Category: Narrative

Cat Tales 21


I’ve been haunting the tadpole pond for weeks now. Every morning I sit on it in my favorite spot. As the palm fronds have become more pliable through soaking in the water, I’ve been able to wedge a couple of the leaflets aside. To see better.

I stare at the water, at the little blobs wriggling in a ceaseless dance from the top of the water to take a breath, and down again to the bottom of the pond where to hide in the muck down there.

Every so often, I admit, I forget that I’m sitting there merely to look. To study. To enjoy. I stick my paw in. Did you know that I’m right-pawed? Bet you didn’t know cats have a dominant front paw? Hope you were distracted and didn’t see me hook out a slow swimmer? I’ve caught quite a few already. They make a tasty little snack. I guess that egret knows what is what, after all.

But seriously, I’m helping to freshen up the gene pool. I’m helping to breed faster frog tadpoles.
The pernickety old woman caught me at it. Was she upset?
Ropeable, is the word. Like smoke came out of her ears. She’s banished me.

I’m at a loss what to do now. The deck is so boring when you know there’s all that activity going on in the pond. I should just run over there when she isn’t looking, hop up onto the coaming and pretend to be a statue.

Obviously that didn’t work. The pernickety old woman carried me back to the house and shut me in the sun-room while she’s gone to meet friends. Even lounging illegally on the red chair gives me no satisfaction.

I know that when she comes home and sees me on it, she’ll lift me up and drape a towel over the seat. She says it’s so I don’t shed black and white hairs over the furniture.


I don’t believe her. I think she does it to get a cranky look on my face that she’ll take a photo of. She doesn’t have a proper cranky expression yet in her collection, she says. I might’ve mentioned that couple in Japan who said cats can pull 257 different faces? The pernickety old woman and her friends are collecting cat expressions.

Bosley’s Builders, 10

10. Drew is Blue

Dan decided Wendy should drive, Jackie next to her in the cab. He’d ride in the back, ready to jump out should a bit of shovel work be needed.

“I don’t mind,” Wendy said. “All this rain we’ve been having probably livened up the mud a bit.”

“Hey there! That’s Drew’s van in the track!” Dan said. “Wait here, ladies. I’ll go warn him that we’re coming by!”

“That van looks like it’s stuck in the mud,” Jackie said. “I know the feeling well.”

Wendy slid from the driver’s seat. “He’s going to need help.” She rounded the front of the truck. “We don’t have your winch do we, Dan?”

“Does look like a winch job, Drew,” Dan said, agreeing with her.

“What?! You’ll pull me all the way to the site?” Drew said aggrieved. “I’m doing just fine. I got this far!”

“You need a four-wheel drive,” Dan said.

“We churned the track up plenty coming this far,” Jackie said.

“You need friends,” Wendy said. “I don’t agree that you should get pulled all the way to the site.”

“Then what?” Drew said. “You’ll recall I’m still sleeping on a swag in a dinghy?”

“Yep. My plan will get you up off the ground,” Wendy said.

All three looked at her.

“Okay no, let’s take a step back. Dan, you fetch the winch. With Jackie out of his face, Jed will probably help you install. Jackie, you make us all a cuppa.” She looked at Drew. “You still got the fixings?”

“Yeah. Sure. Go ahead.” He set his shovel aside. “Much as I’d like to toss it.”

Wendy laughed. “Be my guest. Only be prepared to fetch it back. In my experience, winching will need a ton of shovel-work as well, only faster.”

“Why I never asked. I like the slow way, you know? So what will I be doing?” Drew said suspiciously.

“You mean what will we be doing?” Wendy said. “You and me? Having a chat without the usual interruptions?”

“A serious life changing chat?” Drew said lightly.

“Yes,” Wendy said. “You probably can call it that.”

“Go weed the island?” he pointed.

She chuckled. “Here. Have some seedlings. We’ll start planting the island while we talk.”

At the end of their ‘little’ talk, Drew smiled and laughed while Wendy and Jackie and he drank their coffee, waiting for Dan.

“I hear him,” Jackie said. “Quick. I can just rinse these mugs.”

Dan arrived without the winch. “Boss said they couldn’t miss it. I’ve got a tow rope. It’ll be good, don’t worry.” He started knotting it at the front of the van.

“Not here!” Drew said. “We need it at the back. Need you to drag this thing out backwards.” He smacked the back of the van like he smacked a beast on its rump. “It’s goodbye and good times had while we were together.”

Dan shook his head. “What’s got into him?”

“I don’t know,” Jackie said.

Wendy just grinned.

Right. Bit of Wendy magic. Don’t break the spell! Dan concentrated on towing Drew’s van back to the roadside lay-over where Drew had camped for so long.

Lego: Bosley’s Builders 9

Jackie’s Grief

Jed, Dan and Tim loaded cover-plates onto the trailer, from wherever they were stored.

Wendy drove the tractor and trailer to and fro the places where the plates were to be installed.

Dan pushed the plates across the trailer to clatter to the ground. From where Tim and Jed dragged them into place and then tamped the plates to fix them to the foundations.

