We close another year in the Springs with a bit of a wild Feline party–Leila
Amy is a long haired, owl-eyed Calico who distrusts everything that doesn’t align with her worldview. Her son, Maxo, is a yearling Orange Tabby whose personality is closer to that of a Golden Retriever than that of a Cat.
You cannot fully appreciate Amy’s coat of many colors until you see her in the sun. Every known pattern and hue in Catdom is present and never repeated in Amy’s quilt-like fur; yet away from the window she comes off reddish brown. Maxo is a standard Orange Tabby, his color is comparable to that of a creamsicle. Amy is small, mostly fur; whereas Maxo (despite a diet large enough to sustain three cats) has yet to grow into his long, gangly frame. Imagine one of those once adorable child actors who hit puberty while the show was on hiatus and you will understand Maxo’s appearance. But since he has recently been “fixed,” the vet opined that healthy young Master Maxo should soon expand like a self inflating raft.
Mother and child share the same house with two humans, a pair of Roborovski Dwarf Hamsters named Lucrezia and Zippy, a tamed three-legged rescue Squirrel known as Trey, a smart aleck Parakeet whom the people call “Dotty” but “self identifies” as “Diamond Dixie,” as well as a recent addition “gifted” to the people by a friend: a Gecko who is under the false impression that she is a “Karma Chameleon”–call her Christine.
All animals can perceive and interact with human “Spirits” (Spirit being yet another case of persnickety “self identification” in defiance of common courtesy). Most humans lack the belief in their own senses to do the same. Although everything that lives eventually leaves a ghost (and that means everything, plants, microbes etc.), only human ghosts wander back into this reality. Not all or even most do that; mainly, it’s the annoying ones. Those who insist on being called a Spirit.
Although all animals see Spirits (whom rodents refer to as “Ghosties”–much to the chagrin of the lofty Spirit ego), some Spirits are attracted to certain species more so than others. Some even to the degree that they go to great lengths to be seen by one kind of animal only. Such is the case of the Fabulous Felinespy, a powerful yet essentially useless phantom who approaches Cats late at night in order to create mayhem in a sleeping household.
As you may have already guessed, Amy is not overly popular in a home that contains three rodents, one bird and a bite-sized lizard. Maxo is beloved by the others in the menagerie because of his eager to please personality. Amy grew up rough; abandoned at a young age she became a street cat until she was three. Amy is Unforgiven–in the sense that she has “killed everything that walks or crawls at one time or another”–but to be fair, she did it out of necessity. Now well fed, spayed, mostly humanized and somewhat spoiled, Amy, despite her unrepentant attitude, has given over the thug life. But it doesn’t mean she gives a yarked hairball about what others may think of her. Thus, Zippy, Lucrezia, Christine and Diamond Dixie refuse to have anything to do with her; and Amy is so embarrassed by Maxo’s supplicating eagerness to please that she avoids him at all cost, save for the occasional lecture. And yet Amy has an unlikely friend, Trey the three-legged squirrel.
“Will your ghostie come out tonight?” Trey asked Amy recently, a bit after midnight. Everyone else was abed, including that fanny-smooch boy of hers, all cozy with the piebald slave humans.
Amy sighed. She admired her fellow “hard case”—a creature who’d spent most of his life free–but there were times when Trey had all the mental acuity of a walnut. I guess you are what you eat, she thought.
Mammals, reptiles and amphibians do not “talk” in the common sense, but they do have a universal language of pantomime and facial expressions that get them across to each other. Their senses are so keenly honed that their form of communication (even between species) is superior to speech. Birds, however, have more spoken languages than do humans, one per species; but they also have something called “Commonbeak,” which allows wildly divergent Birds, such as Sparrows and Kingfishers, to have conversations. Squirrels and other tree dwelling varmints usually learn Commonbeak via osmosis, and serve to interpret what birds have to say to creatures who do not know it, like a Cat. Trey usually edits Diamond Dixie’s observations on Amy for the sake of tranquility.
