At last, brilliant—the perfect crime executed! Today he will be gone. I heard them talking last night.

  “Poor thing. He just has to go.”

“Honey, don’t cry. It will be for the best.”

“Oh my heart is breaking… if only there was a solution, but I guess it’s the only way.”

“It’s just not the right time to have two kittens, dear, we’ll get over it.”

Ha! Am I good or what! Au Revoir mon cher Tigger. Tigger! What sort of name is that for such a pathetic member of the Great Cat Family. Were they trying to insinuate that this sickly, fur faded, stripes-gone-awry, mangy creature resembles THE TIGER, burning bright in his magnificence? The little worm has the eyes of a mouse, the courage of an ant, the body of a stunted mole.

Unlike, I, Bear, a real cat,  who am able to live up to my name. My fur shines black and sleek. My yellow eyes are honed to stealth and each rippling muscle poised to pounce and kill. 

The myth persists that animals are pure and innocent, whereas humans suffer from complex and deviant motives. But does not my heart beat with the same desires and passions that cursed the original Adam and Eve? Do I not love and covet and scheme and dream? Under my fur beats a heart wild with the same vagaries and impulses as you, human reader. And do I not collapse into ecstasy when my mother...the female human who feeds, brushes me, cleans my litter box, and clips my nails...then croons, pets, and cradles me saying, “Who is my lover boy? Who do I love? Who is gorgeous and beautiful and the best feline in the whole feline world? This is when I collapse onto my back—my chin, tummy, nether region properly exposed so they can be stroked and rubbed. And my automatic hum shifts into overdrive, as our two voices merge into a crescendo of mutual adoration. 

And do I not slink and pout and seethe with resentment and betrayal as they—and by they I will now include the human male who I don’t really think of as my father as he is so clueless that he barely knows which kibble I prefer and manages to stroke me absentmindedly with his huge awkward hands in the wrong direction! Suddenly, inexplicably, traitorously, they brought home that scrawny, mewing, miserable excuse for a sentient being into the house, saying “He will be such good company for Bear!”

Company! Is it company when all attention is diverted from me 24/7 to that good for nothing scumbag. The sickly thing was always terrified,  wouldn’t eat, and needed special vitamins for his fur.

“Oh, you poor baby,” crooned my mom, “yes, yes, there, there, little twinkle star of my heart, let       your mommy take good care of you. Oh don’t you worry little love button, yes you are the most beautiful, lovely loveliness in the whole feline world.”

“The whole feline world!” Wait a minute. Am a missing something? Can there be two best in-the-world felines? Does that add up? No, that is when a black blob entered my heart. It lay there sticky and stuck, a galling tumor of jealousy—spite spawning pure hatred. There were no two bests in the world. Best is one and that one is me! That rotten little shit-face had to go. And that is when I started to outline my perfect crime.  Perhaps my brain is smaller than a human's, but formed with the most potent strands of evolutionary DNA and perfected by years of scheming, it's as sharp as the tip of my claw.

First, Destruction. Everyday I carefully select one of mom’s favorite items—a shoe, a photo, her lovely embroidery work. Then I bite and tear and pull and mangle it to an almost unrecognizable condition and place it right where the little brat sleeps, and wait for the scream.

“Tigger! No, no! Naughty Baby. Oh dear, it’s totally ruined. Hon…look what Tig did!”

Yes, naughty, naughty indeed. Tigger will just have to learn to control his wild (tee hee) impulses.

Second, Vomit!  Tigger freaks at the sound of plastic bags rustling, a true scaredy-cat. So I wait until Tig has had his dinner and then chase him around and around waving a plastic bag in my mouth until he’s hopelessly sick and dizzy. Then I stop chasing him just when he’s landed on mom’s favorite area rug so he has a marvelous stinky throw-up right on the spot.

“Tigger! Oh dear. Not again. What on earth am I going to do with you. Hon….look what Tig did…

         again!”

Yes, poor baby cakes, what a disgusting habit you’ve (ha ha) developed!

Third, Shit. This was the hardest part as I have always been so fastidious in my habits and have never been known to have an accident. But that was just the point. Who else would deposit little turds in  mom and dad's bed (of all places!) and for good measure a nice spray of piss, leaving them with a humungus laundry problem.

“Tigger! How could you! No! No! Bad kitten, very, very bad. Hon! You’ll never believe

          what Tig did  —the second  time this week!”

Tigger, what a filthy, dirty, disgusting (chuckle, chuckle) creature you are!

So here we are driving the rotten pooper back to the shelter. Of course they had to put me in the car with him, his dear companion, so he wouldn’t be freaked for the car ride. They think I calm him down! Unlike wimpy here I enjoy a robust drive, a slight breeze ruffling through my pet carrier, the scent of life wafting about. If only the little meow-er would quit his sniveling. How’s he going to find a new home with that attitude? Are we there yet? I can't wait to get the pesky scumbag out of my life.

