Tabby Boy (Revised Chapter One)

 

Great Expectations

Chapter One

Did you read Stuart Little? Did you read Peter Rabbit? You probably never read Archy and Mehitabel!  Well, all of these stories were written by animals. They tell the story. Archy was a cockroach who learned how to type his stories. He shared them with Mehitabel, an alley cat. So now you won’t think it peculiar if I, as a Tabby cat write this story.

My recent name is Tabby Boy. A while ago, I had another name and a different life. Now I’m called a “Stray Cat.” Don’t mistake me for a feral cat. I once had an indoor home with an old woman named Sarah who loved and fondled me. I once was an “indoor cat.” I was always well groomed and well fed. Unfortunately, Sarah, the old woman had to go to a place called a Facility. No pets allowed. She opened her front door and out I went. It wasn’t a big, bad wolf who huffed and puffed and blew her brick house down. It was a giant machine. And so begins my life as a homeless stray cat. It was a sad life, but I had GREAT EXPECTATIONS.

I joined up with 2 black and white stray calico cats who led me to a kind man named David. He fed us and we lived outdoors. One day he trapped the three of us and took us someplace where we got injections and our ear clipped. I’m not sure why, but I no longer had any interest in the opposite sex; no longer in a rat race or cat race. The two black and whites were timid; I was the alpha. I took off on my own and sought a home of my own, even an outdoor home. It was springtime.

I came to a backyard, and I wanted to say, WOW!!!!” I just said a loud “MEOW!!!’ Here was a Garden of Eden. There were 2 fountains with cold fresh water. Flowers of all colors were in pots and spread across the edge of the yard. There were begonias marigolds, gardenias. Tall yellow forsythia bushes swayed back and forth, choreographed by the wind. Off to the side was a patch with tomato plants, basil, stringbean's and lettuce. 

Birds flocked to this backyard, singing as they gathered material to begin nesting. Music, color, the sound of the fountain water and the floral smell; truly a Garden of Eden.

An old man named Ben and an old woman named Ethyl (not Ethel but Ethyl with a “y”) lived in the house on this property. Ben made this garden happen and kindly started bringing me food. I had to learn some manners; I had to learn not to swat the hand that feeds you. When I got more secure living as an outdoor cat, I began to trust the man and woman. She softly began to say, “Tabby Boy!, Sweet good Tabby Boy.” I think that’s when I got my new name. I soon felt loved and fell in love.  Their soft and gentle kindness filled my greatest expectations for a better life, for a second chance.

I have so many stories to tell you if you want to hang around.

Ethyl H.

"I Slew a Yak"

 

Writing from the Heart.  Dec. 10, 2022 Assignment. 
“The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.”  By Samuel Taylor Coleridge. (1798/1834 final ed.) 
From:  Richard Melnick, WftH student, Jan. 2023.
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The long poem was fascinating.  A very enlightening assignment.       
My goodness, Atmosphere, emotion, and plot are all expressed amazingly well.

I submit a poem, entirely motivated by and indebted to the great Rime by Mr. Coleridge.

“I slew a Yak.”

I slew a Yak on the Russian steppe,
A full-enraged beast was he,
This hairy bull I shall never forget,
His sharp horns fixed 'pon me.
I smartly reached into my quiver,
For a stone-tipped spear to send,
An arrow of love I did not deliver,
For its accuracy spelled his end.
I dragged his carcass on a sled,
'Bout 15 miles to our camp,
We skinned it of all hair and hide,
It's red blood lit our lamp.
The frigid tundra was quick to remind us,
Of harsher times way back,
The skies were full of storm and stress,
Until we honored the mighty Yak.
In ceremony we clothed our frames,
Danced to songs of ancestral days,
The twilight had us end our games,
As night pays an homage to our ancient ways.

RM, Jan. 11, 2023.

Winter Joys

 

One of my favorite winter joys is the sound of snow as I take a walk on a crisp, clear morning. The air is so still and quiet that the only thing you can hear is the soft crunch of the snow beneath your boots. The world around has been transformed, as if by magic, into a winter wonderland. The trees are covered in a thick blanket of snow, and icicles hang from the branches like crystal chandeliers. The sky is a brilliant shade of clear ice blue, and the sun shines down, casting a warm golden sparkle and glow on everything it touches. 

As I walk, the snowflakes whisper secrets to each other as they fall from the sky. The trees seem to be dancing in the wind, and the icicles appear to be playing a game of tag with each other. The world around me is alive and full of wonder, and I am filled with a sense of joy and contentment. 

In contemplation I am grateful for the simple pleasure that winter brings. The snow and the cold may be a nuisance at times, but in this moment, I am reminded that even the most ordinary things can be beautiful if we take the time to appreciate them. And so, as I savor the sound of the snow crunching underfoot, blankets of snow, icicles on trees are a joy that can only be found in the wintertime.

Georgia

A Stay-at-Home-Girl

 

A Stay-At-Home Girl

I’m a stay-at-home girl.

I stay at home for

FaceTime and Facebook.

Friends and family phoning

From Brooklyn, Boston, Columbia U.

California, and Montreal, Canada too.

I’m a stay-at-home girl

Keeping my man’s traditions

Cooking what his mother made,

Potato soup, blintzes pierogi, 

Bow ties, cradled in kashe.

I’m a stay-at -home girl for

Zooming into my painting and writing class.

Friends welcoming friends.

We will never touch.

Though our voices touch, our praises touch.

