.”
“Has he ever kicked you or tortured you?”
“Well, there was that time he threw his slipper at me!”
“That was because you weren’t clever enough to evade detection on harassing your brother. Get a grip kid!”
“You’re right.”
“So are you on board with the new duties?”
“Yes.”
“You sure kid?”
“I’m sure.”
“Good. It’s been nice knowing you. I know he’ll take good care of you and the frightened one.”
The Queen was now the Queen Emeritus,Hairy Scary had taken on the mantle. In between all out assaults from the back of the couch onto Pegleg’s back she slowly settled in to her new duties. She began to read the moods of the master. When the frightened one ate the last of the food, she became a pest until the master refilled the bowl. Occasionally she even deigned to sit in the “master’s” lap. She even started becoming quite fond of him, realizing that she had a pretty good life, just like the Queen had said.
In a few weeks, the Queen Emeritus had passed on, but the wile and skills she imparted to the Scary one live on in her daily torments of those around her, save her “master,” who only gets tormented when he doesn’t need to be comforted
She wasn’t my first choice. I had been eyeing her brother and litter mate. He was a runt. Tiger stripes all over his back with a cute, white foreleg that was pure white up to his mid-thigh. After hemming and hawing and playing with all six of the kittens, I decided it would be unfair to only take one to replace my beloved Midnight. Midnight had come into my life but she was only with me for eight years. You see, when Midnight crossed over, there still was a grand old queen left in the house. At fifteen years old, I reasoned (rationalized?), a young kitten needed somebody his own age to play with.
I cast my eye over the remaining kittens unspoken for, and there she was: a precocious little ball of long, fine fur. She was also striped, but with orange over a pewter grey undercoat. She was busy kicking one of her littermates ass when I plucked her up by the nape of her neck and settled her against my chest. She sank her claws through my worn out t-shirt and into my chest, clinging on for dear life. I looked down at her and she hissed into my face. I smiled, Hairy and I had a connection, however timorous, and I knew she and the Queen would bond over their glee at tormenting the human that deigned to call himself their master.
Two weeks later, the pair of them were old enough to come home, so into a box with a rag smelling of their mom they went. I spent the ride to the vet for their first shots trying to keep the female from crawling, leaping, tipping, whatever she could do, to escape from the box. This was a difficult task to do as the box had no lid. The flaps had been torn off and the box was a bit dilapidated. Leaping up she would use her front paws to execute a perfect overhand pull-up so that her nose poked over the edge. I would gently press my hand on her face trying to discourage further attempts. This didn’t work all that well. Dropping back in, she would run to the other side and attempt an escape there. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
Oh, she was a mild mannered one with the vet, acting all prim and proper. However, I could see the calculating and scheming that was going on behind those wise eyes. With a start, I felt like she was on her umpteenth life and I was the reason she had come back in a lower form. The vet asked me their names. “Ummmm, aaah, I hadn’t really given it much thought,” I stammered out. “I think I’ll call the boy Pegleg because of his one white leg and the girl, she’s pretty hairy.” Hairy it was, the scary would come later.
Into the new home they came. It was the dog days of summer in the upper Midwest. The anvil shaped clouds predicting rain and humidity for the afternoon. The air conditioner was humming along, almost as loud as a jet turbine. Unfortunately, it was losing the battle against the heat. Clutching the box with the two kittens, I went into the basement to escape the heat.
The kittens were mewing away, for what I wasn’t sure. Were they just upset with the new surroundings? Were they car sick? Maybe the vet visit had upset them (I sure as heck don’t like being poked, prodded and stabbed). Or maybe they just missed their mother. Well, there was a substitute mom waiting. She sat there placidly staring at me, her regal black stance encouraging her minion to genuflect before her and share his offerings. I gently set the box down, pulled the two kittens out and placed them before her.
