Senior Daze

by Katie Bourg

About Katie: Having arrived in time for the Great (?) Depression, WWII, and all other 20th century problems, I am endowed with long and varied memories. Writing classes have long been my home away from home. Other people's stories are fascinating, and sharing is growth at its best. Hope you seniors will join me with your stories. Try it. You'll like it.

Well, I've lost that essential hour again. I'm back in the dark and condemned to long evenings of bad TV until April. I hope all those cows are happy. I'm not. What makes cows so much more important than seniors, who need to stay active?

This week found me on the road more than usual. I made the trip up I-5 one rainy morning to NOAH. Charlie the cat was scheduled for his minor surgery, the one that makes him a better neighbor. I admitted to a friend that I was uncomfortable and fearful of hurting him. She laughed at me. No sympathy there. Not for Charlie and not for me. But it set me to thinking of other such trips.

When I was raising a family, not much was said about cat control. At one time or another all five kids brought home kittens they claimed they could not live without. We had half an acre, and I gave it little thought. Our Patty cat was a prolific producer, and a constant mother. She also mothered every kid in the neighborhood, who considered her their kitty, too. So finding homes for her many kittens never seemed to be a problem.

Then one day, I wrote a story about Pat and I ran into a firestorm. Seems my good friend and writing class buddy, Merridy Williams, was a strong supporter of PAWS, and she chastised me severely for abusing my poor kitty. She was so outraged that for the first time ever, I took Patty to be relieved of motherhood. When I brought her home, she laid on her kitchen cushion and glared pure hate at me. That cat was really mad. She lived with us for another ten years or more, until age seventeen. I don't think she ever did forgive me. But one neighbor commented on how nice it was to get a full night of sleep without that yowling under her house.

Attitudes change over years. Charlie and I did our part.

At NOAH, all cats were required to be in their own carriers, and arrive by 8:15 in the morning. It was a dark, rainy day and I was low on gas. I called my grandson for help, and we arrived on time to find a good size crowd. Charlie was signed in, and number 19 attached to his carrier. A nice young couple with two cats (his and hers) stood in line ahead of us. We were dismissed with instructions to return at 4:30--that if we didn't, our kitty would be turned over to the Everett animal facility. No time to get a flat tire.

Later, after instructions on care, we were allowed to leave with our kitties, all very quiet and proper--except for the young man ahead of us. He was told his kitty was fine, but not the sex he thought it was. He had some difficulty accepting this news. Everyone else was caught up in a fit of laughter, as he fussed that he'd called his kitty a name for seven months that no longer fit. I tried to control myself until I noticed the young woman with him was laughing louder than all the rest of us. Life is never simple.

Fall activities are well under way. Veteran's Day is over, and we Stilly Singers will soon be singing Christmas songs--right after Thanksgiving, which is to be at my house this year. Grandson Alex plans to cook. He better mean it, because I intend to just sit and watch. Others are coming and bringing guests. One granddaughter and her son are planning to work at a food shelter somewhere. They may come late.

I remember one Depression Thanksgiving very well. So many were out of work and wouldn't be celebrating. My father and his friends decided to gather those they knew and be together. One man owned a bakery, and volunteered to bake the three turkeys bought with what few pennies each could afford. They got permission to use a hall and kitchen from the Knights of Columbus, where they held veterans meetings. Each brought what they could.

About 40 people sat down to enjoy. One made paper napkins out of newsprint. Everyone enjoyed the day. I still can taste Mrs. Crow's deviled eggs and Lucille's fresh made bread. It is no wonder I have always been fat. All my good memories are of food.

Have a good Thanksgiving. Take time to think of the kids overseas that can't be at the family table this year. And the many who can't afford to celebrate at all.