Tuesday, September 15, 2015
Suicide or Murder?
5:22 pm edt
Was it suicide or had the victim met with foul play? 'More likely
it was feline play. I'll never know for sure, but the little hapless body floating face down in the dogs' water bowl
suggested the work of Tiny who has taken over Sissy the serial killers position. Tiny is the prime suspect despite her
sleepy innocent persona. This morning she abruptly interruped her breakfast to scurry over to the fridge where she sat
with that intense 'I know you're in there' look on her face.
about that time a bewhiskered little head ventured right out from under the appliance to inquire if anyone had seen his brother
who had gone missing the night before. Poor dear. I didn't tell him he'd been flushed down the toilet. Instead
I stomped my foot and he retreated, most likely down one of the smooth-edged holes in the kitchen flooring; holes that tell
the tales of mice from previous centuries. I'm pretty sure he'll be back.
As an aside, it seems the magic ingredient in Kenny's miracle cure water is a diuretic! That John Ellis
is a sneaky character.
Monday, September 14, 2015
Miracle in a Bottle?
8:38 pm edt
The past two days have been spent lying on the sofa with a pounding
headache, a sore throat and fever. No, not the flu, but the unsurprising allergic reaction to the tall ragweed that
towers over 15' next to the brick porch. The original springtime plan had been to keep this evil vegetation cut down,
but the damaging storm followed by the broken tractor derailed that plan and so the tall ragweed grew and flourished.
I hired Al to chop it to the ground. He worked like a beaver all day in the blazing sun and will have to return tomorrow.
Only I am happy to see this devil weed gone. The dogs and cats loved making tunnels through the thick stalks and the
birds feasted on the seed heads, but alas all will have to find other pastimes because tall ragweed has joined multiflora
rose on my list of most-hated plants.
Not feeling well is a drag to be sure. Obviously I could not help with the eradication
project , but it was impossible to write with such a headache and while the sun was warm, fever kept me huddled under a thick
blanket most of the day. Even so, Kenny needed to be fed both days. Yesterday I took leftover homemade pasta dressed
with fresh tomato sauce with all ingredients from my garden. A homemade muffin was the proffered dessert.
Today I discovered the remnants of that meal next to Kitty's bowl.
"I see you didn't like your dinner last night,"
I scolded. "You gave it to Kitty!"
"Yes, the cat liked it."
I hope not to see tonight's dinner next
to Kitty's bowl when I go up there tomorrow! Kenny wanted to come down to my house, but I explained that wasn't possible
because I was not feeling well. That's when he produced "the cure."
"You just drink one ounce of this
every day and it will fix you right up," he promised handing me a sealed (thank goodness...) bottle of John Ellis 114
degree water. I thanked him and headed for the truck as he rambled on about the amazing healing powers of what was inside
Now, according to the listed ingredients on the label, this bottle contains John Ellis 114 degree water and
absolutely nothing else; no vitamins, no calcium, no iron or anything else. The directions say that it can be consumed
straight from the bottle or mixed one ounce to one gallon of my current drinking water. John Ellis water "...should
not be microwaved!" But I suspect any magic this tonic may possess is in the recommended dosage; "...half
of your body weight in ounces per day."
That much of any water would surely flush whatever ails a person from the
system. I'm having my first dose before retiring for the evening and will report any miraculous healing tomorrow. At
least he didn't suggest taking me down to Jacob Miller's machine!
Thursday, September 10, 2015
A Brief Escape.
4:58 pm edt
Again my truck bed was filled with papers destined for the township
recycling station after a day of clearing and cleaning at Kenny's, so I asked him if he might like to go for a little ride
although I knew the answer before uttering the question.
He'd spent the day sulking behind the wheel of his red
truck. He was wearing the same cowboy shirt he'd had on all week, coveralls, the infamous green hat with fleece-lined
ear flaps (down) topped off with a white yachting cap. I can only wonder how he conceives these costumes.
change that shirt," I said.
"No, no, it's okay the way it is," was his response.
You must put on a clean shirt or you may not go," I countered as if bribing a child and within two minutes he'd made
the switch to a clean blue one.
On the drive to the township building he talked about corn and soybeans and about
his pal Spic who is still in a nursing home following a fall that broke his hip and required surgery.
been to visit him," I asked.
"Yes, but he falls asleep while I'm talkin' to him."
When I suggested
he was probably drugged Kenny agreed for this was definitely not Spic's usual behavior. Spic has always been chatty
"I want him to go down to Jacob Millers," Kenny continued. (JM is one of his Amish friends.)
"He'll put him into this machine he has and Spic won't have any more pain," Kenny claimed with great authority.
God only knows what kind of machine Mr. Miller puts
his patients into, but Spic is reluctant to go. ‘Probably a good decision.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Another Sad Day.
4:44 pm edt
The soil was as hard and unyielding as the rocks I unearthed while
digging the grave. The insufferable heat made the sad task even more difficult, but Sissy the serial killer has now
been laid to rest.
I was leaving Sunday morning to visit a friend in Cincinnati for a couple of days, but when Sissy failed
to appear for breakfast that morning I suspected something was amiss. She was an enthusiastic diner and always the first
to be served. Calls and searches inside and outside the house were futile. Before setting off for my road trip
I left a note informing the critter sitter of Sissy's worrisome absence. When I returned on Tuesday the sitter said
she too had searched everywhere just as I had, but she was still gone. That night the dogs and I searched once again,
but to no avail.
Today I discovered the sweet gray kitty who had worked diligently to rid this property of any and all rodents
during her decade-plus residency here. Her bloated body was hidden under vegetation right next to the house. How
had we not found her?
Like most all of my four-legged friends, Sissy was a foundling. She and her
helpless litter mates had been tossed into a drainage ditch in the old quarry. I remember being dressed all in white
the day I discovered them. A pair of tiny ears poking over the weeds caught my eye as I rounded the curve. I pulled
the truck over and discovered the four kittens in the muddy ditch. After crawling down into the mire to retrieve them,
my ensemble was no longer white.
Neighbor Sandy took two of them and another friend took a third, but no one wanted
the sleek kitty I represented as "a rare Russian Blue" to anyone who might have appeared even remotely interested.
Sissy was meant to live here. The athletic girl didn't have close pals like most of the other cats, but kept to herself
stalking the grounds for mice and moles which she delivered to the porch right until the day before she vanished.
will certainly rejoice in her departure, the rest of us are sad. RIP, dear Sissy.