Amy is a Cat of few words. She seldom miaows, purrs, hisses or chatters. But she gets herself across quite clearly with subtle gestures and her owlish eyes, which, like her coat, contain several colors but not one more than any other. She usually converses only with Trey; and although she says more to Maxo, those instances are more along the lines of a one-sided lecture than an exchange of ideas.
Although much has passed since Trey posed his question, Amy eventually nodded, “Yes, the Fabulous Felinespy will come tonight.”
Trey, who had lost his front right leg to a cruel human trap, and was rescued by the male slave, slapped his “knee” with his left, twitched his bushy tail, winked one eye twice and the other once. “Will I see the ghostie?”
“Umm, no, Trey,” Amy replied, with uncharacteristic patience, by briefly swishing her own bushy tail and issuing a series of blinks and slight tilts of her head. “She’s the Fabulous Felinespy, not a Sensational Squirrelspy.”
Trey shrugged, said goodnight and tri-podded off to his bed in the bookcase. Amy admired the way the guy could run and climb in such an altered physical state, and was glad they hadn’t met during hard times.
Amy felt no similar warmth for the goddamn bird. Fucking thing screeched from sun up until the female slave placed the cover over its cage at night. It would have been a pleasure in the old days. Amy had no feelings whatsoever about the little Hamsters–or Rats or whatever the hell they were supposed to be. And though she didn’t much care for the Lizard’s immature attitude, reptiles were chewy and hardly worth the bother.
Someone pushed open the bedroom door. Amy hoped that it was one of the piebald slaves coming out for a snack. But, no, it was Maxo. She had vainly wished that he’d sleep through the upcoming Fabulous Felinespy revelation, but, since Maxo was a Cat, that was an awfully tall wish.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Don’t embarrass me in front of the Fabulous Felinespy.”
“I won’t–”
“I mean it,” she said. “You do any of that disgusting friendly dog stuff I’ll prove that you aren’t too big to be buried up to your neck in the litter box.”
“Aw, Mom.”
“God damn it, you’re a Cat. We don’t take shit from anyone, especially other Cats–and yet there you go with that hangdog ‘Aw, Mom’ nonsense. Next you’ll be fetching or lifting your leg to pee…”
Amy ceased the lecture when an eerie green light suddenly shone in the room. It’s source was the female piebald slave’s Kindle, which lay on the coffee table. No, Kindles are neither known for producing eerie green lights nor forces strong enough to spontaneously flip open their covers; but unknown to the slaves, this particular device had been formatted as a doorway for the Fabulous Felinespy.
Now we run into a bit of trouble. Only Cats perceive the Fabulous Felinespy, so only Cats can describe one. Unfortunately, your author isn’t a Cat, and the Cats ain’t telling. Even a friendly and eager to please sort like Maxo is elusive on the subject. The best you get from him are laudatory 80’s YA adjectives inferred as nouns: “awesome,” “radical.”
But your author does know Catfooney when she sees it. And upon gaining “instruction” from the Fabulous Felinespy, Amy and Maxo proceeded to “craterize” the living room. Everything that had stood now lay, and all that had lain now stood. Maxo managed to take down the drapes and Amy raced about the room toppling everything she touched.
Fabulous Feline inspired acts of Catfoonery take somewhere between thirty and forty-five seconds to complete. That is usually how long it takes for the slaves to awaken and rush into the living room.
The crashing and thudding had also awakened the Lizard and the Mice-like whatever-they-ares in their glass enclosures, but none seemed to be all that concerned. Trey sat munching a walnut atop the too heavy to move (but mostly denuded) bookcase, as though he were at a ballgame. When the light came on, Maxo sat next to him, up there, doing his best to feign innocence.
Amy had somehow shinnied up the pole to the goddam Parakeet’s cage, knocked off the cover and was attempting to worry the door open. Whether you call her Dotty or Diamond Lil’ you knew that the Bird was awake due to the angry squawking she began as soon as she sensed Amy’s approach. The angry squawking was a robust string of Commonbeak expletives. Trey understood them, and he related such to Maxo, who tilted his head in amazement.
