EverydayParkinsons

My wife is currently outside harassing our poor chickens to death, so I am going to take this opportunity to write about her today. You may think I am exaggerating about the harassing to death part. Let me get this straight – I am not. She has those damned things trained to the sound of her voice. When she walks out to the coop to go and feed them and collect eggs they line up and bow like the damned Queen of England just walked enter the building. They each wait patiently for her to pick them up and she says a few kind things to each one and then goes about her business.

And then there are the cats. She loves cats! Especially stray cats.

Right now, we have four current house cats. That’s not bad, right? What I have not mentioned is Sammy, the shed cat. Where Sammy came from, I have no idea. He just showed up on our back porch one day, whining like he was on his last legs. A long MEEEEEOOOOOOOOWWWWW that scared the hell out of our cats and sent them scrambling through the cat door and hiding in all the nooks and crannies. Once I crawled our from beneath the table and stopped shaking from my own fear, I saw Julie stand up and walk towards the back door.

I knew it was a bad idea. I tried to tell her just to lock the cat door and ignore it. It would go away on its own. “For the love of God, just leave it be,” I pleaded. Yes, pleaded, begged, and fell to the floor holding her leg as she dragged me across the floor. I am not to proud to beg. “Oh, Come on John, it might be hurt.”

To which I replied, “It might be a feral bobcat that has tasted human blood and is attempting to lure you outside for a tasty meal.”

Apparently, that was not the right thing to say. I only know it was not the right thing to say because she gave me that look she always gives me when I have crossed the line of reason.

I lost that argument. Come to think of it. I cannot remember an argument about a stray animal that I have ever won. Certainly, I must have won one or two right? We’ll just go with I have won a couple. That makes me feel much better.

So, Julie, walks out on the back porch. I prepared for the horrific screams of a woman getting mauled by a feral Bobcat. I waited and listened. Nothing. Then I heard a noise that chilled me to my very bones. “Look at you, you are such a  beautiful boy. I think I will call you Sammy.”

With my Parkinsons, when I sleep and dream I have the most vivid dreams I have ever had. In fact, a week or two ago I had a dream where a Silverback Gorilla broke into our house and jumped on top of me, pinning me to the bed and trying to chew my face off. I can still feel the drooling of the gorilla and it fell on to my cheek and slid down to my neck. I can still smell the breath that was a mix of rancid meat and mint leaves.

I woke up from that dream out of breath and crying.

What does this dream have to do with a stray cat showing up at our house? Well, let me tell you. The dream was worse. I would rather have a gorilla gnaw at my face tan take in another stray.

When I heard her call that thing Sammy, I knew we had a new cat. Somehow this woman has taken a feral cat and made a pet out of it in the span of 10 seconds. Sammy now lives comfortably in my shop. Yes, my shop has now turned into a cattery. If there is something I need to do in my shop I have to ask permission and always the question, “Is it going to scare Sammy and make him run away?”

Hell folks, we cannot mow our backyard because it might scare the poor darling.

Now, we are getting Sammy fixed. That is scheduled for next week and he is not looking too healthy, so I am sure our bank account will be sinking faster than the titanic.

Don’t look at me like that! We have four damned cats and I almost love all four. What more can you ask of this poor (and getting poorer) put upon man?

She is a natural Mother Theresa when it comes to cats. She goes out every morning, each afternoon, and each evening to see Sammy. He must have plenty of food and water. If he is not in the shed, she yells in her sweetest voice “SAMMY, come here sweetie.” And what do you know, that damned thing comes bounding across the yard. I am not kidding here. That thing talks to her and she talks back to it. I swear it is a demon cat that has bewitched my poor wife.

I have contemplated finding the local Catholic Church and invite a priest over for a “visit” or “dinner” just to see if the cat would hiss and go all demonesque with a priest around. In my imagination that cat’s head would spin and he would turn and look at the priest and whisper in a demons voice, “Leave Priest. She belongs to me now!” Then it turns and says the same thing to me. Well, except it doesn’t call me a priest.