When she was done with the fetching, Wendy went to hide in her hut, to try not to hear the clattering and Jed’s constant commands. Who said we need him to order us around? Before we had him, we’ve always worked well together. Bosley had no complaints.
 
This was her last day before needing to go off-site to her paying job, and she had to listen to Jed harrying them all so he could make a good impression? What is it with the guy? I really don’t enjoy being here when Bosley isn’t here too. Wonder if Bos even knows how I feel?
 
Oh no. She heard Jed decide they might as well start building the store’s rear wall. She heard Dan and Tim drag a white beam over the studs. Rattle-rattle. Are they fools, she thought. Bos as good as said the foundations had to settle before the walls were begun.
 
Even Dan was taken in, and that after his upset over Jed’s selfish attitude. I can’t stand it. I’m going to have word with Dan. Find out what he really thinks. I’ll be very disappointed if … she opened her door and beckoned Dan.
 
Trish drew Jackie away with her. “What say we build a bridge from the roof of your cabin to my garden?”

Jackie smiled tremulously. “Will we be able to fence my roof too?”
 
“I don’t know,” Trish said. “We’ll have a look at the materials situation.”
 
After they did that, and found not enough panels to fence Jackie’s roof, Jackie seemed to fade and Trish couldn’t think of anything more to say. She did a lot of thinking, however, while they moved planks from the ground floor to the upper walkway, and from there to the roof, and then lay the planks across.

She reflected on Jackie’s moods as they showed in Jackie’s demeanor since Jed and Jackie arrived. Jackie happy and smiling while building and installing the cabin. Like she had an expectation. Jackie glum and sad since the night that had Jed marauding around for half of it getting his crane safe.
 
OK, so maybe they quarreled. It’s not my job to convince them to kiss and make up. Wonder what Nin Wiz heard? He’s totally taken against Jed. Enough to make anyone suspicious. Is there time for a coffee break with Tim, and possibly Nin before I ask Jackie? Should I?
 
“You know,” Trish said at the end of the job. “I haven’t even seen how you’ve fixed the inside of your cabin.”
 
Jackie burst into tears.
 
 As if you didn’t know that was on the cards, Trish roused at herself. “Changed my mind. Come into my cabin for a break? Tim fixed our coffee machine.”
 
When she saw Wendy crossing from where she’d had a word with Dan, Trish beckoned her over too.
 
“Smells like you fixed the coffee machine?” Wendy said as she followed Trish into Trish’s cabin.
 
“I thought Jackie might like to tell us her problem over a coffee,” Trish said, passing them a steaming mug each. “Maybe we can help?”
 
Jackie suddenly sobbed. “I miss our baby so much!”
 
Trish and Wendy exchanged glances and Wendy squashed in on Jackie’s other side on the bed. She hugged her arm over Jackie’s shoulder. “You and Jed have a baby? Boy or girl? How old?”
 
“B-b-boy,” Jackie said. “Joey. He’s six months old and Jed said to leave him at Jed’s mother’s, and she said a building site is never going to be place for a kiddie. And Jed said that you-all just wanted workers. That you wouldn’t want us if you knew we had a baby!” She cried aloud now. “Hu-hu-hu!”
 
“What’s up?” Tim said from the door. “I came because I smelled the coffee?” He sidled in and shut the door.
 
Trish and Wendy filled him in. Wendy fierce. “I knew there’s something off about that man!”
 
“Jed is half-right,” Tim said reasonably. “Bosley’s does want workers. Don’t we?”
 
“Nobody has ever said anything about us not liking babies,” Trish said. “Or wanting to have kids around,” she said with a dark look that had Tim blushing.
 
“It’s never come up yet. Or has it?” he said, asking Wendy.
 
“Has not come up,” she said grudgingly. “Although mothers and babies are my bread and butter, the subject has not come up. In fact, I think sometimes people here ignore what life is really about …”
 
Tim interrupted. “Dan told me just now that tomorrow he’ll be driving you to your paying job?”
 
“Yes. He is,” Wendy said. “Don’t mind me getting onto my hobby horse,” she said tartly. “I’ll be doing a three-months mid-wife locum stint at the Town Clinic. Why don’t you come with me, Jackie? You and Joey can bunk with me in my accommodation. I have a large room.”
 
“That’s a great idea,” Trish said. “By the time you come back we’re bound to have progressed quite a lot. I’ll make sure that you have a fenced yard. Tim, can you bunk with Nin tonight?”
 
“Hardly,” Tim said. “Not enough room at Nin’s to swing a cat.”
 
“Nope,” Wendy said. “I’ll bunk with Jackie. Jed can sleep in his beloved truck. You want to let Jed know or will I?”
 
“You should, Wendy,” Trish said. “Time Jed discovered who is in charge when Bos or Drew aren’t here. You and me,” she said at Tim. She pointed at the ceiling. “Upstairs. Bring our coffees?”

Cat Tales 18

When it rained lots and lots, and it was close to summer, the pernickety old woman ran around putting buckets in the backyard to catch rainwater. Even when it stopped raining, she left them standing where they were.

