We got a cat when I was a little kid, like three going on four (me, not the cat). The cat came from Port Clinton, Ohio, so we named him PC, but it also stood for Pussy Cat, so that name worked pretty well as far as cat-names go. Being little kids, we liked to play with the cat and, for the most part, we thought PC enjoyed the attention.
A game we played was called “Pussy Cat Parade.” My brother and I would hold a towel between us with PC on the towel, like he was on a hammock. Then we paraded back and forth across the basement singing, “PC the pussy cat, the pussy cat parade.” That was it. That was the song. Back and forth we marched, holding the cat on a towel between us. Eventually, PC got bored or distracted and that was the end of the game.
One day, PC went outside to roam the neighborhood but didn’t come back. I wanted my father to help me look for him, but he wasn’t interested. “Sometimes cats just leave,” he said. [1.]
We never saw PC again. If we ever had a picture of PC, I haven’t found it in what remains of our family stuff. (Here’s a picture of us three dumb kids whose cat ran away.)
Fifteen years ago, we adopted a cat who we named Mrs. Bigglesworth, affectionately known as “Biggs.” Biggs was one of the best cats ever: very chill, friendly, and seemingly thrilled just to hang around in a pool of sunshine for a nap. You may have seen her before as the official cat of this website, pictured to the right. Here is a picture of Biggs as a kitten, shortly after our poodle licked her clean.
Seven years ago, however, Biggs went out and didn’t come back. With both our kids in college, my wife and I spent evenings and nights roaming the neighborhood, looking for Biggs. We put up flyers on every street in the subdivision and on the nearby schools.
We got a call ten days after Biggs went missing. One of the kids saw the poster at school and recognized our cat. The poor kitty was maybe 1,000 feet from our house, but was covered in briers and dirty. Apparently, she spent that time cowering in the brush in the fields beyond the subdivision. She cleaned up just fine.
Two weeks ago, we realized she’d stopped eating and was sleeping more than usual. We took her to the vet and it wasn’t good news. We had to bid her farewell.
Last week, I took her to the vet one last time and I got to hold her in my arms as she quietly passed on. We were grateful for the time we got to spend with Mrs. Bigglesworth.
Meanwhile, at My Writing Desk…
My writing suffered a bit the past two weeks. I don’t want to blame the circumstances surrounding Biggs, but it’s certainly hard to be creative and productive with a heavy heart.
The actual, specific challenge was my dissatisfaction with the ending of the novel I was revising. The first draft’s ending had a quick summation, as if my novel writing was like sitting on the toilet and then somebody is pounding on the door, and you wrap things up as quickly and neatly as possible without a lot of fanfare.
For the second draft, I added some fanfare to the ending, and thought it was fine. But it didn’t feel right, and bothered me the way a rash will emerge a day or two after you’ve rubbed something wrong. I spent pretty much two weeks trying to fix the ending.
I’m reminded of a Donald Barthelme quote about writing:
Endings are never satisfying, and middles are nowhere to be found. But oh to begin, to begin, to begin…
Well I was tripped up on the unsatisfactory ending, and slowly kept searching. Eventually, it showed up, and I’m kind of happy about it, so I can move on.
But like a cat who has run away and returned, I want this story to be happy and stick around for as long as possible.
Maybe You’d Like
I’ve joined a group promotion for fans of dystopian fiction. These are usually science fiction, or at least speculative (although today’s headlines are often dystopian, but let’s not worry about that right now…)
Dystopia Has Sprung – Stories about bad governments, bad neighbors, and great heroes.
Upcoming Books and Stuff
The reviews for my books are trickling in, and I’m going to share some reviews as a way to toot my horn without blowing it myself (if that makes sense…). This was from an Amazon reader named “Shelly:”
This book turned out to be one of those books you can’t stop reading, but you’re bummed when you finish because it was so good. The characters were well developed, relatable, and the society in which they were living scarily doesn’t seem to be a far-fetched notion. I was engaged right away. An overall very enjoyable read.
Next Picayune
I seriously hope I have some fun news to share next time. At least it’s spring, and the extra sunlight here in the northern hemisphere my brighten our spirits.
Thanks for reading the Mickey Picayune…
All the best,
–mickey
1. Relating the story of my dad’s reaction to our lost cat reminded me of a joke:
There was this guy who hated his wife’s cat, so one day he takes it out for a ride and tosses it out of the car about a mile from home. But when he gets home, the cat is there waiting for him.
The next day, he takes the cat for a ride, but this time he drives to the other side of town and tosses her out. When he gets back, the cat is home, cuddled on his favorite seat in the living room.
So the next day, he takes the cat for a ride at night. He drives out of the city, into the country, up into the foothills, and tosses the cat out into the pitch black of a forest. He turns the car around but soon realizes he’s lost.
For hours, he’s driving around, trying to get his bearings. Finally, he sees a pay phone in a parking lot and he calls home and his wife answers.
“Honey,” he says, “is the cat home?”
“Yes,” she says. “The cat’s right here.”
“Good. Put her on. I need directions.”