THE MANN's BABY

THE MANN’S BABY

"Make no mistake why these babies are here. They are here to replace us." -Jerry Seinfeld

The Mann's lived next door, when I was growing up. In the spring  he conducted a blue grass band. Dances  at the local hall. In the summer he would be a busker downtown. In winter they hosted music Jams. He specialized in the accordion and  harmonica, and sometimes he rattled spoons . 

She taught baking classes out of her house. Every Wednesday and Friday you would see a stream of hopefuls  carrying armloads of muffins and cakes to their cars. The neighbourhood reeked of burnt cinnamon buns. Mrs. Mann always gave us the leftovers. The nice ones with gooey frosting that their cat had not licked. 

The Mann’s came from Bermuda. Their family used to own a bakery there. At one point, in 1940, the  Duke and Duchess of Windsor  stopped by  for some Boston creme rolls. Specialty of the bakery.  The Duke and Duchess stopped in quite often. . Years later, Mrs. Mann was still selling “Windsor Crèmes” at the local bakeries. They were ooey and gooey.

The Duchess also  liked Mrs. Mann’s fruit cake. She liked to order hunks of that. Mrs. Mann brought the recipe with her to the West coast. Mr. Mann brought his accordion, and his baton and his spoons.

They also brought Their Cat. 

A big fluffy orange cat named Baby. They’d wheel Baby around the streets in a fancy stroller. During cooler weather, baby was zipped into a little coat  with a toque  and.  Baby’s fuzzy ears stuck out of the toque they  carefully arranged around her big gold eyes. Her whiskers  twitched, something fierce.

Baby never looked too happy. She liked to hiss most effectively  at passersby. Mrs. Mann would giggle and say “there there” while Mr. Mann thumped his chest like a proud papa. Baby just looked grumpy all the time.

Baby just found the world too stressful, the Mann’s told us one day. So they went to a cat shrink. He said Baby was having motivational issues and her thinking  was on a higher plain than ours. I’m sure it must have been tough for Baby to figure out whether to poop in the litter box, or on the stairs. 

So the Mann’s switched cat litters and put a box in each tub in each of their three bathrooms. Just in case Baby couldn’t decide which to use. Baby still liked  the top stair  best.  It took the Mann’s a great deal of time to get the stairs steam cleaned. 

Instead of a stroller in winter they got an enclosed sled,  zipped her into the  carrier and pulled her along in the snow. From there, Baby  hissed and preened .  But mostly hissed.  She kept trying to take off the  toque  she was wearing.  

Not long after , the Mann’s decided Baby needed to wear something   frilly and pink.  After all, the Shrink said she needed variety. So one day at the end of winter, beginning of spring, Mr. Mann sewed up a number of cat sized dresses in the kitchen.  Mrs. Man made Windsor Cremes. Five dozen in total. Destined for  a winter carnival  tea house. 

Baby sat in the kitchen. On her high chair with a yellow cushion. She wore  one of the pink lace dresses Mr. Mann had sewn. She yanked at the ribbons.  Mrs. Mann stuffed her buns with vanilla cream. It was rehearsal night at their house. 

Retired ex-army buddies of Mr. Mann   descended  on their house for the weekly evening.  Fiddle music , banjos, ukuleles and dueling accordions. Followed by Boston Cremes, coffee and Raisin Poptarts made with a nutty brown crust. 

Well, no one quite knows how it all happened, but Baby was left in the kitchen, in her frilly party dress. Alone. Mr. Mann went to bring her in to show their company how pretty she was, when  all hell broke loose. Baby  squirmed out of her dress.   Boston Cremes, so beloved by the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, went flying, vanilla cream squirting  out of those buns like some sort of alien life forms.

The Raisin Poptarts , one my one, had all been gnawed. Baby’s pink dress  lay in a heap of  ooey goo. She shook her round orange head  with relief and eyed the Mann’s  with an “I dare you” look. Boston Crème dribbled down the table, down the oven. Instead of hissing, she purred. Mr. Mann felt her forehead.

Baby never wore  a toque, or pink  lacy dress ever again, or ride in a stroller or a sled. 

Instead she took to  sitting on the fridge, to flick at flies. She surveyed. 

. Instead of a litter box, Baby took to using the toilet. 

They taught her flush….

Photographs 2023
 

"I LOOKED and SAW the FLYING EARTH..."

