Crazy Summer Days

Summer drips like molasses here.

Everyone is dancing in glue.

Everything takes longer than it should.

Green grass requires gallons of water on a consistent basis.

So do the Hibiscus blooms, the petunias and all manner of green on the beloved back deck.

Air conditioners sing their very expensive songs without ceasing.

Sweat comes easy.

Business slows to the minimalist efforts.

Ice cream melts before it can be eaten.

The sun is blistering.

I LOVE IT!

Sitting on the beloved back deck in black running shorts, I laugh watching the neighbor water her grass because she keeps squirting herself trying to position the sprinkler to the exact right position.

Finally giving up she holds it above her head baptizing herself in coolness, completely unaware I'm watching the grey tank top she's wearing turn translucent becoming one with her pasty white skin.

They're desperately trying to sell the house and return permanently to Philadelphia because it's too damn hot here.

Their dream retirement home turned into Hell on earth.

Everything's fine until Credence Clearwater Revival's traveling band takes a 737 out of the sky causing  my neighbor to jerk her head in the direction of the music and sees me here with Winston, The Little Gay Dog, working on our tans.

She doesn't wave or wish me a good morning as she covers herself to run inside though I do hear her pronounce her opinion of my lineage.

I wave.

A slight ocean breeze kicks up and the squirrels decide it's time to play in the Palm Trees.

"May as well water the flowers," I say out loud and Winston, TLGD, looks at me and shrugs.

"HERE KITT
Y, KITTY, KITTY," my other neighbor screeches and feral cats across Tybee Island awaken.

"Let's go inside and see what Sarah's doing," I say opening the sliding glass door. "It's starting to get crazy out here."

 

Catch Scratch Fever?

It's Friday the 13th under a full moon and a lot of people are scared.

I'm not superstitious so such things do not bother me.

I'll tell what does bother me though.

It's a beautiful morning bathed in sunshine, the slightest ocean breeze, flowers blooming everywhere, salt hangs in the air and the ocean sings in the distance.

I feel as God's given me entry into the Garden of Eden because everything is just perfect!

Then ...

"HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!"

Against my will,  my head slowly turns towards the ghastly orange house beside ours to see her.

Wearing a filthy yellow bath robe, pink bunny slippers and a blue towel piled high on her wet head, she looks like Marge Simpson on meth.

"HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY," she screeches again sounding like fingernails on a chalk board and my golden brown skin crawls as Goddess and Winston, the Little Gay Dog, run inside and hide under the bed.

Gypsy, the formerly gender confused cat, hides in the shower ... which Sarah happens to be in.

Suddenly branches start breaking, clouds appear out of nowhere hiding the sun, and the air fills with the sounds of a hundred feral cats from as far away as Dicky Trotter's boat at the Tybee Marina clawing their way to my next door neighbor ... THE CAT LADY.

My blood curls ... when she adjust her robe and cat hair falls to the ground like dirt from Pigpen on "It's a Charlie Brown Christmas."

"HERE KITTY, KITTY ... oh hey Mike," she screeches, suddenly seeing me here naked on the Beloved Back Deck.

"Good morning Cat Lady," I limply sigh.

Before she can say anything, hundreds of black feral cats cover her like the plague.

I wonder where the Tybee Island Animal Control Para-military squad is?

If Goddess barks ... or Winston, TLGD, wears a black wife beater tee-shirt with pink letters that read, "Why do police officers wear tight clothes and dressy shoes? Doesn't it slow them down chasing crooks?" ... well, Tybee Island Animal Control is at our house with police backup.

But the Cat Lady has conclaves of feral cats moaning and humping her on her back deck and everything's fine because everybody on this island loves freaking feral cats.

Taking this is as a sign from God to get the Hell away from her as quickly as possible, I dart inside and shut the sliding glass doors.

Ted Nugent is singing "Cat Scratch Fever" on the radio and I pause to rethink if I'm superstitious or not.

Halloween Inspiration

It is a perfect day!