But that is who my wife is. She has our cats so well trained that all she has to say to any one of them is “Stretchies,” in that cute sing song voice and the cat will stand up with its front legs stretched above their heads so Julie will pick her up. I mean. What? Who can do stuff like that.

And then the dogs. For the love of all that is holy. She has these dogs wrapped around her little finger. Even MY Golden Retriever! I swear if she gave the kill command to my golden (whose name is Zahra, by the way) and pointed her finger at me the dog would not hesitate to eat me.

Me, who raised that beautiful pup from 18 weeks old and for 13 years has been my constant companion and, frankly, my best friend. I know that dog would turn on me the minute Julie said so.

Then there is Bernie. Her dog. Bernie is a Miniature Aussie and is absolutely insane. Except when Julie is around. When Julie is around it jumps up in her lap and wraps its paws around her neck like it just saw the face of God and wept.

Honestly, It’s ridiculous. How am I, a man who is imperfect as imperfect gets. A man whose flaws and ego shine brighter than the sun, manage to compare his pitiful self to such a being as my wife.

She is like that with people too. She can meet anyone and instantly they are at ease. I am just lucky that she uses her power for good. She would make a hell of a grifter.

When we met, it was like meeting something that was beyond perfect, something I had been waiting for but never knew. I need to add here that I was in no way worthy of someone like her. So damned kind and so damn loving. It’s unbearable. I am still not worthy of someone like her. I don’t think I ever will be.

For some reason, she found me and took me into her heart. She created a nice warm space there where I am safe and have everything I need.

Honestly, I get it. I get why all the animals are like they are around her. I totally get it. There are times when I want to just drop to my knees and pray to her, for she is my goddess. My love. And when she calls, out my name I want to come running just like a damned stray cat.

Did I mention that I love her? I love her so very much that I cannot find words to explain it. It is not something words can give. It is a feeling. My love for her is the first warm day after winter and that warm breeze of Spring blows across your skin and dissipates the chill.

She is my wind. (No, I am not going there with that damned stupid, cheesy song. I do not have wings. I am human not a freaking bird.) She is the wind that pulls me back to myself.

She is the one that can look beyond my craziness and see something worth saving. Even when I cannot do the same for myself.

Yes, I know I painted her as perfect. She is flawed just as we all are. She has her own fears, grief, and insecurities. Therein lies her beauty, because it is in spite of her own issues that she creates a space for us strays that are lucky enough to have stumbled across her. And believe me, I am stray as they come some days.

 She will positively hate this. She does not like to be called out or mentioned. She likes to be in the background. She cannot escape this though. It is now official. It is now on paper.  

I mean there is a part of me that chuckles at the thought of her reaction. That is just who I am and is something she is intimately aware of (poor woman.) However, there is the other part of me that wants to sing her praises upon the wind.

In every way and in every day she has made my life better. My fears lessen when I think of the future, because I know she will be there scratching me behind the ears, helping me count out my daily pills, reminding me to switch my laundry over, or doing one of a hundred million things that she does. Things that I do not tell her how much I appreciate often enough.

When I started writing this, I had no idea what I was going to write about today. I was going to continue my 3 part series on the 3 compadres of Grief, Fear, and Depression, but I am not ready to write about my depression. So, I just started writing about my wife and her amazing ability to bring in strays and give them lives and homes.

I had no idea I was writing about myself because I am not smart like that. I need process it and get through it and tell the story. Only then it will dawn on me. “Holy Shit, you are Sammy! You are the chickens! You are the cats looking for Stretchies! You are the turncoat  Golden Retriever! You are then insane little Mini Aussie who wants to wrap your paws around her.”

You, my friend, are a luck lucky man.

I can hear her coming in, so better stop this before she sees what I am doing. With my luck she got waylaid by yet another stray. This time it probably be will be a cow, a buffalo, or some other giant animal turning my poor workshop into a barn.