#FDDA

His Name Was Wolfgang

/ animar64 / 8 Comments

Fandango’s Dog Days of August #6: Pets

The term ‘soulmate’ is grossly over used.

People use it to describe someone they feel ‘bound to’, ‘fated to be with’ and when I hear it song, poems or on TV I smell patchouli and I hear strains of ” Nights In White Satin” (VOMIT VOMIT VOMIT )

However, I don’t find the concept improbable.

My soulmate was my cat Wolfgang.

He took care of me when I was sick, he attacked people who made me angry ( and I mean, if he had been a dog…the outcome would have been horrific for all involved ) and he got into some heated battles with dogs and won. He was always by my side or nearby and he taught my dogs to be cats.

We watched a meteor shower together and we even saw a ghost once- really. Sometimes when I was sleeping I’d wake up and he’d be sitting on my chest, staring down into my face because he was either soaking wet and wanted me to dry him off or he had an abscess that had popped and we wanted me to clean the gunk off.

His best friend ( besides me ) was a Racoon.

Wolfie and the Racoon used to eat together on the porch and then toddle off into the woods to do whatever a racoons and cats do when they disappear into the darkness together.

So why do I think he was my Soulmate?

Well, when he died at almost 18 years of age…part of me did too, I felt it.

That’s how I know.

His name was Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and if there is an after life, I hope his is the first face I see when I get there.

amm

Wolfgang- about 8 weeks old. Photo by A.M. Moscoso
Wolfie- the size of a Big Gulp. He grew up to be a BIG cat and weighed a healthy 18 Pounds- not fat, all muscle. He was something else.
Wolfie-Photo A.M. Mosocoso

 

The Treasure Room

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Fandango’s Dog Days of August Prompt #5 : Inheritance

Photo by Helena Lopes on Pexels.com

 

My Mother’s long dark hair

my father’s flawless golden skin

my Grandma’s long fingers

my Grandfather’s square and perfect chin.

I have my Auntie’s voice

I treasure my Uncle’s smile

and sometimes when I look into the mirror

I see my Great Grannie’s eyes

and they seem to say:

 

 

” They’re going to catch you one of these days you psychopath. “

But I doubt it.

I really do.

I always keep the door to my treasure room locked

and my knives are sharp and handy.

 

 

 

 

 

..

 

 

 

Agatha

/ animar64 / 12 Comments
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

Fandango’s Dog Days of August #4-Lost Love

 

 

I used to catch a bus to work

around the corner from where I lived.

One Tuesdays and Wednesday Agatha was there, she’d bring her own simple canvas camping stool to sit on while she waited for the bus and sometimes she smoked and said nothing and sometimes she would tell me about her husband:

He drinks to much.

He smokes to much.

His health is bad.

He talks to much.

He could be wicked mean.

When she married him her family wrote her off and her son refuses to speak to her.

She didn’t seem to be terribly bothered by the fact her family wasn’t in her life.

He used to be good looking but now, Agatha said about her husband. He’s sort of desiccated looking and she wonders how much longer he can actually live for.

His liver and kidneys are bad and his lungs aren’t in good shape either.

Can’t be easy, she said, for his body and soul to keep together like that. Eventually she would mused the entire works was bound to break down.

She didn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that her husband didn’t sound like he was longed for this world.

Once I said I was sorry for her troubles. It sounded like she had lost and was losing more then anyone should have to bear.

When the bus pulled up Agatha would toss her cigarette into the gutter, fold up her chair and said, before we got on the bus ” I think that when you lose something, it’s probably better if you don’t go looking for it. It’s like when an animal gets sick or hurt and wanders off and you go looking for it and when you find it, it practically rips your head off and then it kicks the bucket right there in front of you.

When something wants to be lost and die that bad. Let it, Agatha told me.

I see your point, I told her. I’ll keep it in mind.

Then we got on our bus and started our day.

 

Lorna Doone Wasn’t A Cookie

/ animar64 / 2 Comments

Fandango’s Dog Days of August #3: Monday

Photo by Artem Beliaikin on Pexels.com

I don’t hate Mondays

or Tuesdays

or Wednesdays

I don’t even hate Sundays- the way I used to because they were so BORING when I was a kid.

When I was a kid there were no malls, no cable tv , no internet and the only bright spot on Sundays where going to my Dad’s parent’s house for dinner.

Which in itself was pretty boring until on of the adults got bored so they started to tell stories about whatever tickled their fancy and that was influenced by how much they had been drinking because

we were ALL bored on Sundays.

I remember my Grandmother told this story about a relative of ours who was name- Lorna Doone Godfrey and she was getting to the part about how Lorna passed away my Aunt piped up, ” She ran through the streets yelling, ” I’m a cookie I’m a cookie? “

For the first time EVER I actually saw my family struck speechless and then get on someone for popping out a smart aleck line because that was the point to some of these conversations.

I didn’t see what everyone was so upset. I loved Lorna Doone cookies. When I said as much I was invited to leave the table until I could behave.

It was a weird moment and it stuck with me for years.

It wasn’t until I traced my family tree over the winter that I learned that Lorna and three of her children died in a house fire. Her oldest was away to college any my Great Uncle was away on business so they were spared.

At the time the cookie story made the rounds, they had been dead for maybe 20 years so it wasn’t ancient history- but I do wonder what made my Aunt toss that line in.

Was she drunk? Did she not like her cousins and Aunt? Or was it just to good of a line let go of?

I guess I’ll never know. Most of the adults at the table that day have passed on and my Mom spent all of her time at these dinners ignoring all of us so when she says, ” I don’t know what you’re talking about ” its true.

Like I said, I don’t hate Mondays because sometimes I hate Sundays even more but like them or hate them something interesting can happen so why write them off?

I mean, on that Sunday I learned that Lorna Doone Was Not A Cookie.

Good to know.