Although books and bric-a-brac all lay everywhere, the slaves weren’t overly excited by what had happened. For in this apartment the Fabulous Felinespy came around on average twice a week.
The male calmly detached Amy from the Bird’s cage. Any other creature would immediately feel her wrath upon such insolence, but Amy maybe had a thing for the guy, so she simply bit him for the sake of appearances (a nip, hardly enough to draw blood) and leapt from his arms.
After settling everyone down and recovering the cage, the female said something about going back to bed and that the mess would keep till morning. She called Maxo down (who incensed his mother by responding to his name) and carried him into the bedroom.
The male attempted to coax Amy into the bedroom as well, but she wouldn’t have any of it. “Have it your way, fiendette” he said, “just leave Dotty be, or you’ll have to sleep in the laundry room. Goodnight.”
The amazingly nocturnal Trey tripodded down from his spot on the bookcase and sat down beside Amy. “That’s sure some ghostie.”
Amy nodded. “Say, what was that shit the bird said about me?”
THE AMORAL: A CALICO CANNOT CHANGE HER SPOTS, STRIPES, POLKA DOTS, PLAIDS, OR PINSTRIPES.
Saragun Springs 
Thank you for this wonderful cinematic description of life as a non-human but something so much better. As always your play on words and imagination leave my flabber truly gasted. Brilliant stuff. dd
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Thank you Diane
Miss Izzy, the real life model for Amy, is being a little pill today. She is a diva who knows when people are thinking about her! Happy new year!
Leila
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It takes a rare human to manage that menagerie. We are down to 0 cats, and both miss them, and appreciate the peace.
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Hi Doug
Happy 2025 in advance
My Cats are healthy but will be 15. One might be even older because she was full grown when I found her abandoned in the courtyard. I had to put down a Cat six month before and was at quits with the heartache of loss. But my jerk neighbors abandoned one then two. There should be a place in hell for people who are so casual with other creature’s rights to live.
Happy new year to Ed. as well.
Leila
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Leila –
Can’t remember what I’ve inflicted on you.
Our local Harbortown newspaper ran a strange item last week “I have two bowls stuck together. I’ve tried to pry them apart for a week. Next Tuesday at noon, anyone who wants to separate them without breaking them, will be anointed King of Harbortown. $5 entry fee. See you at noon 5280 Simpson Street.
I was intrigued. My college tuition was paid by money won arm wrestling, and I have Popeye arms. At the appointed time I joined the queue as the fifth entry. The first had sharpened his fingernails and tried to squeeze them between the bowls. No luck. The second was a burlesque performer who brought along a photographer for publicity shots. Number three was a humongous college football player who had no technique but brute force. The last person before me gave up in five seconds. My performance was controversial, but successful. I started indirectly by knocking the side of one of the bowls with the palm of my hand. I could feel the bowl vibrating which seemed to loosen it up. I was dubbed King Arnold and given a Burger King Crown with sequins and ribbons.
Amazing things followed that quickly. My triumph made the local press and then jumped to social media and went viral. The national press interviewed me and showed off my knowledge of government and history. The election was coming up and the Unity party had no frontrunner candidate. The party had been shut out for three consecutive contests. The Progress party candidate was discovered to have worked through college as a prostitute. Merle Jones, a Unity representative offered to make me the Unity candidate. I won in a landslide.
For a while, I had a honeymoon period with Congress. We had a majority in both houses and I was able to get through some popular programs. No more military grade rifles for the public, bodily autonomy for women, and better healthcare. To balance the budget, various cuts had to be made. Tax loopholes were eliminated and many grants were cut. The military did not get everything it wanted, but then we avoided getting into costly battles which were not our business. A lot of bases were eliminated.
Everything was great – for a while. Merle was still advising me. He implied that all would go wrong if I didn’t follow his instruction to join some secret societies that practiced black magic. My ex-wife Mograna, a witch want to be who had tried to burn my bed with me in it before we divorced took to television talk shows to claim I was the one who did all of the evil things she did, including her – I don’t even want to talk about it, but it involved animals. While much of the public was turning against me, I started getting threats from our son Morbred who worshipped Mograna. The relationship may have gone beyond mother – son. The FBI tried to find him, but they never did.
