The Fable of a Furry Flea

There once was a cat named Flea.  He went about his merry way, day after day into his human’s garden.  There he delighted in the smell among the flowers and vegetables.  He listened to the birds merrily chirp as they flitted about.  The trees always invited him to climb and watch his whole kingdom from above.

One day, sitting on a broad strong limb, Flea lay down to take a long nap.  But he felt annoyed.  Itchy.  On his ear.  On his stomach.  On his leg.  So he started scratching his ear.  Then he nibbled on his stomach.  He chewed on his leg.  There.  Settle in now for a nap.  No!  Not again.  He furiously started his scratching routine again.  Then out popped a tiny little bug from his ear.

“Are you, tiny varmint, the cause of my itching?” asked Flea the Cat.  “Me?  I’m just a tiny thing.  What harm could I possibly do?” replied the little bug.

“Well, you popped off of my fur when I was scratching.  Now I do not feel as itchy.  So it must be you,” cried Flea, and he swatted away the little varmint.  “There!”  Now I can nap in peace.”

Moments later, Flea started to feel itchy again.  He drowsily started scratching his ear.  Then he nibbled on his belly, and then chewed on his leg.  As he started repeating the cycle, out popped another tiny little bug.

“So you must be the buddy of the other tiny varmint causing my itching,” Flea accused the bug.  “Me? I’m just a tiny thing!  What harm could I possibly do?” the little bug replied.

“You are the second little varmint that popped off my fur when I was scratching and now I no longer itch.”  So Flea swatted away the second little varmint.

Not long after dozing off, Flea felt itchy once again.  He started furiously scratching his ear, ferociously nibbling at his stomach, and frantically chewing on his leg.  He started to repeat this ritual when out from his leg popped a third tiny little bug.

“Aha!  You must be the cause of my itching!  You are the third tiny varmint I have caught!” snarled Flea the Cat.  “Me?  I’m just a tiny thing.  What harm could I possibly do?” cried the third little bug.

Flea reflected on the bug’s statement.  “That is the third time I’ve heard that today.  All from tiny little varmints.  And all three of you have lied to me.  You all are the cause of my itching, yet deny you’ve caused me any harm.  Away with you too!”  Flea the Cat exclaimed, as he swatted away the third varmint.

Flea the Cat returned to his attempt to nap on the long broad tree limb.  A neighbor cat named Doggie snuck into the yard and saw Flea up in the tree scratching.

“Hey, what are you doing up there?” shouted Doggie, the neighbor cat. 

Flea opened one eye and replied, “I’m trying to nap.  But I found three nasty little tiny varmints on my fur making me itchy and I swatted each of them away. But I’m itching again.

Doggie laughed.  “What’s so funny?” hissed Flea the Cat, as his eyes widened, now fully awake.

“Well,” replied Doggie, “those little tiny varmints that make you itchy are your namesake--Flea!”  Doggie the neighbor cat laughed even more.

“I’m named after a little tiny itchy-causing varmint?” howled Flea the Cat.

Doggie, still laughing, replied, “Yes you are!  You need your human to help you get rid of those fleas, and change your name.”

Flea contemplated the plight he was in.  He needed a plan.  In the meantime, Doggie the neighbor cat was startled by a canine growling at him, so he ran off, with the canine barking in pursuit.

Later, back in the home for the evening, Flea curled up on his human’s lap.  She was delighted with his company.  But then she saw Flea scratching his ear.  He nipped his belly.  He chewed on his leg.  He started the routine over again.  The human felt itchy as well, and started scratching her arm.

“Oh my!” exclaimed the human.  “Flea has fleas!  He must be cursed by his namesake!  Oh Flea forgive me.  I must help you get rid of these fleas!  And Flea itself.”

Flea the Cat gave his human an angry glare and pawed at her hands with his sharp claws.  He then leapt from her lap, and sat there with his back to her, as if rejecting his human.

“Oh Flea!  Please!” the itchy human cried.  “You misunderstand.  I want to get rid of the fleas in your fur, and get rid of your name, not get rid of you.”  She stood up slowly, reaching out her arms.

Flea meowed softly, then brushed by his human’s ankles.  The human was happy, and declared, “Yes.  Yes you now understand.  From here on I will call you by a different name.  I will call you….CatNip.”

 

And from that day on, CatNip lives a blissful life, with his human.  He is prowling in the garden, smelling wonderful flowers and plants, listening to the delightful chirping birds, climbing sturdy trees, while watching over his kingdom, itch-free.    The End

Moral of the story:                                         

  Be careful what you name someone. 

