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For the storytelling class, I had to tell a story, tell its history, and tell a personal story that related to it. I did King of the Cats, which you’ll find in the previous post. This is the personal story I told:
——
The Secret Lives of Cats

I’ve always wondered what my cats do when I’m not home. Are they just moping around, waiting for me? Or are they plotting to take over the world? A few years ago, my cat Stripe escaped out the back door and didn’t come back for seven days! We searched the neighborhood, and hung Missing Cat signs on all the telephone poles. We searched animal shelters—looking in all the cages for Stripe. Every day, we walked around the block with a can of cat food, calling his name. And finally one morning, he meowed at our bedroom window. We asked him where he was, but he wouldn’t say. And ever since then, Stripe tries to escape… and when he does, he is gone at least a few days. One time he was missing during a hurricane. And when he returns, he never tells us where he has been… one of life’s mysteries is the secret lives of cats!

——

Stripe, pictured in the previous post, was once called the Cat Who Would Be King. However, since we moved to this house, and we’ve limited his outside time (since whenever he goes out, he’ll go out for days), he has gotten kind of soft. In 2006, his left ear blew up with a hematoma and is now a shriveled stump. A few weeks ago, the same thing happened to his right ear. His breath is horribly stinky. He likes to lay on the dining room table, and shake his slobbery mouth all over everything. I was sitting on the couch (a futon), and it STANK of Stripe, so I pulled off the futon cover to wash it. In doing so, I found Lilia’s Phillies hat wedged under the futon mattress– it had has been missing for almost a month! So, Mr. Stripe, although your stinky slobberiness is annoying, I guess it was useful for something! I still love this darn cat!

On a dark October evening, the gravedigger’s wife was sitting by the fire with her big black cat, Old Tom. They were waiting for the gravedigger to come home. They waited and they waited, but still he didn’t come. As the fire grew dimmer, the gravedigger’s wife and Old Tom started nodding off to sleep.

Finally, he came rushing in, and in a wild manner, called out, “Who’s Tom Tildrum?”

Startled, his wife and cat stared at him in fright. “Why, what’s the matter?” said his wife, “and why do you want to know who Tom Tildrum is?”

“Oh, I’ve had such an adventure. I was digging away at old Mr. Fordyce’s grave when I must have fallen asleep. I woke up when I heard a cat’s Meow.”

Old Tom looked up and answered, “Meow!”

“Yes, just like that!” said the gravedigger. “So I looked over the edge of the grave, and what do you think I saw?”

“Now, how could I know?” said the gravedigger’s wife.

“I saw nine black cats, all like our friend Tom here, all with a white spot on their chests.
And they were carrying a small coffin covered with a velvet cloth, and on the cloth was a small gold crown, and they walked like this, one, two three, and at every third step they took they cried all together, Meow — “

“Meow!” said Old Tom again.

“Yes, just like that!” said the gravedigger; “and they came nearer and nearer to me, and their eyes were shining out with a sort of green light. They all came towards me, eight of them carrying the coffin, and the biggest cat of all was walking in front, and he looked for all the world like…”

Suddenly, the gravedigger stopped. “Just look at our Tom, how he’s looking at me. You’d think he knew all I was saying.”

“Never mind Old Tom,” said his wife, “Go on, go on.”

“Well, as I was saying, the nine cats came towards me slowly and solemnly, and at every third step crying all together, Meow –”

“Meow!” said Old Tom again.

“Yes, just like that!” said the gravedigger.

“The came and stood right opposite Mr. Fordyce’s grave, where I was. They all stood still and looked straight at me. I did feel odd, that I did! But look at Old Tom; he’s looking at me just like they did.”

“Never mind Old Tom,” said his wife, “Go on, go on.”

“Where was I?” The gravedigger continued. “Oh yes, There they all stood, looking at me, when the one that wasn’t carrying the coffin came forward. Staring straight at me, he said to me — yes, he said to me, in a squeaky voice, ‘Tell Tom Tildrum that Tim Toldrum’s dead,’ and that’s why I asked you if you knew who Tom Tildrum was, for how can I tell Tom Tildrum that Tim Toldrum’s dead if I don’t know who Tom Tildrum is?”

Just then, his wife screamed out, “Look at Old Tom, look at Old Tom

And he couldn’t help but look, for Tom was swelling and Tom was staring, and at last Tom shrieked out, “What — old Tim dead! Then I, Tom Tildrum, am King of the Cats!”

And Old Tom rushed up the chimney and was never seen again.
————
From:
Galdone, Paul. King of the Cats. New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1980.

Jacobs, Joseph. English Fairy Tales and More English Fairy Tales. Ed. Donald Haase. Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, Inc., 2002.

Shepard, Aaron. King o’ the Cats. New York: Atheneum Books for Young Readers, 2004.

Notes: Joseph Jacobs wrote this English folktale down in 1894. I like the Paul Galdone version best—it’s almost word-for-word the same as the Jacobs’ version, except he changes sexton to gravedigger (probably for definition problems and to make it spookier). It could be used as a picture book read-aloud. Shepard’s version is expanded, and there is a video of him reading it on his website.

