"Kitty Thoughts"

            Delving into a kitty brain takes a unique approach. As a child, our Thomas prowled the neighborhood. His reputation as a big game hunter formed with each bird or mouse he laid upon our doorstep. He wore camouflage of tiger stripes that hid him under bushes and within trees. He never showed his prowess with his claws with my sister or with me. He became a limp rag doll whenever we lugged him around the house and never once took a swipe at us when we shoved him into a toy carriage. Thomas broke our hearts when he strayed away from home. Eventually, a battle scarred ruffian turned up on our doorstep. A hunk of flesh missing from his ear, and his right eye tightly closed. Mom fed him, tried to coax him back into our home, but he roamed off again after a few days.

            Cookie and Junior, devilish litter mates, whirled into our household with Dad’s next assignment. These dervishes swung from curtain, knocked down the cookie jar, and terrorized anything that moved. They swiped at our legs whenever we passed by and sprang out from behind furniture with kamikaze recklessness. Their wild antics entertained us constantly, but their combined wild man capers left Mom ragged. My parents decided to take them to a neighboring farm. I remember letting them take off from my clinging embrace to frolic in the hay.

Brindle

            Beautiful, calm Brindle entered my heart and home during the first years of my marriage. She gracefully embraced every change within our home: a child, a dog. Her innate shyness meant people questioned whether or not we had a cat at all. When visitors arrived, she slipped from the room or watched from under the couch. When we first brought her home from the shelter, she would duck away from sudden movement or loud noises. We suspected her early life abounded with hardships. Our promise to her—an unending love.

One of the few pictures of camera shy Sassy!

Our Sassy cat often shunned my attention. She’d jump onto the couch, but the moment I stroked her back or rubbed her chin, she’d move away. She never behaved that way with my husband or son, which left me heartbroken. Sometimes she didn’t avoid me like the plague. I reveled in her gentle head butts and paw taps that directed my pets to her soft fur. Her Jekyll and Hyde interactions with me puzzled me for many years. Then one momentous day, she sneezed—and sneezed, and sneezed before she moved away from my outstretched hand. I dawned on me that she wasn’t avoiding me after all, but my perfume! The experiment to test my hypothesis proved simple. After I took baths, Sassy adored my attention. If I tried to interact with her with any perfume on, she’d duck and dodge my attention. What a relief to discover that my kitty didn’t dislike me!

Padme

We didn’t expect to come home with another cat, but Padme captured my son’s heart the moment he saw her playing at the pet store. She and her twin tangled together in abandon. Only bringing home one kitten of the pair was difficult, but we’d gone to the pet store for an iguana! Padme grew into a passionately opinionated cat with her long whipping tail expressing disapproval with an arrogant flick. Unlike shy Sassy, Padme demanded attention whenever anyone visited. She’d lounge on the kitchen desk to invite back rubs and chin scratches. Padme never presented a puzzle to anyone. She wanted affection and gave it back freely.  

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Passwords"

            In the not so distant past, I hated generating passwords for my endless accounts. I fumbled to come up with something that I could remember, that would flow from the tips of my fingers over a keyboard effortlessly. I have many friends who use generators, but I dragged my feet over going that route.

            My latest technique for creating passwords stems from my use of obscure things only I will know, like the name of my best friend’s third grade crush. I morph “Jeff” to something like J3ff3rd1966IL? In my way of thinking, I can remember Jeff, third grade and the year I was in that grade coupled with the state I lived in at that time. Right? The question mark makes me stop and think on whether this is the right combination before I hit ENTER. For me, generating a new password changed from a tedious exercise to something fun. Need another new password? How about my second grade teacher? MsWh!t3@Dov3r! (Ms. White at Dover). 

            Occasionally, I generate something that trips my fingers up too much, but usually the end result means I hold within my head more passwords than ever before!

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Competition"

            My in-laws thrive on an antagonistic, competitive dynamic that leaves me confused and emotionally battered. Their monthly gatherings, usually doused with alcohol, disintegrate into hostile clashes whenever they are confronted with anyone or anything that doesn’t mesh with their clannish worldview.
I desperately attempted to fit into their tribe for many years. I endured their barbed comments, cruel exclusions, and open hostility because I convinced myself that all I had to do was somehow be “better” to gain acceptance. In my mind, if I could figure out the rules to their game, I would help my husband and son improve their relationship within the family. In hindsight, my constant anger, bitterness, and pain caused damage, too.  It took extensive soul searching on my part, along with a million arguments with my husband, to finally admit that I would never, ever belong.
During the last forty years, my response to the dysfunction varied depending upon my own mental and emotional health. I now pick and choose very carefully which holidays and events to attend, and I no longer take on guilt because I don’t try to improve relationships anymore. Most of the time, I believe that no one in the family even notices that I’ve disengaged from their turmoil and drama. They remain focused on their latest level of rivalry, like how many homes they own or the type of airplane they fly. Although they gather habitually, I don’t think they really like one another. Their connection stems from rivalry that fosters enmity. They are linked more by competition than affection.
They play a sad game.  

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"If You Can't Say Somethin' Nice"

          Remember Thumper’s Rule? My parents singsong of “If you can’t say somethin’ nice, say nothin’ at all” resounded through our household enough that the line from Bambi entrenched itself into my personal philosophy. I admit, this life paradigm proved difficult for me to follow. My too quick and sharp tongue often engages in slicing and dicing a victim before my better, gentler brain kicks into gear. If I make it through the day without saying something caustic or sarcastic, it’s a major victory for me.

            Whenever I start a new journal, I move first to the last page. I write down personal goals that I can easily flip to daily if necessary. My current journal’s final page carries this reminder:  Be generous. Be gracious. Be gentle. 

            During the last few years, I’ve begun to wish everyone adopted this mantra, or one similar to it. Wouldn’t it be grand if our culture sought generosity in how we treated our children, elderly, and impoverished? Imagine if all of us embraced kindness and courtesy as easily as we slip into derision and division; and gentleness grew naturally from each family and sprouted from neighborhood to city to country to world.

           Ugliness taints our daily news. A foul stench wafts through our society that makes me ashamed because I don’t know how to change things. If I contribute to the maliciousness, I mire myself in the hate.

          If I follow Thumper’s Rule, and say nothing at all, my silence implies agreement.

          I must balance my words and write my thoughts in ways that dispute what’s evil while not using vileness to defend humanity. The battle plays out daily in my mind. Be generous. Be gracious. Be gentle.

          Perhaps I need to add one more—Be resolute.

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman  

          

"The Harpy"

Above all, she soars

Her vicious talons sharp

She swoops

Her wicked claws rip and tear

Into her own children

Cruelly she slices her prey

Ignores their anguished cries

Her evil hunger feeds upon the flesh of her babies

She devours their adoration

Her soul-eating cravings insatiable

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman