WritersBeat.com
 

Go Back   WritersBeat.com > Write Here > Free Writing

Free Writing Plot bunnies, random musings, etc. No one-liners.


It Was The Cats Fault...

Reply
 
Thread Tools
  #1  
Old 02-28-2012, 06:34 AM
Gaines's Avatar
Gaines (Offline)
Samuel Johnson, obviously!
Official Member
 
Join Date: Dec 2008
Location: Tidepool
Posts: 7,020
Thanks: 1,464
Thanks 871
Default It Was The Cats Fault...


It all came to a head one hot July day as the afternoon was winding down. But let me begin at the start where all tales have their kernel of truth planted.

He inherited his parents home after they passed away. A forty something mama's boy, overweight with a bad sinus condition and no prospects of a wife in sight. In short he was at the time long ago one of the original nerds.

Don't get me wrong he did have a job as a Fuller Brush man. For those of you not familiar with that line of work he rode around in a big box van selling cleaning supplies to the ladies at home many of which were during those years.

In our little neighborhood everyone tried to get along and look out for one another. Perhaps he did with the adults but he seemed to hate children for some unknown reason. I and my merry band of friends were the source of his constant aggravation and as young lads full of piss and vinegar we defied anything that held a modicum of authority in our lives.

His lawn was pristine and the hedgerow was as manicured as a hollywood starlets toes. Under threat of death you did not set foot on his property and you dare not lay a finger on the hedges when passing by. We took that as a personal affront and a direct challenge to our mean spiritedness. To wit.

Whenever the opportunity arose we took turns peeing on his hedges. I can say with some certainty he fervently battled the strange yellow fungus that crept over them. Often he was seen spraying them with chemicals in hopes of returning them to their Kelly green former selves. Not a chance.

Now and then, usually during a heavy rain where footprints would be quite evident, we would run through his lawn stomping around like we were trying to kill snakes. This invariably bought his fat ass out on his porch screaming threats as he huffed and puffed after us always stopping at the edge of his property line. He would call our parents and we in turn would suffer the beatings. Small sacrifice for the sheer joy of seeing him turn beet red and clutching his chest.

He built remote controlled airplanes as a hobby and often entered them in competitions where he won awards for his designs. His pride and joy being a tri-wing world war one replica. A bright yellow and black plane replete with the correct insignias and a marvel to watch fly. As you may suspect this ends in tears. To wit.

One afternoon as he launched it from the bridge spanning our river he sent it flying downstream high above the sparkling waters. It glittered in the sunlight and the drone of the small gasoline engine echoed along as he ran it through it's paces.

Luck favors the prepared so they say. My friends and I happened to be on the little island in the middle of the river. With our small caliber rifles in hand we were shooting frogs as the plane approached overhead. By now you should be getting the picture.

Just like in a war movie someone yelled, "enemy at high noon." The guns of Navarrone erupted in unison. Crack shots we were. Pieces of yellow and black plastic showered down as he vainly tried to turn his pride and joy away from the gunfire. The engine sputtered, just like in the movies, and finally having no control and not much for wings left the small craft plunged into the drink.

To this day I have yet to see a fat man run as fucking fast as he did. He took off on foot over the bridge and along the grassy top of the dyke that bordered the river. We in turn scattered like cockroaches caught in the kitchen light. Seeing a grown man cry is a pitiful sight indeed.

I will not go into detail over the hell we caught for our thoughtless actions but let it suffice to say that to this day the nightmare still haunts me and there remains a slight but noticable red mark on my left cheek.

The culmination came near the summers end with only a few scant weeks before school would resume it's monotony. I can only blame it all on the stray cat that crossed our paths early that fateful afternoon.

As always the mail had run just before noon. We had the cat in our clutches and had not yet decided what to do with him when a stroke of genius hit us. Put kitty in the big black mailbox that belonged to the fat bastard and wait to see what happens when he gets home. It gets hot in a mailbox with the summer sun beating down on it.

His routine was always the same. He would arrive and pull his box van alongside his mailbox whereupon he would open his sliding door and retrieve his mail before pulling into his driveway. Perfect storm.

Biding our time with other interests involving a magnifying glass and some really angry ants we waited until we heard him coming. Hiding across the street in the not so manicured hedgerow we watched as he performed his ritual.