To take a break I flew back to my home state Oregon and visited Short Sand Beach which was a childhood vacation spot. It was the offseason and no one was there. I gloried in the memories of a happy time in my life. While looking out to sea, I heard running footsteps behind me. I turned to see Morbred rushing to stab me with a knife. For some reason known only to him, he put me in a small boat and pushed it out to sea after I was stabbed.
Good luck followed horrible luck. Morbred was a poor killer. His stabbings hit my collar bone and sternum, causing copious bloodshed, but little damage. My next good fortune was being picked up by a Mexican fishing boat. They couldn’t go to an American port because they were breaking a few laws. We kept going until we got to the small isolated town of Villamosa on the Mexican coast. Here I got even luckier – I’m a Catholic whose mother was mostly native American and my father was Portuguese and I spoke Spanish. Not going to lie, my ethnicity both helped and hurt in the election, but I looked a lot like the locals. It took me a while to pick up on the local dialect, but in a few weeks I fit right in. I was an extra hand on the fishing boats, which was appreciated. Everyone agreed not to rat me out.
I don’t want to try your patience. I married a local widow Gloria, so I got a readymade family with three grown children. I was able to correspond with a trusted friend Bill Toop in Washington D.C. who also kept my secret. This story will be kept up to date and released when I die. Bill has told me the following as it has occurred: Morbred claimed he killed me, and his ravings got him sent to the funny farm, Lars Ericson wrote “The Truth About Arnold” which is to truth as a reality show is to reality, Mograna now hosts a horror show on television, appropriately named “Witching Hour”, and my first love Glinda, who left me for my best friend at the time Lester, left him for a starving poet.
I’m the healthiest and happiest I’ve ever been.
Things were not going so well at home however. My vice president, Sam McDougle, had come under Merle’s spell. I admit to being part of the problem. When the Unity Party chose me as a candidate, they picked McDougle as my running mate. I was told it was to balance the ticket. McDougle was a senator from the Midwest and as pale as you can be unlike formerly non-political brown skinned West Coast me. Nobody, including me, paid much attention to his politics, but did research him for anything that could be used against the ticket. I started to wonder if there was any connection between the seemingly affable McDougle and Morbred.
Bill’s reports began to disturb me. McDougle was attempting to appeal to white racists and was pushing a loyalty oath. His idea was there would be surveillance of citizens who refused to sign or fill out a rather discriminatory and biased document which could single out those who gave the wrong answer or answers. Some of the questions:
Have you ever supported certain third parties?
Were you, your parents, or spouse born outside the USA?
How long have you lived at your present location?
What is your religion?
Rather than the usual package of government benefits, a series of self contained villages were proposed as a substitute. The indigent would be assigned work in the villages, and not be allowed outside.
Normally some of those crazy ideas would not have disturbed me, but Merle’s black magic had some efficacy with public opinion. Polls indicated the popularity of the proposals had 35% approval and rising support.
I hopped a plane to DC. When I landed I got a call from Merle. “Hey, you seem to have some problem with me. Why don’t you visit me and we’ll see if we can come to a happy conclusion.” He gave me an address in suburban Virginia. If calling me as soon as I got back when I’d told no one my plans was supposed to freak me out, it worked. I got a cab to his address. The driver gave me a funny look, but didn’t ask me if I was the president. Maybe I aged a lot in exile.
The door at his house had a sign “Come on in.” When I did I saw Merle in the middle of a ring of flower pots. When he saw me, he asked “How you doing kid?”
I was honest “I’ve been better”.
“OK, Arnold, here’s how it works. The guy inside the ring, me, has the magic, the guy outside the ring, you, doesn’t. The guy outside can’t get in as long as I’m in. That allows me to decide what I want to do with you. Got it?”