  It can come back to bite you. 😸                    

               Theresa M 😊

ps - What?  Is there another point that can be made?  

Why yes there is:  

  A house is not a home without a happy cat. 😺 

Sweet Blissful Memories

Sweet memories. Embrace them. Life is hard enough. 🙏🏼❤️🧸🐱 https://t.co/WR7JmPLurv

— Theresa M ☘️⚜️🐱🌲 (@thetreezz) July 23, 2020

A recent tweet put me into a moment of memory bliss.  Why waste time thinking of so many bad things, hardships and hatreds, all the what-if’s and could-haves, when there is so much more to life?  Spend time not on regrets and old wounds, but on good memories.  Why not make yourself feel a bit better this way?

I remember when working in a psychiatric unit, we would have patients who would hallucinate in their dementia.  It was horribly sad to see them stuck in negative “places,” feeling paranoid, confused where they were, not knowing people around them.  I always thought that if I were to ever start getting dementia I hope I won’t experience those unpleasant symptoms.  I’d rather be in a sort of ignorant bliss.

Now I’m not saying that practicing happier memories would affect the outcome of dementia.  But what if it did?  Regardless, pleasant memories can enhance your life for today.  Why not try?    Theresa M

😎🐾🌞⛈🌟⛱🎈🔭🌴😎

Speaking of memories, some of my best               

were as a child visiting my mom's

childhood home.  So I again share

this post, originally from July 8, 2018...

“That Tiny Texas Town”       

(also includes my poem “No Answers”)

   When I was a child I loved visiting relatives out in the country. Way out there. Where highways were distant, houses far apart, and there was only one gas station that doubled as a small grocery store. And one bar (there’s always a bar.) A few abandoned buildings were around which were fun to explore (the town died down after the 1929 crash). I especially loved the old-fashioned cash register still sitting on the counter of an abandoned store.

   And at my uncle’s house (where my mom once lived with their whole family) the attic was a treasure trove - but only part of it admissible - it was dark and scary (no electricity up there!). I’d go through the rooms where sunshine entered, discovering an old telephone (the kind with the oblong speaker you held to your ear, the separate box to talk into). There were writings from another uncle (he went to college, wrote a book, became a civil servant). I wish I’d kept those things. They’re all gone now - so is the house.

   Also in that town was a two-room schoolhouse, with old-fashioned roll-top desks, all facing the chalkboard. It sat there for years - decades - but it too is gone now. To think my mother and uncles and aunts went there. Got their education there. Sat in those rooms, likely longing to be out in the country, in the fields. My mom actually used to pick cotton out there in her youth!

   The old cotton gin was another place to explore in my youth. On weekends when no one was there, my sisters and I would climb up the ladder and dare each other to jump into the bale of cotton below (complete with those hard crisps still sticking onto them). It was a delight to jump onto the softness of cotton, even though we were scratched in the process.

   I always wanted to live there in that tiny Texas town. That was my childhood dream. But it never turned out that way. I still dream of it. Sometimes in my dreams the house is a little different, but family is still alive, the fields still call to me, to run with the local black Labrador who would go through a tank (small ponds) and fully wet come running right towards us only to playfully pass us by, splashing us silly with water! To hear the crunch of walking on gravel roads, finding pieces of flint rock to marvel at the sparkle.

   In studying my ancestry this was a not too distant place that I actually had visited as a child, but very little of it exists now. Even the land my relatives had owned have been sold off. 

   But in my mind, my dreams, I’m there. I’m a part of something from the past that brings me to the here and now. It’s all relative.         Theresa M.

********************************************

                   “No Answers”

There I sat on the old school’s steps--

   gazing past weeds and bugs

      and hazy air,

Towards the low sun making its way to rest--

   that day.

A part of my mother’s past, sitting quietly behind me

   in a one-room school

With oak-wooden desks and a chalkboard erased

   over and over,

Filled with lessons still echoing--

   repeated till one learned enough

      in there.

Getting up from the steps I take another look

   behind me through

   the old paned windows

That let children just like my mom

   see the weeds and fields and life

      out here.

While numbers, words, dates, times and nursery rhymes

   all vied for attention from

   youth so eager to come live

      out there.

Now through the glare and tint of evening’s colors

   I see the empty chairs;

   desks drawn closed;

Words in white smeared over the

   answerless slates.