Kitty clawed his way up the fat man's arm and into the van. Lots of hissing and howling and screaming as he panicked and hit the gas. The van ran through about twenty feet of his hedges, across his lawn spinning the wheels and digging ruts whereupon it came to a halt as it slammed into his front porch. The cat bailed and took off running down the street. Hilarity ensued,as they say in the movies.

Neighbors rushed to his aid. He was battered and bruised and made to lay on the ground as an ambulance was called. The van was somewhat crunched and a large section of the porch was hanging loose and swaying under its weight. Eventually it broke free and crashed on top of the van. Nice.

I will end this tale at this juncture in the telling. The rest is too gruesome for print, but that particular day still lingers in memory evoking both a smile and a wince.

Many many years later as a grown man with two small boys they one day asked me for a gasoline operated plane they could fly around the neighborhood. Being the type of parent that would not deign to treat his children as if they were ragamuffins I made the purchase and spent many happy hours watching them master the wonders of flight. The only issue I had was when they chased the cat across the yard with the plane. Life is good.

__________________
"Show me a hero and I will write you a tragedy." Fitzgerald

Last edited by Gaines; 02-28-2012 at 11:35 AM..
Reply With Quote
  #2  
Old 02-28-2012, 07:17 AM
Ethan Blake's Avatar
Ethan Blake (Offline)
Heartbreaking Writer of Staggering Genius
Official Member
 
Join Date: Jun 2010
Location: Pillars of Hercules
Posts: 1,540
Thanks: 718
Thanks 347
Send a message via AIM to Ethan Blake Send a message via Skype™ to Ethan Blake
Icon10

Wonderful story told with pace and great humour, deserves to be part of a novel, so what are you waiting for? You sound like a cross between Bart Simpson and Huckleberry Finn, must have been a handful for your poor parents.
Best regards
D
__________________

To view links or images in signatures your post count must be 10 or greater. You currently have 0 posts.

'THERE MAY BE TROUBLE AHEAD!'

To view links or images in signatures your post count must be 10 or greater. You currently have 0 posts.


To view links or images in signatures your post count must be 10 or greater. You currently have 0 posts.
Reply With Quote
  #3  
Old 02-28-2012, 08:50 AM
Redlorry
Guest
 
Posts: n/a
Default

Either I have de ja vu or you have written that story before. And, if it's the latter... I can only surmise that this work of 'fiction' grew from a rather large kernel of truth. OMG!

A little bit of punctuation around the middle would help improve the flow, but I know you'll pick that up in an edit.

But whatever, your tale telling doesn't miss a beat and I am sure everyone who reads this will do so with a growing smile on their lips as you build so brilliantly to your climax.

Excellent!

Poor kitty
Reply With Quote
  #4  
Old 02-28-2012, 09:15 AM
Gaines's Avatar
Gaines (Offline)
Samuel Johnson, obviously!
Official Member
 
Join Date: Dec 2008
Location: Tidepool
Posts: 7,020
Thanks: 1,464
Thanks 871
Default

Thank you Red and Ethan for your kind crits. As I child I think the term my mother used when speaking of me was "precocious" not to be confused with precious. Love is blind.

Father, on the other hand, use to look up from his paper whenever I bounded indoors and shake his head saying; "I can't believe you are still alive."

Sadly the tale has germinated from a rather large kernel and in the past I may have alluded to it at some point in time.

Thanks again and keep reading and writing.
__________________
"Show me a hero and I will write you a tragedy." Fitzgerald
Reply With Quote
Reply

  WritersBeat.com > Write Here > Free Writing


Thread Tools

Posting Rules
You may not post new threads
You may not post replies
You may not post attachments
You may not edit your posts

BB code is On
Smilies are On
[IMG] code is On
HTML code is Off


Similar Threads
Thread Thread Starter Forum Replies Last Post
Are Cats Human? PRPerson Writers' Cafe 35 08-04-2011 07:31 PM
Difference Between Cats and Dogs starrwriter Writers' Cafe 7 12-15-2007 10:04 AM
cat cafe puresnow Non-Fiction 5 12-06-2007 09:12 AM
cats n dogs gary_wagner Poetry 11 02-19-2007 02:48 AM
Cats dogwood Poetry 12 04-21-2006 11:24 PM


All times are GMT -8. The time now is 10:56 PM.

vBulletin, Copyright © 2000-2006, Jelsoft Enterprises Ltd.