A bright sun hangs in a crystal blue sky with the slightest wisps of white stretching out like fingers holding heaven in place.

A lite breeze blows salt air from the ocean and Fran's thousand shades of green shimmy ever so slightly. Birds sing hymns of glory from the branches of palm trees. Squirrels play chase on the wooden fence. Goddess lays at my bare feet as I marvel at the sheer beauty of this day.

It changes in an instant.

"HERE KITTY! KITTY! KITTY!" screeches a horrible voice sounding like long fingernails scraping over a blackboard.


I jump straight up in the deck chair and pee my black running shorts a little. Goddess bolts inside. The birds fly away and the squirrels hide behind trees. Even the white finger like clouds disappear while a black one appears from nowhere blocking the sun.

"HERE KITTY! KITTY! KITTY!" she screeches again as my butt slams back into the chair.

Standing on her deck wearing a dirty pink terry cloth bathrobe, fuzzy yellow slippers with a blue towel wrapped high on her head she looks like Marge Simpson on meth.

A hundred black feral cats respond to her commands as though a gathering of Witches Covens. Her yard is a dark forest, the house is moldy and even the seashells decorating her porch are black. Snakes slither around her carport which is filled with bottles and canisters surely containing ingredients for her potions.

"HERE KITTY, KI ... oh, Good Morning Mike," she hisses.

Where's my freaking Guardian Angel when I need her?

In every life there is darkness. Things go bump in the night. Scary dreams sometimes come true. Hurt slams into hearts and hate eclipses love. People do mean things, others counted on leave and fires are lit to burn out happiness. Cats moan, lightening flashes, thunder rolls and there is hell on earth.

"Morning," I reply trying to not look at her.

"What are you and Sarah doing for Halloween?"

"Hmmmm ... not sure yet," I mumble.

"Me neither," she screeches.

"HERE KITTY! KITTY! KITTY!" and my skin crawls.

Strolling inside Sarah is frantically trying to calm Goddess and Winston, the Little Gay Dog, down from being traumatized.

"Hey," I say ignoring her efforts, "do we have any blue towels? Don't the girls have pink bathrobes?"

"Yes," she answers. "Why?"

"I know what we going to be for Halloween."
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Monday Morning Staff Meeting

The managing partner has a meeting at the other end of Corporate Headquarters and isn't at the staff meeting I've just called to order.

Sitting at the conference table under the umbrella on the Beloved Back deck, I'm taking a moment to collect my thoughts.

To my left is Winston, the little gay dog, in a pink sweater vest that reads, "Closet? What closet?" Wearing sunglasses, he's hyper and wants me to get started because he's got other things to do.

Beside him Goddess is passed out and snores in the chair with empty bags of Doritos littered on the floor. She was here when I arrived, finishing her hourly medical treatment of medicinal marijuana for the glaucoma she swears she has.

At the opposite end of the table is My Guardian Angel who looks terrible, taking long drags off her cigarette followed by sips from a tall boy Pabst Blue Ribbon. She seems distracted and lost in thought. Her white robe is dirty, the blue stole wrinkled, her long black hair hasn't been washed in weeks and hangs limp in her face as she blows halos in the air.

The Cat Lady wears her dingy yellow bath robe with a blue towel wrapped around her head. She looks like Marge Simpson on meth and cat hair falls every time she moves. Smelling like kitty litter, she's looking into her yard smiling at the thirty or so feral cats wandering everywhere. Her buff boyfriend of the week is shaving his chest and legs and keeps winking at her.

On my immediate right is Gypsy, the gender confused cat, obviously wondering why he's here at all. Gypsy normally shies away from most everything because of his paranoid personality disorder. He and Winston, the little gay dog, don't get along and both constantly vie for the managing partner's attention.

"All right," I say, "let's get started."

"Screw you!" my Guardian Angel snaps.

Gypsy darts from the table and runs downstairs causing the Cat Lady to jump up and run after him leaving a blanket of cat hair raining down on us.

Winston, the little gay dog, takes this as a good sign and flashes his evil genius smile while fumbling for nail polish in his man purse.