Lilia Susan will be one week old tomorrow. She is just the most precious thing ever.
We’ve been home since Thursday, and things are going well… the three of us are learning a lot… for instance, I’ve been able to cut the time it takes to get her arms in her little baby gowns from 10 minutes to about 2 minutes.
I think I’ll be recovering from labor for a few weeks… you’ll understand more when I post my birth story… it almost took longer to stitch me up afterwards then the labor itself… I made it through the whole thing with nothing for pain, but now I’m popping ibuprofen every 6 hours. Plus, I still have the evil itching rash called PUPPPs. I have ordered some PUPPPs relief soap and paid to have it overnighted. I hope I get it tomorrow and I hope it works.
Joe has been wonderful, as usual, taking care of both mom and daughter… not to mention his parents who were here Thursday through Sunday.
He’s just soothed Little Lili to sleep on his chest.
Here’s a picture Joe posted tonight:

I haven’t been up to responding to all the emails, phone calls or comments, but I do very much appreciate them… in fact, I second this post made by Joe.

Well, I think I should be sleeping (if I could stop itching). I’d also like to add that today, March 6, Stripe and Thomas turned 10 years old. Meow.

I was just on the IM with my dad, and he said he found a piece of paper that says he was born at 6:40 PM and was 8 pounds, 14 ounces!! HOLY COW!!! My nana was not even 5 feet tall. She was amazing. She also birthed my Uncle Nicky in an elevator…pretty sure it was the elevator at the hospital, because someone my mom worked with (a nursing supervisor) was in the elevator… So, if Nana could do it, I can do it! Of course, my dad was her what… 10th birth?

I’ve been really lazy today. I’m so itchy and uncomfortable. I’ve done nothing. No laundry, no exercising. Just eating. Maybe when Joe gets home we’ll go for a little icy walk– I hear it’s cold out there! I started to watch The Unbearable Lightness of Being, but I fell asleep during parts, and then turned it off. I saw it a looong time ago, and I read the book more than once I believe, but I can’t remember the plot anymore! I read at least 3 or 4 of those Milan Kundera books and they were all about Prague 1968 and all probably had love and sex in them, so they all blend together! I think I liked Laughable Loves the best, but I can’t be sure… I could re-read them. But I have pregnancy brain.

Joe is starting to tell Mr. Pinky’s story on his LJ. This cat was one of the most amazing cats ever. He just had the best story. The first installment is here. The other cats are bummed out. Thomas has been very needy– he needs cuddling. Blister has been mopey. Stripe at first was really affectionate– he knows he needs to comfort us if we are crying– but since has been kinda mopey too. And Boo is just an oddball… he probably thinks we took Pinky to be boarded– he was asleep through the whole thing.

Tomorrow, I think we are going to make it to Uncle Jorge’s surprise 70th Birthday party!! Unless this babe decides to make a move before then!!

Okay, I have to go get the icepack to put on all my itchies. Help!

I’m just so sad about Pinky. I can’t believe he’s gone.
It happened so fast, and I know that was the best for him, but it’s just so shocking. He had so many near death experiences and survived, I can’t believe he didn’t make it. Sunday, he had some horrible wheezing spells, but nothing he hasn’t had before, and yesterday, he just spent the day laying around. We watched Under the Tuscan Sun together, and he was okay. After Joe got home, he was a little wheezy, and then all of a sudden he just got so terribly wheezy, and peed himself again. I was upstairs, and Joe called me down. I tried to sit with him while Joe was finishing up making a pizza, but it was obvious he was losing it. Drooling, wheezing, stumbling while he was trying to hide. We brought him up to sit in a steam bath, but we both knew that it wasn’t going to help. And just like that, he was gone. It was somewhere between 8 and 8:30. I called the vet’s office, and waited for a call back. We wanted to have him cremated. A tech called back, and even though he was going to leave soon, he stayed and waited for us to get there with Pinky. They loved him there– he was just the most special cat. So calm and cool. We probably could have called the Penn Vet Hospital and had them do an autopsy, only because he was such a special case, and maybe his wheezing fits were related to his tracheal avulsion. But it doesn’t really matter. We’ll get his remains probably in a few weeks. I don’t know what we will do with them. I have Bono’s ashes in the box they were shipped in sitting in my dresser. Oddly, today marks exactly 3 years since Bono passed. Poor Bono suffered so much and lingered so long that last week of his life, I’m glad Pinky didn’t have to suffer like that.
Joe identified some Pinky photos on his gallery site:

http://joedurrance.com/gallery/search.php?searchstring=pinky

And I tagged a few entries that tell some of Pinky’s story:

http://laurushka.livejournal.com/tag/pinky

And Here’s a link to Mr. Pinky’s Movie:

http://laurushka.org/Cats/Pinky.htm

Thank you for all your kind words.