My hope was that the villain would want to tell me how great and smart he was while I tried to think of a way out. “Before you decide what you want to do, why are you getting McDougle to do evil things?”
“I’m a chaos agent; it’s what I do for fun. I might make him drop his pants in public or hump a dog.” He went on talking foolishness while I looked around the room, remembering how he told me the ring worked. I noticed baseballs and bats.
Merle got into a groove like a politician on a roll. He wasn’t paying that much attention to me. I grabbed a baseball and threw it at him. He dodged it, laughed at me, but backed up closer to the ring. Next I threw the bat at his feet. He backed up again, but this time he fell part way out of the ring. I quickly grabbed an arm outside the ring and pulled him completely out. Without giving it any thought, I jumped into the ring.
“Tell me Merle, can I cast spell now, and what should it be.” The look of horror on his face told me I could. “Go ahead, what should I do with you?”
Merle was clever, I’ll give him that. “You could do to me what I was going to do to you. A nice fat retirement somewhere outside the USA. All I wanted was for you not to interfere with my plans.”
I was feeling confident “How about Merle retires to Vladivostok, but has no resources, can’t speak Russian, and doesn’t know who he is or how he got there.”
“Sorry Arnold, you didn’t say the magic work.”
“Please.”
Merle would regret giving the trick away, if only he could remember anything. Merle had disappeared. I assume that my wish was granted.
I made myself public and was reinstated as president. I told McDougle what had happened. Without Merle around, he claimed he had been tricked into his evil ways. I told him that he could stick around if he became another vice president that no noticed.
As my first term winds down and I’ve righted the damage done in my absence, I think I’ll be a two term president.
In “Freedom Fiction”.
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Thank you Doug
What a truly amusing and smart rework of Excalibur!
You should submit it to a site we both know. I have never seen it before. Always believed “Merle” was a bit corrupt, except for when Sam Neil played him in that strange strange but good (in my opinion) miniseries.
Leila
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I will so sub. How about a switch on the old Poor Nell silent movies?
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Growing up when I did, I keep seeing Nell (Inspector Fenwick’s issue) and Dudley Do right of the RMCP (whose Horse was the brains of the outfit) out-foxing Snidely Whiplash, Sundays on Rocky and Bullwinkle.
Leila
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Leila
Many authors are good at creating animal characters, and there are also authors who are good at creating human characters, and again, authors who can create ghosts or spirits pretty well. I don’t know of many (any?) authors who can create all three categories of these kinds of creatures with the same levels of convincingness, “reality,” humor, sympathy, imagination, spirited engagement, accurate variety, and narrative propulsion as the multiple-author Authoress Leila Allison.
Even the computer gadgets and inanimate objects in your fictions are alive, with their own breath and spirit, which is something I think is probably also true in the “real” world (not so scary, or outlandish, as it sounds, and also something that accords with the Native American worldview, for example). And, like Shakespeare, your fictions have THE AMAZING GIFT of giving their readers back MORE LIFE. Any close reader of your tales is bound to end up more alive, and more attuned to life, after reading than they were when they began. There is NO MORE IMPORTANT REASON for Literature to exist. (Also, your fictional worlds are so real, a reader with too much imagination might even think they’re reading NONFICTION (and maybe they ARE), which is an uncanny effect that’s also Shakespearean/lifelike.) And your prose style flows in an American prose poetry kind of way that resurrects Washington Irving and Nathaniel Hawthorne-like voices.
You are the American Authoress as a cutting-edge, avant-garde American Dickens, and that is NOT an overstatement, but an accurate critical judgement by a professionally trained, native American literary critic with 57 years of experience (starting at birth). Your work/s and world/s, and your personalities within, outshine all the rest. God Bless Leila Allison!! And Happy New Year!!
Sincerely,
Dale Williams Barrigar
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Happy new year Dale and of course Boo!
Like most quiet kids I developed a very active fantasy life in which everyone was possible. I have discovered that the best way to go is without sentimentality and meanness, and disregard for over selling the premise.
Thank you for your kind words!
Leila
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