Please bring me a box of treats, a rabbit-proof fence for the yard, and a new toy.
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Naughty list? Dad’s gloves? You heard about that?
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I didn’t know there was a naughty list.
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What if I find new gloves for Dad? See? I found these in the closet.
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So they said if I’m really good between now and Christmas, I might get back on the nice list. I’m trying, but it’s hard. Mom and Dad leave stuff everywhere, and sometimes I get nervous when I’m alone, then I need to chew on something. You understand, don’t you?
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If it weren’t so cold, I’d stay outside until Christmas. I never get in trouble out here.
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I’m nervous about Christmas. Will you tell me a story?
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And then what happened?
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Can I get back on the nice list now? It’s Christmas Eve, and I promise that I’ve been really, really good!
“Silver had two guns slung about him–one before and one behind–besides the great cutlass at his waist, and a pistol in each pocket of his square-tailed coat. To complete his strange appearance, Captain Flint sat perched upon his shoulder and gabbling odds and ends of purposeless seatalk.” from Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson
In 2005, Mother signed up for a class about pirate literature. The course focused on Peter Pan and Treasure Island, as did most of our telephone conversations at the time. She shared bits of trivia regarding the authors and texts. She followed tangents of memory sparked by Peter’s exploits and Jim’s adventures. And she read from her notes, teaching me how the books fit into the history of literature.
A few years later, when she met a pair of orphan kittens named Captain Flint and Long John Silver, I was tempted to call it fate.
Captain Flint, 2007Long John Silver, 2007 (photos provided by my brother and sister-in-law)
These two kittens arrived at Challenger’s House in the summer of 2007. Captain Flint was found, malnourished and abandoned, in front of a local business. Long John Silver was thrown from a car and rescued by the driver who witnessed it. As they were about the same age, and both too weak to keep up with healthy kittens, they were placed in a foster home together. To be exact, they were placed in my brother and sister-in-law’s home.
Flint had trouble gaining weight. Long John needed surgery to repair his broken leg. And Mother talked about them for months, calling with detailed updates after every visit. It seemed to me as if she visited my brother and sister-in-law more often, while the kittens were there, and her attachment to the little pirates grew with each week. All the while, she denied any desire to adopt them.
Then she called one day and said, “Guess what I just did…” She claimed that her decision came from an urge to keep the boys from being separated. They had finally been declared healthy enough to go to the adoption center, and she feared they would not find a home together. So they went to live with her, and our telephone conversations were soon filled with the antics of Long John Silver and Captain Flint.
Long John Silver is a charismatic troublemaker, a bit like his namesake. (Right down to the bad leg, which healed stiff because the joint was too damaged to repair.)
Captain Flint is both buccaneer and parrot, sometimes starting the trouble, and sometimes following Long John’s lead.
Last year, when Mother died, the pirate cats returned to my brother and sister-in-law’s home, which means I get to continue following their adventures. And their misadventures, because they are often very bad boys. A pair of mischievous rogues, well named and well loved.
Several years ago we purchased a set of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer toys. We bought them on a whim, because we both have fond childhood memories of watching the animated Christmas special. We didn’t know that our dog, Indigo, would claim the toys for her own. They became her favorite part of Christmas, and ours. She knew what box they were stored in, in the attic, and visited them as often as allowed during the intervals between holidays. Each November, she danced underfoot as we brought the box downstairs and unpacked “her” toys. Then she climbed onto the couch and stared at them for hours on end. Her first task every morning was to check on the toys, and she begged for us to make them sing over and over during the day.
Last year, my mother died in October. Selfish in my grief, I skipped Christmas altogether. I didn’t decorate or buy gifts. I didn’t send cards or listen to carols, and I complained about the month-long marathon of televised nostalgia.
During the year of my cancelled Christmas, Indigo aged dramatically. Her hearing loss advanced to complete deafness, and an insidious onset of distraction and anxiety altered her personality. So I shouldn’t have been surprised, today, by her muted reaction to the Rudolph toys. She danced a slow, stiff dance as I placed them on the mantel, wagged her tail as I activated them each in turn, and then wandered away in search of a warm place to nap. She has not returned to the toys, and I have not tried to remind her of them.
It seems that this part of Christmas must move into the past and take its place among all of my other holiday memories. I’m sad to lose such a simple source of joy, but I’m happy to say it’s not completely gone. Two years ago, we spent an afternoon filming Indigo with her toys, and I have this video to treasure and share…
Our dog telegraphs her every emotion, announcing her moods with a range of vocal cues, facial expressions, and overly-dramatic body language. The cats are usually harder to read.
Usually, but not always. Here, for example, the message is clear: “Don’t bother me, I’m mad at you…”
Publication note: My poem “Waking” appears in the new issue of Willows Wept Review. The issue is available in print (by order) or as a free digital download.