Even as the Hand-of-God, I was mystified as I went round smelling at them. Just rainwater, half a bucket full, that I couldn’t reach to drink. What were they for? Couldn’t be for animals to drink from. I just proved that.

When the buckets were about half-full of rainwater, the pernickety old woman dipped her hand in the frog pond, scooped up a handful of azolla water weed and carried it dripping to the buckets and dripped a bit of the weed in each.

I think there were five buckets. The stuff grew like—well, a weed—and soon all the buckets had an island of green floating in them.

That evening, a clap of thunder! I raced for my favorite hiding place in the bottom of the bookshelves. Another thunderstorm. More rain.


The pernickety old woman loved a good thunderstorm. She stood laughing in the open laundry door, only slightly sheltered. “Smell the petrichor?” she said.

When the storm faded away, and the rain fell only mistily, the down-pipes from the roof started to boom. Or maybe call it a belling. A loud insistent kind of ringing echoed from ours, and all the ones in the neighboring yards on both sides. A racket!

“That’s them,” the pernickety old woman said. “The green tree frogs. The rain woke them, flushed the leaves from their hidey holes, and they’re sitting there—each under his own pipe—calling loud enough to bring any green tree frog female happening to be about.” She laughed.

Ah, I thought. They sit under the down-pipes to have their calling amplified. Smart. I miaowed and joined my human at the laundry door.

“Tomorrow we shall see what we’ll see,” she said. “The buckets will be in all night demand, I’m thinking.”

It was a dark night. I didn’t see a thing peering through the glass doors in the sun-room. I was so curious by the first morning light, I scratched at the pernickety old woman’s bedroom door. She didn’t let me sleep with her for this very reason. She being a night owl and I preferring to be up at the crack of dawn. All I heard was a groan. I think she meant for me to go away.

I did. For about five minutes. Scratched at the bedroom door again. “Fine!” I heard from the bed. Then it creaking.

The pernickety old woman grumbled from near the wardrobe. I understood her to be clothing herself. Humans are so bereft without fur. I skipped back to my position at the glass doors.

My human came bleary-eyed from the bedroom. Dressed in her usual long pants, cotton shirt and kimono loose over the top. She yawned. “Let me put on a pot of tea first.”

“Miaaoow!” Let’s go see outside first, that meant.

“Might as well, I suppose. Water won’t boil for a bit. Beautiful sunrise, all said and done. Wait till I grab my camera.”

She walked. I pranced to the first bucket. We peered into it. “Ah ha,” my human said. “I think we have a jackpot. Look at that! I think a whole clutch. Green tree frog spawn for sure.”

Lodestar, Notes for Part III

For the purposes of ordering book covers at the same time for all three parts of Lodestar, I’m continuing with this part of the saga. Viewpoint characters will be Ahni and Srese and the implant by way of both Srese’s and Kes’s life-suits.

(For those following Kestrel–you know who you are–don’t worry.)

Some of the materials I’m rewriting have been ‘on the back-burner’ and ‘under the bed’ for more than ten years and have dated somewhat. This is a definite risk where science fiction is concerned.

Lol ‘under the bed’ is where we writers kept our manuscripts in the pre-computer days, when everything had to be either hand-written or typed or both. We kept our first drafts in grocery boxes under the bed between edits, and we stored our non-viable manuscripts under there for when we’d need to mine them—pick and shovel style—for anything useful.

‘On the back-burner’ was a rotation strategy when we happened to be writing two or three novels at the same time. This was never recommended, but a rule often broken, from what I heard. We’d have a metaphoric stove going, with front and back burners. We’d keep one or two works stewing on the rear hot-plates while the one we were working on was being stirred on a front burner.

‘Burner’ will no doubt be remaindered when we all change over to 100 percent electricity.

My favorite metaphor for the writing process is the composting one. This refers to the idea that all the notes and scraps of paper living on a writer’s desk, her study floor, the front and back pages of printed books, her handbag, my pants pockets, gardening shirt and every other flat surface or container are collected.

The next step is to layer them, perhaps in proposed chapters, and arrange them in strategic places around my chair in the study nook for subsequent inputting. Overnight—because I’d always be called away to deal with this or that household crisis—things melded in a mysterious composting process such as happens on a forest floor, resulting ‘magically’ in meaning and order.

This time, however, I’ll be incorporating new ideas and updating old materials. I’ll be repairing bridges, writing stealthy byways, and designing new camel-ways. No magic other than sere insights.

I see I’ll have to adopt some kind of engineering metaphor to take care of all that road-building.

Hope to have you along.

Lodestar 40, Kes and Ahni

A big one today. Well, big in events and emotions. I’m positioning this as the final chapter in the second installment. I’m undecided about Part III.

It can either be Sard’s story, The Remaindered Avatar, posted already as far as it goes, but needing me to write a finale.

Or I can break new ground with Srese’s ongoing story? With Srese as the viewpoint character in this installment, Kes and Ahni continue their lives in the background with every so often a spot-lit action.

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