For the Love of Dirt: 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.