The children gone,                                       

📷 Robert Madden, 1979

 now adults somewhere someplace,      

   where weeds grow tall

   across fields of endless space.

   Life as it was

      in there

   Left more lessons to learn

      out here

   repeated and repeated,

   before being permanently

      erased. 

Theresa M.

The Summer of Bummer

It’s summer!  Time to be outdoors, in the sun, swimming, playing, tanning.  All of it can be done safely if only people choose to be aware and care.  Yeah, I know.  Some people just don’t give a hoot.  Here we all are still in the midst of a pandemic.  We never even got over the so-called first wave, we’ve just been surfing onto higher ones (no pun intended).

📷 AnnaliseArt on  pixabay

We just cannot make people care.  We can’t do it.  We can only do our best by doing our part, setting examples for others (you know children are watching all of this) and hope to bring awareness to more people.      

If you have a backyard, good for you.  Maybe you don’t have a pool but you can get a baby pool.  Have silly fun!  Splash around with the dog and kids, or partner.  Try water hoses, water pistols!  Cook out.  Go further from home, take a drive to a forest, a park, somewhere out there.  Just be ready to be safe around other people.  No matter where you go, some idiot is bound to be refusing to wear a mask.  Pfft!  Get away from them and live your life.  Don’t let stupid, uncaring people make your summer a bummer.  Be aware and care.     Theresa M       

Bear splashing in backyard tub  on youtube

                                        😷😷😷😷😷😷

To all who have lost their jobs during this covid crisis, hang in there.  You can get through this.  To those who lost loved ones, we are saddened for your loss.  Prayers for all, and hope you find the strength, love and support you need.  God bless.  💙🙏💞🕊TM

                              👒👣💐🌞🌠🌅🌼🍉🐾🌴🏊🎆

To lighten your heart, here is a previous post of mine about summertime memories.

Please enjoy.  😊

 

                              Weather - It Is Summer 

                               (prev posted July 15, 2018)

 Hot, hazy summer days are here. Some people revel in them, swimming, beaching, cookouts, just being outside. Some dread them, sweating, difficulty breathing, lack of energy. Hard to control that climate!

   As a kid I belonged to the first group. Maybe I liked it mostly because school was out. To be outdoors was pleasant. But without shoes or only sandals, ouch! Those sticker burrs were everywhere! I must have removed thousands from my feet.  Ah, but the simple pleasures of childhood!

   We moved around a lot when I was young. Some places did have big backyards (or maybe they seemed big to little me!) One place had different fruit trees - I remember apple, peach, and what I didn’t know then but do now as pomegranate. (Didn’t like it then, and don’t like it now). There was also a small stretch of trees which I called a jungle. I’d pretend I was on an expedition of sorts. Near there was a rotted-out tree trunk. I dug and dug and made a pit to hide in. Actually the dirt was cool - nice break on a hot summer day.

   Another place we lived had a shed with an evergreen tree next to it. I loved climbing the tree to get on top of the shed. I felt like I could see so much around me. But alas, too hot!

   Then there was the duplex house across the street from a local park. This backyard had huge trees and we got to have a swing - wow! The simple joys of life - I loved that swing. But going across the street to the park was great fun too. My sisters and I would venture all over the park. There were fountains everywhere. We weren’t supposed to but of course we did splash around in them to cool off. I didn’t like going to the pool, as a bully once dunked me in water - I thought I would drown.  Water hoses were more fun!

   The park was a respite from life. But not near as wonderful as being out in the country (I wrote about this in “That Tiny Texas Town.”) Freedom to run in the fields, bluebonnets everywhere, tanks (small ponds) to explore, endless gravel roads. And quiet, except for nature - birds, frogs, cicadas, crickets.  And beautiful fireflies at night!  I find those sounds and sights soothing, unlike the city life noise.

   Now I dream. Today the hot, humid days of summer are to be endured. I could turn on the air-conditioner (I do if above 90+) but it’s costly. I do feel fatigued. Plenty of water, fans of course. There were places I worked before that were so dreadfully hot - never did understand why those companies couldn’t get their climate under control.

   But at least we can appreciate that seasons change. Fall is my favorite, so there is something to look forward to. All through life we need to have this: Hope, Anticipation.  Things change, we adjust our behaviors to accept life as it happens.

   At least I can still hear the birds singing, and soon the night will bring the crickets and tree frogs chirping, and fireflies glowing, leaving me feeling peaceful. No matter what the weather. 

           Theresa M