Not My Cat in a Springtime Garden - Episode 50

A kitten was left in our garden many years ago.  Since then, he has a comfortable forever home but he spends many days wandering through the flowers and along the paths just like Susanne on a Spring day.  Find out how that turns out on this week's episode. 

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Transcript

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Welcome to the Happy to Be Canadian Podcast. I'm Suzanne Spence Wilkins, a writer who lives in rural southwestern Ontario, Canada. Each week I share an original, very short story that will have you laughing and reflecting on the simple moments of our lives. Now, on to today's episode. Happy to be Canadian, episode 50. Awakening in the Garden. The new growth of daffodils peeking out of the soil and the fledgling flowers of the Helioborus unfurling towards the sky are such cliches that I bear much pain to write about them. But while they are overused metaphors, there can be no denying that their beauty and freshness breaks open the newness of each spring. As we christen this new season with warm days and frost creating nights, it's easy to get swept up in its energy. This afternoon, for instance, I took a walk in my garden. My mind was fogged over with business challenges and stumbling blocks. I knew that a few minutes under the blue sky would help. So for the first time this year, I walked outside in my shirt sleeves and did not run back in for my forgotten coat. I stopped a few feet from the door, closed my eyes, raised my face to the sky, and absorbed its warmth. I sighed. A deep breath, and then I started my walk. After a couple of steps I stooped to pull the lank dead leaves away from the daylily sprouts. Shredded leaves like a wire haired terrier's coat stuck close to the ground. There were no beetles or bugs scurrying for safety as I plucked needlessly at the old leaves. The lavender next door was dry and crisp, like the gray days of winter, and a few flower buds from last year clung to the crunchy stems. Dried grass swoomed in the wind under the oaks that will be the last trees to unfurl their leaves in the garden. The dark purple flower buds of the Helioborus rise like a slow tide above their winter weathered leaves. They will be the first flowers to fully bloom, but even then they will protect themselves by nodding downward on their juicy stems, somewhat afraid to face the full blast of spring. The past flowers that mark most late season Easter celebrations are starting to bloom above their fleece covered leaves. They grow in clumps, reminiscent of their native home amongst the western prairie grasses. Here, in my fertile garden soil, they have self-seeded along the walkways and dry river beds. Their blooms of pastel pinks and purples will draw attention away from last year's leaf debris. The red bud tree has yet to burst into flower, its dark purple nodules clinging to the bare branches. Tiny reddish pink cluster blooms will appear before the glossy green heart-shaped leaves. Next will be the service berries, with their first blush of white flowers. While the ground warms and creates a habitat for new growth, the sky is already alive. A red winged blackbird glides into the cedars, and a morning dove lands in the pine tree. One robin takes flight while another skitters and hops across the garden pathway. There is no sign yet that the robin is building her nest in the corner fence post. The kildeers are skedaddling across the gravel parking lot, but are not feigning a broken wing. Their eggs must not be laid yet. Today I did not see not my cat either. He shows up when he hears a door close at our barn or on a vehicle. He is a healthy gray tomcat who was found among the flowers when he was a kitten and later adopted by a young local girl. While he is cared for next door, he spends many hours relaxing in our garden. His high visibility to past customers earned the drop off his moniker. He was friendly, and people would ask, What's your cat's name? And I would respond, he's not my cat. Like a bad nickname, it stuck. Yesterday, not my cat came from the neighboring property when he heard me in the garden. He did not come for a pet or to rub up against my leg as normal. He strutted ahead of me on the path, only regarding my kiddy kiddy kiddy call with a quick backwards glare of disdain. Not my cat is perturbed with me. He may be holding a grudge. Last week when I was leaving the garden on a warm sunny day, I saw him curled up on a bed of matted grass. Slumbering. I called out to him, Hey bud, are you awake there? No sound. Hey No movement. I hoped he wasn't dead. Hey! Smoky! I called his proper name like an aggravated mother. He growled and stretched up to a sitting position. Are you okay, bud? I asked. He refused to move or look at me. He made a sound that could only be called a grumble. He held his front paw in the air. Are you hurt? He looked away. I guess that was not my cat's response to a rude awakening in the warm summertime garden. Thank you for listening to this week's episode of Happy to Be Canadian. If you would like to receive an email each Saturday morning that features new short stories and more, you can sign up on my website www.crazyebarn.com. If you would like to meet me in person and discover another way that we tell our rural stories, please join me at a Barn Quilt Painting Workshop at our beautiful eight-sided barn in Palmyra, Ontario, along the north shore of Lake Erie. You can find me on Facebook and Instagram at Crazy8 Barn. If you are an Apple podcast listener and enjoyed this podcast, I would appreciate it if you could leave me a favorable review. And that lets Apple know that Happy to Be Canadian is a valuable podcast and it shares it with other potential listeners. I'm Suzanne Spence Wilkins, and I'm happy to be Canadian.