Yes I know...its *only* a cat

The story of Jethro:

It was a brutally cold -24C day, January 12th 2003 when this little ball of blonde fur was huddled on our doorstep. I opened the door to see this little shaking face staring up at me with those bright green eyes. It had been exactly one month to the day that my mother had passed away. Due to the fact that Mum always said she would come back as a cat, I took this first encounter as a sign.

To say our 7 year old cat Emmy was miffed was an understatement. All of a sudden she was sharing a home with this extremely famished, bundle of energy. We pondered taking ‘it’ to the Humane Society, as no one on our street knew where ’it’ came from. Someone mentioned that the teenager next door to us had brought it home from a party but his Mom wouldn’t let him keep it. Dealing with grief plus trying to maintain some sort of normalcy after loosing a parent, I didn’t think I would have time to train a kitten. After much convincing from the hubby, son and friends, I decided to keep the little scamp. After all, my Mom was a blonde too. So after naming *her* Mae (Mom’s middle name) I thought I better make a trip to our local vet to get her checked out. Our local Vet knew my Mom and was tearing up as I told the tale of how my Mom wanted to return as a feline. Everyone in our Village knew my mother as she was our local council representative in the newly formed Loyalist Township. The vet didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when he informed us that we need to change this kitty’s name as she was a he !! Once we got him back home and he dove for the food, bowling over our other cat, we both looked at each other decided “Jethro” was his name. As in the man-child on the Beverly hillbillies who never stops eating. The name stuck.

As our cats were always indoors, they were quite excited when we moved to our lakefront house in June 2007 & Billy built them a huge glassed in deck! The original intention was for our viewing pleasure however I am convinced the cats thought it was their oversized playground.

Imagine my surprise when Jethro dragged a small field mouse up the stairs and deposited it at my feet early one morning. Number one, how did it get in the basement…and secondly, how the heck did he catch it? He had never been outside long enough to learn the ropes of catching wildlife? I captured the mouse and threw it over the deck. He was so upset that I wouldn’t allow him the pleasure of mauling it to death.

Billy ended up putting a cat door in our front aluminum door that leads to the deck. Just so that the cats could let themselves in and out when we were home. Unfortunately this great idea backfired when the big guy took a hankering to dragging in June Bugs, giant moths and dragonflies. Just because he felt he needed to show us his new friends. Once again he surprised me last summer when he brought in a baby bird. My only justification of this capture was that the bird flew into our bedroom window, bounced back and landed in his open mouth, as he was yawning.

Last summer we made a trip to Lowes in Belleville to find a chaise lounge for me. This ended up in the purchase of his and her lawn chairs. The ‘his and her’ was intended for Mr and Mrs Christmas, however, Jethro thought that we bought them for him. He happily held down a chair every day.

Since I was a young child I have always had a cat in my life. My mother loved cats and we always had a house full of them. Cats, like dogs give love unconditionally. They comfort you when you are sad and lift your spirits when they greet you at the door every night. Whenever I pulled in the driveway, Billy would shout “Mommy’s home” and he would always run to greet me.

This cat meant so much to me. When he fell asleep in my arms on Friday morning, I felt like I was loosing my mother all over again.

Billy built a casket for the big fellah. We buried him with his favourite brush and his stuffed dragonfly.

RIP Jethro. We will meet again on the Rainbow Bridge.

Living in a box

For some strange reason, today appears to be a time of self-reflection.

Recently I happened upon an occasion where I had to think outside the box. Yes, outside the walls of my desk!! Anyone who has worked in a call centre, knows exactly what I mean. For so many years my working hours have been spent in front of a monitor, or two. Always following protocol, abiding by call times and following a very strict schedule. In this environment, it is oftentimes hard to think any other way but what you have been conditioned to.

Considering that short of a 12 month stint at an Amherstview apartment complex in 1980, I have always lived at the same postal code. My address always been the same 6 digits: k0h1g0. In fact, Canadian postal codes weren't implemented till I was 11! (cripes, I am older than postal codes) I marred a man who grew up less than 2 miles from my childhood residence. Looking back, I am somewhat embarrassed to say I still spend every weekend with the people I have known since childhood. I did not roam far from home.

Many times I am tempted to start writing about the unique bond I have with these people. It would take ages to organize, and I am unsure if anyone would be interested in reading about our lives, besides ourselves. Keep that thought for the mental bucket list I guess.

Getting back to the original subject of this blog, thinking outside of the box. Why do I find this so hard? My father’s family have constantly steered from the norm by creating jobs that suited their personalities. My great-grandfather, on my fathers side was a gardener. He was paid for working in the gardens at Casa Loma. How sweet is that? His son, my Grandfather Les Beazer lived at Casa Loma with his family between 1941-1948. They had the good fortune of becoming the care-takers there. Imagine growing up in a castle in the middle of the city of Toronto in the 1940’s? My grandparents later started up a flower stall at the St Lawrence Market in Toronto. My father and my aunt Bella also followed into the flower-peddler path of life. They were paid for doing what they loved. Life has changed.

And I digress …

Being a child of the 60’s, I was raised in the catholic school system and spent my teen aged years being educated in the fine art of politics. That last sentence makes it sound so much more refined than it was. My parents both believed in volunteering all their free time to work for local candidates in both federal and provincial elections. Both spent years as councilors of the local municipal government of the Village of Bath. I followed along. Abiding by the rules of the almighty Roman Catholic Church, rubbing elbows with the Premier of Ontario and local members of parliament on many social occasions, my life fit into the ‘box’ that my parents created.

Fast forward: I go to college, get a job in my field & get married all in less than two years. The child comes one year & one month after marriage. (for those counting) Then we buy our first house. Still following the life path expected of me. My friends do the same. We work, we raise our children, we exist in the community our parents have helped create for us. Many of us join volunteer organizations and carry on the *good* things our parents have shown us to be worthy of our extra time.

Now at the age of 51 I have been asked to think outside the box that I have lived in. Why do I find this so tough? Is it that I am afraid to veer of the path I believe that I was destined to follow? Is it possible for me to be anything more than a mother/wife/phone-answerer?

Time will tell.

A new job for this old cat !!!

Yes, that's right...I am off to a new job on August 22nd.

Well, its not really a 'new' job, I have worked there before. Two years ago, I was chosen by my employer to work as a Loaned Representative for the 2009 local United Way campaign. Those 14 weeks flew but my memories of the experience remain with me always. Imagine my surprise when I was chosen to do the same thing this year?

I was raised in an environment where caring for others came naturally. It was not taught, it was inherited. My last tour with the United Way made me feel like I was finally in my realm, like I belonged there. It was a very sad day when I left but going back will be a blast.


No doubt this old blog will be used to bore and perhaps educate the few readers I have on the fine art of philanthropy.

I believe that out of all the jobs I have had in my 35+ years of working, *this* is the one where I am best utilized. Just eight more working days and I will be back with the organization I love.