Introductions, or shall I say radical displays of claws, hissing, and tails swishing in rapid, jerky movements, as eyeballs in the midst of REM sleep. The ladies quickly settled down and turned their attention to the boy. With a baleful eye twisted toward Pegleg, the Queen swatted his hind legs out from under him. Terrified, he ran around the end of the couch. Unfortunately for Pegleg, the two ladies had colluded in trapping him. Waiting around the corner was Hairy. As he scrabbled in urgent haste to escape around the corner, she was waiting. With a magnificent leap of sheer skill and timing, she landed squarely on his back, her teeth sinking into the nape of his neck. Effortlessly, she rolled him over and the Queen arrived to observe the fruits of their combined labor. Satisfied, the Queen wandered off, but her mentees lessons were just beginning. Poor little Pegleg just never quite figured out the game, and neither did the master. Those two ladies ruled with an iron fist. No good deed was to go unpunished, no setup too trivial to take advantage of.
The first Christmas really saw Hairy earn her full Hairy Scary moniker. Oh what a delight that first Christmas tree was! All of the flashing lights, the shiny bulbs, the heavenly smell of the garlands. I was in the other room when I heard a crash. Leaping up, I ran into the great room to see the tree on its side, poor Pegleg holding onto the top of the tree for dear life. I scolded him for climbing the tree and tipping it over. I was harsh and unrelenting. Then, I realized he’d been put up to it. Side by side, the two “ladies” were observing the proceedings with delight. Then, I knew what had happened. They must have chased the hapless Pegleg up the tree, where he was just trying to escape the clutches of their relentless assaults. I tried to find him to console him and tell him I was sorry, but he was in no mood to listen and I could not coax him out from under the couch.
After that episode, I tried to keep a more jaded view on the shenanigans of the ladies, but they were far too clever for me. One would innocently lie in my lap purring, distracting me, while the other pursued their ambitious agenda against Pegleg, the fabric on the couch, or the mooching of delectable morsels of food prepared for the humans. Nothing was off limits. A favorite shirt, why that must be for kneading my claws on to make it softer! Pictures on the shelf? They just get in the way of me lying in wait to leap on the “masters” head from ten feet up. No, those pictures must go, so with a swish of the tail or a nudge of the cheek, down they go to the ground. Isn’t it great fun to watch the master cursing and cleaning up? On and on it went, for several more seasons.
One day though, I thought I spotted a passing of the baton in progress. The two ladies were hiding in the corner of the basement where they had first met, whispering to each other in a conspiratorial tone.
“I know I don’t have much time left, so listen up young one. The ‘master’ thinks he’s locked on to what it is we’re all about, but he doesn’t have a clue.”
“He seems to get just how we manage to manipulate Pegleg into being the stool pigeon.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about kid. That’s the entertainment side of our business. Remember, your real reason for being here is to make sure the ‘master,’ as exasperating as he may be, has someone who unconditionally loves him. Remember, he saved you from a life of chasing mice for dinner and curling up with some hideous dog outside in the hay. Plus, he can be quite charming and knows just where to rub you to get rid of that itch.”
“Really? I’m really supposed to be there for him?”
“Hasn’t he always been there for you kid?”
“Ummm, yes.”
“Has he ever kicked you or tortured you?”
“Well, there was that time he threw his slipper at me!”
“That was because you weren’t clever enough to evade detection on harassing your brother. Get a grip kid!”
“You’re right.”
“So are you on board with the new duties?”
“Yes.”
“You sure kid?”
“I’m sure.”
“Good. It’s been nice knowing you. I know he’ll take good care of you and the frightened one.”
The Queen was now the Queen Emeritus,Hairy Scary had taken on the mantle. In between all out assaults from the back of the couch onto Pegleg’s back she slowly settled in to her new duties. She began to read the moods of the master. When the frightened one ate the last of the food, she became a pest until the master refilled the bowl. Occasionally she even deigned to sit in the “master’s” lap. She even started becoming quite fond of him, realizing that she had a pretty good life, just like the Queen had said.
In a few weeks, the Queen Emeritus had passed on, but the wile and skills she imparted to the Scary one live on in her daily torments of those around her, save her “master,” who only gets tormented when he doesn’t need to be comforted
Saturday, April 4, 2009
We are live on blogspot
Hey everyone! Here's our blog all setup and ready to go! I'm pretty excited to help us all get more motivated and share our experiences and writings with each other. I will be back shortly to post my final, finished piece My Life With Hairy Scary.
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