Startled, Goddess wakes up, yawns and says, "People! Please! Why can't we all just get along?"

"Is there a problem?" I ask.

My Guardian Angel angrily flips me the finger.

"Is everything alright out there?" the managing partner yells from the other end of Corporate Headquarters.

"Yes Dear," I lovingly answer.

The Cat Lady is chasing Gypsy screeching, "HERE KITTY! KITTY! KITTY!"

Goddess rolls another Dobie and Winston, the little gay dog, paints his nails orange ... because the little Son-of-a-bitch (and I mean that literally) knows I hate that color. My Guardian Angel throws another empty beer can in the back yard and another magically appears from nowhere.

I sigh heavily.

It's a Monday," I mutter under my breath.

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Moon Over Monday

Stumbling down the staircase in the pre-dawn light, I sleepily make my way to the outdoor shower. Hot water rains down on me and I stick my toothbrush in my mouth. Choirs of birds sing and the ocean breeze has the Palm Trees dancing. Yesterday's rain is gone though wetness remains.

I hear a door and look upward.

The Cat Lady is standing on her third story deck and is watching me.

She is naked.

I throw up in my mouth a little.

She sees that I am watching her watch me.

Covering her breasts with one arm she turns around exposing a full white moon. It is blinding! On cue several cats start to moan.

I throw up a little bit more.

"Holy Shit!" I say to God who is speechless.

I feel bad for God who is obviously distraught that She created such a massive white moon.

The Cat Lady walks inside her bedroom and assumes position in front of an open window and keeps watching me. She now holds a black feral cat in front of her breast. Cat hair floats around her head like a hallo.

It strikes me that I forgot to grab a towel.

She cuddles the black cat.

I turn the water off.

She continues to watch.

"Oh well," I say, opening the door to stroll naked to the screened in porch.

"Meow," I hear her cat call.

"At least my butt's tanned," I say out loud.

What do you do?

It's a Monday.

Cat Lady Love

Just when I didn't think things could get any worse ...

"HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!" she screeches.

I'm having a glass of wine on the beloved back deck with Winston, the little gay dog, who is wearing a wife beater tee-shirt that says in rainbow colors "Let's get one thing straight! I'm not!" while Goddess is wearing sunglasses after sucking a heavy bag of medicinal marijuana.

The three of us turn and look in the Cat Lady's direction. Three mouth's drop open simultaneously. Each of us throw up a little in our mouth.

She is wearing a bathing suit!

A yellow and purple one piece that looks like its stuffed with sausage. A blue towel is wrapped around her head that's covered with cat hair from the numerous feral felines living with her. Looking like Marge Simpson on meth, she is carrying one end of a Kayak.

The sunglasses drop off Goddess' face as she looks at Winston, the little gay dog, who is looking at me. In unison our eyes move to the other end of the Kayak which is being carried by a sandy hair, sculpted bodied, bronzed skin, man with a dazzling white smile.

Over the past several months, the Cat Lady has moved from living alone with her feral felines to having a parade of hairless bodied, sculpted men with perfect hair and dazzling smiles parade in and out of her house.

We hear their moaning at night in the heat. Low purrs build in sexual tension to loud wails of sweet release. Cat hair flies out of the sliding glass doors of her back deck as do the blue towel and yellow bath robe she usually wears. Afterwards we hear the sounds of licking as they clean themselves up.

This happens with increasing frequency causing Winston, the little gay dog, to run and hide under our bed and lick himself. Goddess rolls another one and gets stoned out of her mind. Sarah and I turn up the television trying to drown out the mating calls.

Her latest "Boy Toy" is flashing his million dollar smile at her as his blue eyes fill with lustful anticipation.

"HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!" she screeches again and a dozen feral felines fall in line behind her as they make their way down the street to the Back River where they will launch the Kayak and God knows what else?

Our three heads shake as though choreographed as they round the corner.

Winston, the little gay dog, points at his shirt with his paws that have red toe nail polish on them.

"We get it," I say for me and Goddess.