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action,” squawked Mrs. Grimes. Grandmother
looked concerned.
Mrs. Grimes lurched forward in her
chair, her transformation now a frightening caricature, her
contorted voice rasped, “Action. Action! I’ll give you action.”
Eyes wide, Mrs. Grimes stared at the door. Could she see my face
pressed against the frosted glass panels?
“End it now , please . H e’s up to no good . ” M other’s voice faded into a whisper.
“Ooh! I want to spend a penny,”
added Lilly.
“Gertie, I think we should stop
this now. Come out of the trance,” urged Grandmother. Once again
the clockwork whirled, pulling in more fur. Winston growled, fear
changed to anger, anger turned to action.
Winston’s limbs stiffened, then
silently, with a thump, he lunged forward, breaking from Ted’s
grasp, paws scratching on the door. Lilly screamed , “See, oh Gawd, an ‘orrible face in the
door ! ” Everyone turned to look. Did she
mean me?
The red light crashed to the
floor, making the room darker. It flickered on and off, casting
eerie shadows from its new angle.
In the semi-darkness , Winston, breaking away from Uncle Ted, forced the
door open; his long, sleek, black form, a fast moving blur,
streaked into the dining room and headed for Mrs. Grimes.
The clockwork engine’s horn
activated for the first time, emitting sharp, eerie hoots. Winston
leaped onto Mrs. Grimes and licked her face. In panic , she snapped out of her trance crying, “Aaah! Oh my
Lord ! Bealzebub’s among us ! He has materialized!” Shrieks and yells filled the
darkness, chairs tipped, and crockery crashed.
My last view of these events
was of Grandfather, arms extended, face illuminated by a dull red
flickering glow, calling out, “Jesus Christ. Why? Why me , Lord? What have I done to offend you?” He looked
upwards. “Jesus, what did I do to deserve this?” The palms of his
hands were open and facing the heavens. Were they waiting for nails
to be hammered through ? Was he waiting
for the crucifixion?
Uncle Ted and I fled via the
stairs to the box room, hoping to avoid detection.
“Quick, let’s play with the
train set and pretend that we know nothing.” A great idea, but we
lacked one important item : the
engine.
Poor Uncle Ted . He was in serious trouble. Later , the whole household heard Grandfather, who refused
to listen to Ted’s explanation of what happened, loudly lecture him
on the honourable treatment of household guests.
~~~***~~~
Tim’s Dinner
Phil Yeats
Many years ago, a new
family with two young children and two cats moved in next to us.
Tim, the older of the cats, was a large ginger tom with a confident
air, tattered ears, and other battle scars that showed he was a
force to reckon with. He quickly asserted ownership of our house
and yard, and began periodic visits of inspection. He would sit
outside the patio door leading from our kitchen to the back deck,
staring into the house. If we didn’t open the door quickly enough,
he would scratch on the glass to get our attention. After a
greeting that seemed more like a scolding if we didn’t let him in
promptly, he would do his inspection before leaping onto one of our
living room chairs for an afternoon nap. Around dinnertime, he
would sit meowing by one of the doors until someone let him
out.
These visits occurred
two or three times a week for almost five years, from the time he
arrived in the neighbourhood until shortly before he died at the
ripe old age of 18.One day, about six months before he died, Tim
came as usual for a visit. Climbing the stairs onto the back deck
had become difficult for him, and his inspections were now
curtailed. He no longer went to check out the basement, and only
wandered through two or three of the main floor rooms before
settling down in his favourite chair. Climbing onto the chair, only
15 inches above the carpet, had become a struggle for the arthritic
old cat. On this particular day, he slept in his chair for several
hours. None of
looked concerned.
Mrs. Grimes lurched forward in her
chair, her transformation now a frightening caricature, her
contorted voice rasped, “Action. Action! I’ll give you action.”
Eyes wide, Mrs. Grimes stared at the door. Could she see my face
pressed against the frosted glass panels?
“End it now , please . H e’s up to no good . ” M other’s voice faded into a whisper.
“Ooh! I want to spend a penny,”
added Lilly.
“Gertie, I think we should stop
this now. Come out of the trance,” urged Grandmother. Once again
the clockwork whirled, pulling in more fur. Winston growled, fear
changed to anger, anger turned to action.
Winston’s limbs stiffened, then
silently, with a thump, he lunged forward, breaking from Ted’s
grasp, paws scratching on the door. Lilly screamed , “See, oh Gawd, an ‘orrible face in the
door ! ” Everyone turned to look. Did she
mean me?
The red light crashed to the
floor, making the room darker. It flickered on and off, casting
eerie shadows from its new angle.
In the semi-darkness , Winston, breaking away from Uncle Ted, forced the
door open; his long, sleek, black form, a fast moving blur,
streaked into the dining room and headed for Mrs. Grimes.
The clockwork engine’s horn
activated for the first time, emitting sharp, eerie hoots. Winston
leaped onto Mrs. Grimes and licked her face. In panic , she snapped out of her trance crying, “Aaah! Oh my
Lord ! Bealzebub’s among us ! He has materialized!” Shrieks and yells filled the
darkness, chairs tipped, and crockery crashed.
My last view of these events
was of Grandfather, arms extended, face illuminated by a dull red
flickering glow, calling out, “Jesus Christ. Why? Why me , Lord? What have I done to offend you?” He looked
upwards. “Jesus, what did I do to deserve this?” The palms of his
hands were open and facing the heavens. Were they waiting for nails
to be hammered through ? Was he waiting
for the crucifixion?
Uncle Ted and I fled via the
stairs to the box room, hoping to avoid detection.
“Quick, let’s play with the
train set and pretend that we know nothing.” A great idea, but we
lacked one important item : the
engine.
Poor Uncle Ted . He was in serious trouble. Later , the whole household heard Grandfather, who refused
to listen to Ted’s explanation of what happened, loudly lecture him
on the honourable treatment of household guests.
~~~***~~~
Tim’s Dinner
Phil Yeats
Many years ago, a new
family with two young children and two cats moved in next to us.
Tim, the older of the cats, was a large ginger tom with a confident
air, tattered ears, and other battle scars that showed he was a
force to reckon with. He quickly asserted ownership of our house
and yard, and began periodic visits of inspection. He would sit
outside the patio door leading from our kitchen to the back deck,
staring into the house. If we didn’t open the door quickly enough,
he would scratch on the glass to get our attention. After a
greeting that seemed more like a scolding if we didn’t let him in
promptly, he would do his inspection before leaping onto one of our
living room chairs for an afternoon nap. Around dinnertime, he
would sit meowing by one of the doors until someone let him
out.
These visits occurred
two or three times a week for almost five years, from the time he
arrived in the neighbourhood until shortly before he died at the
ripe old age of 18.One day, about six months before he died, Tim
came as usual for a visit. Climbing the stairs onto the back deck
had become difficult for him, and his inspections were now
curtailed. He no longer went to check out the basement, and only
wandered through two or three of the main floor rooms before
settling down in his favourite chair. Climbing onto the chair, only
15 inches above the carpet, had become a struggle for the arthritic
old cat. On this particular day, he slept in his chair for several
hours. None of
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