|RK fancies spring
flowers and beginnings
By Mary K.
|When the weather gets a
little warmer, though I know its just temporary, my cat
body comes alive a' makin' me want to run up trees an
stuff. The old woman will come outside with her diggin
clothes on to tend to all them old bulbs, heirlooms she
calls em, that was moved here from Monroe over fifty
years ago. I run around from tree to tree before settlin
in under her feet to supervise the job.
I like the smell of the jonquils, and roll around in them try'n to get some of their smell onto my long hair. The old woman bumps me to the side with her hoe a talkin the entire time bout how these flowers belong to the Narcissi family. The name Narcissus she says is taken from that of a youth in Greek mythology that is said to have changed into the flower. I most often don't catch the old woman a lie'n but does she really spect me to believe that!
She's also a tellin me all the time to stay out from under her feet. "If I fall and break somethin," she says, " do you think they would let you stay in the old folks home with me!" Reckon not, I thinks, but then I remember that I was a lookin for a home when I found this un.
Thinkin back, I wonder if I could be a hairloom. That book the old woman is always lookin at says that a hairloom is any treasured possession handed down from generation to generation. Now I don't know if whoever dumped me out by the old woman's house treasured me or not. Tracin my geneology as far back as I can find, my first trip to the vet, I was born January 1, 2008. My first name was Fluff, I guess because of all my long yeller hair. It was later changed to RK, for Rat Killer, but I already told that story.
The old woman says that the only way I can to find my ancesters is to go way way back in Wikipedia. The only other possibility is for whoever dumped me is to 'fess up and that ain't gonna happen. The website was where I learned that I am descended from Cymric Manx; a longhaired breed prized as skilled hunters. I don't know where them flower bulbs come from originally but whoever researched this story says that my grands from way back come from the Isle of Man in the British Isles. They was a preferred ship's cat breed so that means my ancesters had to cross over a lot of water to get me where I am today. Maybe that's why I hate it when the old woman undertakes to bathe me.
I always wondered why my tail is short while my neighbor cats have long graceful tails that they wave around in the air to make me self-conscious about mine. I felt better about my genealogy and all when I learned that my breed goes all the way back to Noah. The biblical Noah closed the door of the Ark when it began to rain, and accidentally cut off the tail of the Manx cat who had almost been left behind.