I stay at home to tend my windowsill garden.

Sadly, my true friend Trudy, no more,

 But gladly her herb gifts keep on giving.

Beautiful, blooming blossoming bulb.

Raising amazing red amaryllis.

I’m a stay-at-home girl.

I Hold the banister, 

Steps require care.

Pay attention, walk with trepidation.

I’m a stay-at-home girl

Surrounded by soft music, 

A snuggly soft granny squares blanket, 

Deep into book, chapter five,

Fictional characters, come alive.

Heavy snow is falling

So, I stay at home.

I look out the front door.

Let the sun warm my face. 

The poet said, “If you keep your face toward the sun,

You’ll never see shadows.”

Ethyl Haber

Inspiration: I Used to Be a Roller Coaster Girl

                    by Jessica Care Moore

Favorite Color

 

Is it really possible to have one, only one, favorite color? As a lifelong artist I go through phases in favorites. For example, shocking pink is perfect for highlights on trees, and it is good to mix with purple for a light periwinkle. 

Purple mixed with green gives an interesting green gray. Quin Gold bursts like fire as a sun. Rose of Ultramarine which is a red purple mixes with green gold for a gray shadow color.  

There is so much to choose from. That being said if I had to pick one color it would be green. I use a lot of green on my landscape paintings. Spring green, very dark green, sap green, olive green, green apatite genuine. They are all so luscious.  

Green is calm and tranquil. Green is associated with luck, money. Green is a complimentary color to magenta, red and blue.  

Green grass, green grasshoppers, green leaves, green gems, green beans, leprechauns, pickles, nail polish, green frogs, green snakes, green parrots, green trees, green M&M’s.  

Yeah, green is my favorite color.  

Georgia

My Blue Ford Mustang

 

 My law office was in a  building located at the corner of John and Pearl Street in Manhattan. I was often engaged in trial litigation and when I had  been out my office for a week I sometimes I went there on a Saturday to catch up on what I had missed.  When that occurred, I drove to Manhattan in my blue Ford Mustang sports car and parked in a parking lot a few blocks from my office. One Saturday, I parked and I told the attendant I will return about 2 P.M.Upon returning, the attendant who seemed all flustered said a man had pointed a gun at him, stolen his money, gotten into my car and drove away using my car as an escape car. I called my insurance company to report the loss and was told I had to wait one month and if the car not returned by then, I would be paid its value.

   About twenty days later, at 2 A.M. I was awakened by a telephone call. Its was a police officer who told me my car was found on a street in Williamsburg and my key given to its local police precinct. At the precinct, I was told two policemen were driving their car in that area and noticed my blue Mustang sports car parked on a street that was inhabited by very Orthodox Jewish people. The officers  decided it would be unusual for that type of car to be there, for Orthodox population to own a bright blue sports cars. The officers called the precinct and determined it had been a stolen car. My name was given to them and I was called. When the next day I went to the precinct  to get my key, I was told about the fact the policemen did not believe a sports car would belong to any inhabitant on that block. It was that correct belief that resulted in the return of my car.

 ,  I wrote a letter to the Police Commissioner to not only thank the  police personnel and to commend them on  their ability to put two and two together; blue sports car? Orthodox neighborhood? No way!!! It was good thinking.

Ben Haber

Red

 

Look into my clothing closet. You would say it is bereft of red. There is only one red silk satiny blouse with black Chinese calligraphy patterned all over. The sight of the blouse brings a smile to my face and sometimes even laughter. You see, I wore that blouse to my bridge game in Great Neck. My partner was this handsome Great Neck doctor who was well known for his sense of humor. He looked at me across the table and pointed to my right arm and in a serious tone said, “Ethyl, that word is spelled wrong!” He got a round of laughter from all at the table, knowing he could read English and maybe some Hebrew, but definitely, not Chinese. I now think of that red blouse as my Ha, Ha blouse.

Last Sunday I had the privilege of seeing the Edward Hopper exhibit at the Whitney Museum. Standing in front of his painting Drug Store, was a young woman clad in a bright red woolen dress. The soft red woolen dress had four covered buttons.  She stood out from the surrounding viewers, all wearing their winter blacks, browns, dark blues, many still bundled up for the rainy cold. The woman in red, carried a black leather shoulder bag and matching stylish black pumps. The red of her dress was similar to the hanging apothecary bottle in Silbers Pharmacy in Hopper’s Drug Store. 

I strolled into the next room and sat down in front of one of my favorite Hopper’s Sunday Morning. The row of tenement houses in this scene are painted green on the bottom floor and red on the upper level. The red in this painting was not the bright red of the woman’s dress. The red was muted, leaning toward terra cotta.  I have given my daughter one of my paintings that they call “Grandma’s Hopper. It might be called Monday Morning, since the woman in my painting is about to enter a store, unlikely to be open on Sunday morning. Standing in front of Sunday Morning was the woman in red. Strange, she no longer had a shoulder bag, but her bag was held with a small strap handle. When she turned around, I saw the front of her red woolen dress had two rows of shiny metallic gold buttons. Same color dress, same fabric, but clearly, a different dress, a different woman. 

Did the two women know each other? Did they phone each other that morning and say, ”Let’s wear your reds.” No, they each left with different partners. The room could never be dull with an exquisite display of Hoppers, but the room lost some of its luster when the women in red left. Why didn’t I wear my red satiny silk Ha Ha blouse that day??

Ethyl H.