"Stars over snow and in the west a planet swinging below a star, look for a lovely thing and you will find it. It is not gar. It never will be far...." -Sara Teasdale

"I STOOD upon a STAR"  (Sara Teasdale)

I stretched my mind until I stood out in space, upon a star.....

I looked, and saw the flying earth

Where seven planets are.

Delicately interweaving like fireflies.

The planetoids among the planets

Played for their own delight.

I watched earth putting off her winter and slipping into green

I saw the dark side of the moon

No man has ever seen.

Like shining wheels in an opened watch

They all revolved ..................

with soundless motion

Earth sparkled like a rain-wet flower

Bearing her petals, 

Plain and ocean

Photographs 2023

 

OINK for BUTTERTUB

   Edna pressed her nose to the window. Rain. Too soggy and boggy, she decided.  How would she ever get out for a walk. The New Year  had come in with a  howl. Her five cats all lined up in a row on the window sill.  It was their big thrill of the day, when Edna went out for a walk.  But it didn’t look like Edna was going to oblige.

And there was, of course, the pig at her feet. 

Last year, Edna brought home a smallish pink pig, with black spots. She called it her baby.  Buttertub  thought she was a cat. The cats knew she wasn’t one of them. But they  went along with it, anyways.  Buttertub  had a stroller with a blue blankie. She sat in it while Edna had her tea, and feed  Buttertub shortbread. The five cats sat  on the table and waited for their treat as well. Sometimes ate their treats as well.

But now it was the New Year. And it rained  day in day out. The cats jumped down to circle Buttertub, who plopped on the floor, her pink and black belly jiggling like melted lard. The cats  patted her belly and snuggled in for a nap.  Buttertub oinked  in delight. She made  smellies as she  slept. 

“There’s  a hobby farm willing to take her,” she thought, as Buttertub burped in her sleep and the cats vied for  the best spot.

Edna decided against the walk. It was almost time to make Buttertub’s dinner;   turnips, radishes, eggplant, potatoes ( gave Buttertub  gas, though),melons and berries. And pumpkin. She loved pumpkin bread and shortbread, and odd  chunks of fruitcake.

As they slept, some of the cats licked Buttertub’s ears. She responded  by burping in waves.

“Hmmmm,” thought Edna, “maybe less fruitcake,” as she hauled out veggies for dinner. She eyed the stroller, looking  a little worse for wear.

It was a good size. But so was  Buttertub . She barely fit in it with her blankie. She  squealed to be put in.  Squealed to be taken out.  The cats all took turns clawing at it. 

This December, Edna knitted a warm sweater for Buttertub. Bright pink .She also made little sweaters for her five cats. Bright pink as well. Edna wasn’t sure hot pink was their colour. Edna took Buttertub out  for daily  walks in the new sweater. The neighbour’s, out and about,  made a point of mentioning how smart Buttertub looked.  Watching from their windowsill, were the five cats , wearing their hot pink sweaters. Tails swishing.

When Edna returned with Buttertub, the cats  had unraveled  their sweaters and were  busy  leaping from table  counter. Hot pink yarn everywhere.   Buttertub thought it was great fun to chase the cats. 

“Hobby farm,” Edna  said to herself as she peeled potatoes.”There’s always the hobby farm.” Buttertub  did NOT like the peels. Buttertub’s sweater was looking a little  worn already. The cats liked pulling on the yarn. She rolled over in her sleep, belching up the latest  cat kibble she had stolen. It woke her up. It woke up the cats. Edna chopped veggies into little pieces.

The cats sat expectantly in a row. It was treat time. Buttertub sat with them. Everyone got a treat. Buttertub got  a radish. She didn’t think that was much of a treat. She oinked. Edna gave in and  handed her a chunk of fruitcake.

“That’s the last of it,” she told her pig.   “Your diet starts tomorrow”. The hobby farm could wait. Indefinitely. There were sweaters to remake.

She had new yarn,  purple with sparkles. Matching sweaters for the  cats. They obviously did NOT like pink. Purple would be better.

Edna  put the veggies on the stove,in a large pot of water. She found  her knitting needles.  She’d have to measure Buttertub’s belly. The cats didn’t want to be measured for sweaters.  Buttertub wanted more fruitcake. She got a radish instead.

  Edna  set to work, knit one, purl two…….. Buttertub happily sighed,  and switched sides. The cats purred “three threads in a thrum” and rolled over with her.

The rain had started. The radish became a cat toy and the  veggies  boiled over, while the cats licked Buttertub’s ears.

 Photographs 2023