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 The
View From Here
By Katherine Veno
So, I went to the animal shelter...
Since my cat disappeared without a trace, I finally gave in and went to
the Humane Society of Cedar Creek Lake. I was still looking for my big
yellow tiger striped cat, but he was not there. Having already alerted
the animal control of Mabank and Gun Barrel City, and the fire
department and anybody else I saw, I was beginning to believe he might
be gone for good.
Trying to resist all those paws and sad eyes looking at me, I made my
way through the cat room. This is when I first saw Bunny. With huge
green eyes she watched me watching and searching the room. Then she
casually jumped down from her perch and rubbed against my leg. Next she
tried standing up on her hind legs and touching me with her front paws.
“What about this one?” I asked my helper. The cat was not up for
adoption at the time, and if that was the one for me, I would have to
wait for seven days. Discouraged, I began looking at other candidates.
After the weekend, I called the shelter and left word that I was
interested in the black and white cat that had reached out and touched
me. They knew exactly the one and told me the day she would be
available. I called every single day to check in and the cat was still
in quarantine.
At last the week passed, and I put the cat carrier in my Volkswagen
Beetle and zipped over to the shelter. I walked into the office and said
hello to many familiar faces, then made my way to the cat room.
Beautiful cats greeted me from every corner and nook and cranny, but no
sight of the one I had been waiting for.
When I was just about to give up, I felt a soft nudge against the small
of my back. Turning around I gazed into the green eyes and gorgeous face
of Bunny. “Here I am,” she seemed to say. I opened the door to the
carrier and she walked right into it.
After completing the adoption paperwork, we left for my mother’s
apartment. I had not told her where I was going, and after her sitter
departed, I carefully put the cage on the living room floor and opened
the door.
The cat carefully walked out into her new surroundings, but it took only
a minute or two before she made her way to the sofa where my mother was
sitting. Blind eyes may not have seen the cat, but when she felt the
softness of the fur and felt the low rumble of the purr, her eyes flew
open wide and a smile broke across her face.
“Who are you?” my mother inquired. The cat turned and jumped into her
lap. From that moment on, they have spent all day and all night almost
inseparable.
All the medicine in the world, combined with therapy and home nursing
care, have not done what this wonderful creature has done for someone
trapped inside a body that no longer functions like it used to.
Mornings are greeted with a smile and a cuddle, and nighttime is
anticipated with great joy when the two of them go to bed.
As I turned out the bedroom lamp last night, there was mother asleep
with the cat, who appeared as if by magic snuggled up against her feet.
The green eyes followed me out of the room as if to say, “You can go
now, we are safe and content. This is my destiny.”
 Escapades
of Emily
By Emily Gail Lundy
This is my life...
Please, no more weeks as the last one.
Everything is complicated and will get even more so.
In this past week, my spouse drove me to Frisco twice, the first time to
keep a doctor’s appointment at a building above LBJ, on Central. If I
can get this close to my three grandchildren in Frisco, we go for a
short visit. That was Thursday. We returned Friday for Trinidad’s big
game, a midget ball game and homecoming, and a church rummage sale.
Early Sunday morning, we were off to Mabank to pick up a grandson, then
drive to Frisco for a 4-year-old granddaughter’s birthday party at one
of those jump houses, everything possible – slides, basketball courts,
tunnels filled with air. In between was “trick or treat” evening at my
daughter’s house, with bumper-to-bumper pickups and cars stopping for
candy. Most of the family sat outside. My husband wrapped in a sheet and
passed out the treats until everything was gone.
Earlier Thursday in north Dallas, we located a Luby’s where good
vegetables are served. I passed up the salads and meats and chose three
vegetables, tea and a piece of pie. The salad server wanted me to choose
a salad and kept saying, “No salad? You don’t want to get a salad?” I
remained silent.
This server moved down to the meats, which I did not select from either.
When I kept moving, she said, “No meat? You want no meat? And no salad
either?” By now I had a scene around me as I kept my head low, ran to
the vegetables with another server trying to calm the upset one. The
manager came out of the kitchen to see what was happening. He was
followed by the assistant manager. They rolled their eyes and called the
loud server to come to the door.
One remark I heard clearly. “Our patrons can eat what they want.” I felt
awful.
But I get that feeling about once a day. It comes with automated voices
on the phone who have to be costing some companies money, or who are
trying to eliminate older citizens by getting them to the looney bin.
One day, I needed a long distance number; I dialed the code to hear a
non-human say, “City and State?” Maybe I said Houston, Texas, slowly.
Then the robot voice asked, “State?” Almost losing it as this has
happened in similar ways repeatedly, I said “TEXAS.” Many robot speakers
have asked if Texas was a state. Whose number I want is never
understood, and I end up getting the information from someone living.
Later, I needed to call a company for information. Again, another
automatic programmer, this one drumming six choices for convenient
connection. No choice met my needs, but I chose a number anyway thinking
I might get into the system. Another automation setup took over with
five choices that would not help either. When I did not choose, the line
went dead.
Telling this to a friend, I heard her confess, "We’re all getting
paranoid.”
I’ve had a nameless, live caller from jail wanting me to dial another
number, or other people with blood veins wanting donations but refusing
to give out vital information.
I can’t unwrap some purchases because of the iron-clad packaging. Some
city streets change names in the middle of the drive. Don’t ever use the
wrong zip code even for a town of 240 people.
I cannot live without my telephone.
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