An Ode to Quadrupeds

Entering the home it was apparent that something was awry, the rugs were bunched up exposing the underlay, how aghast, the stuffed animals filling was strewn near and far, tuffs of cat hair lingered, and wet paw prints loitered as evidence of a grand row gone wild. The K-9 and felines were sulking without jubilation at our entrance, a sure sign of guilt.

My mother’s British upbringing was instinctual. With broom in hand, cats at my leg, and a wide eyed dog whimpering for forgiveness. I dusted off the surfaces watching the lint, hair, and debris lift up into the late afternoon sunlight streaming across the room exposing all their affairs.

Hal arrived without my belated Valentines gift potentially placing me in a downward spiral yet his handsome smile, good humor and his new addiction, Mrs. Brown’s Boys, an Irish comedy saved the night. Laughter filled the room huddling around our iPad for far too long. How easily brilliant minds are amused diverting catastrophes of the developed world.

A late night walk exposed wafts of silvery clouds encircling the distant mountain as the full moon came up. Wilbur pulled us up and down the hamlet’s lanes nestled up against the mountain. Once our gate was astride on the thin ice we didn’t want to return, a calmness seeped inward.

Waking with swollen glands extenuated the horror that I might be allergic to fur. Ah…….. Wilber insisted in curling up at our feet not a delight to my spouse, by morning his whiskers bristled my face that I mistook for Hal’s stubbles. When I came through I couldn’t distinguish whose morning breathes was oh so sweet.

An abrupt knock came at the door and two lovely girls asked to walk Wilbur? Smiles caste a joy I’d forgotten about the uninhibited lives of children that immediately engulfed me. Skipping down the lane hand in hand with a great responsibility at hand, they informed me with affirmation that they were paid for their services.

We took a long walk along the valley’s cycling trails up into the Nordic Center. A lovely cup of tea was shared with Hal’s favorite pumpkin bread at Good Earth as we dawdled for some time discussing life, our children, and our blessings.

Sunday brought Catholic Church with the sermon as consistent as the tidal ebbs never veering from its course or timely ending. How sad substance has been replaced by speed. We diverted the cakes and coffee, a Lenten restraint and walked over to Beamer’s for directions up the mount to the Goat Creek Trail towards Banff.

Hand in hand with the man I love nothing could be more perfect. The sun at our backs with only God’s wonders in our vision, how truly blessed we are. The hours passed as the silence echoed naught into our ears.

A last supper together and an endearing walk with the K-9 as Hal departed back to the city. Leaving me to do up the dishes, the laundry, and yes, you guessed cleaning the litter boxes. Much to my dismay it wasn’t the pulling of the nails that I had expected. The smell wasn’t there, either that or I was so stuffed up I couldn’t tell, either way the job was done within minutes.

Without warning the howling sounds, a cacophony in its most literal sense, an unharmonious noise reverberated throughout the house. Door knobs rattled, frames shook violently while the animals whined in chorus frightened by Mother Nature’s remunerations.

Day 4-5 became the sequel to the Shining called the Shimmering.

My glands have now turned into goiters churning out phlegm like lava field. Food isn’t necessary as I haven’t been able to smell anything in 4 days. Swallowing has taken on a new appreciation as the pain in only alleviated with lozenges. Claritin I can now attest does little to alleviate my misery. Throbbing head, achy neck, plugged ears popping sleeping pills to witness nightmares of Jack Nicolson trapping me in his grip with cat in hand killing me slowly by exposure.

Oh….and the sight of the bed…..blankets strewn hither and thither….heaped between wet tissues to catch the inevitable drips during the night. Yellow catarrh has blood it in now from blowing so fervently along with raw hands and this was my dream vacation??

Alas tomorrow is my departure……the sounds of cat purring, hissing, biting, scratching and gnawing that I thought once to be endearing will be swept away with the hurricane winds. For three days and three nights the foundation has clattered relentlessly leaving the cats jittery, in a state of panic, claws extended ready to shred their next victim. I knew Exshaw to be breezy but this is off the Richter scale. I tried to walk Wilbur this morning and he hid behind a tree. With ears tucked back he mustered all his might a 15 lb. mutt can and pushed through a gale winds in all directions.

The quiet solitude has allowed me to write and to this I am very grateful. No phone calls, few texts, only emails in the morning leaving me time to enjoy and reminiscing the many pot lucks, pre-ski breakfasts, grand chats and warm nights beside the fireplace with gracious friends. This has all but made for the unforeseen feline allergies, so much so I might return. Isn’t that what pregnant women do vow to never have another during childbirth then linger in the arms of a man and without notice another is upon them. The mind the mind what a wonderful tool it plays tricks with those that aren’t watching.