Ah, at last. Ugh, I can smell that clammy shelter. Can’t stand all those dogs barking and that horrible disinfectant stuff stinks. Do they really need to take me in there too? Can’t I just wait in the car? Wait a minute, wait a minute, why are they taking me and leaving the little pisser in the car? And why is mom lifting me out of my carrier, tears in her eyes saying, “Oh Bear, don’t worry, you’ll find a wonderful home. You are charming, bright, gorgeous. No one can resist you.”
 

What is she saying? My god, she’s starting to sob, “It’s because Tigster needs one on one attention. The doctor says his condition could be life threatening. We can’t possibly give him the care he needs with two cats. Bear! Bear! Good Bear! No Scratching!”

No scratching! What does she expect me to do when these big burly hands lift me up. Oh my god! He's leading me to a horrible rusty cage—arhhhh—help! Mom…mom! Where are you going! You've got the wrong ...hissssss….yuk…is that blood on my claws? Mom…come back! It's me. Your precious Bear...your one and only....yeow.....your clever....meo.....ow....fuck off you thug! Mom...don't leave me....it's me...your one and only....supreme, brilliant creator....grrrrrrr...of the ....per......fect....hissssss....yeo---ow.....crime!

2013

Call yourself alive? 

As the year shrinks away 

Watch the trees unfurl their tiny flags 

And shoot light off

To make themselves feel comfortable. 

That's a sight that will open your pores,

But if you want your shoulder blades 

To ache for wings

Monitor the leaves 

As they try to decide 

Whether or not they're still alive 

And if so - what for? 

As they lose their grip on even that 

And catch a breeze red-handed 

As they fall. 

That's when you'll know what gravity 

Is all about, 

Feel it like a stone in your shoe 

Anchoring your heel to the ground.

After they land  

Tidy up your garden with a rake 

Because they can't do it themselves. 

Makes you feel needed and real 

Except on autumn afternoons 

When the wind moans lonely 

Through the naked tees

Like an untuned radio 

Or mornings when waking up 

In the same old skin just isn't enough. 

Time is the cheater here; 

Holds on to old injuries year after year 

But don't worry. On days 

When life is a trick you can't solve 

Because the hours are too close together 

Or maybe too far apart 

Remember the leaves, 

Forget the pain 

And grab a tambourine.

2013

LEAVES OF THE NIGHT

Steve Bakalyar

Moonlight through tangerine leaves

casts a speckled glow about my shadow.

A dim odor evokes the childhood memory

of a leaf pile—smoldering and pungent.

We were baptized

by immersion in the pile,

scattering the leaves

then raking

scattering

then raking.

At last the cremation was prepared.

Nude oaks, stoic,

awaited the annual rite,

their progeny the pyre.

A match’s sparking trumpet call!

Leaf-souls ascended,

skeleton embers

in a final graceful act

rendered umber perfume

that slowed the heartbeat,

stretched the nighttime.

All was well.

I linger in this reverie,

forestall a restive sleep

in which my troubled people—

wife, children, siblings—

will churn,

leaves in a dark whirlwind

never soaring to morning’s blush

nor drifting to a peaceful grounding.

2013

DEMENTIA

Michael James

I am Dementia. I love you and you and you - all you old folks.

I catch you just before you reach the bottom

Enfold You in my gentle arms

And lull you to sleep, an easy task.

Then while you slumber steal your brain

For my ravening maw

And feast, grow fat on your gray cells 

As I consume them from the inside out,

Until your mind feels like a fly

Trapped within a spider's silken strands.

I am Dementia, death's stepping stone

For all who seek oblivion

I'll help you cross the great divide, the in-between,

By wiping clean your mental slate. 

No troubling memories will come to you,

No memories at all.

I'll get to the rest of you in time.

Be patient, my loves; your turn will come.

I am Dementia; I long for the mating 

Of your sleeping brain with my succubus,

The ultimate sexual union

Of human with supernatural bliss.

l am Dementia, your replacement alter ego,

The worm who ate away the You who you thought eterne.

Out of sight the brain worm turns:

Then gone, a dozen years,

The husband and children, memories kept alive 

By a picture.

"That's my husband, I talk to him sometimes."

Destroyer Dementia, that's me!

I hope to be your destiny,

And visit you with frequent reps

That shake your tottering steps,

I'll fill you full with doubt and fear,

No friends for you,

No loved ones near.

You'll know the fear of midnight's rattle,

Of being lost, of stranger's prattle,

Confusion settling o'er your world

Obscuring all details.

I'll turn Chaos loose on you

You'll have no clue 'bout what to do

When once you're out of your own house,

Less than a human, just a mouse. 

When I take charge, I cull the field,

Restrict what's seen, I do not yield.

Wipe out the dreams of youthful toys,

Accomplishments, and tears, and joys.

As I munch the cells now fails the crone.

Her poor mind wonders  on its own.

Her purse she'll clutch, ransack it sure,

To carefully see each picture there,

Examine yet again her kin,

To try to bring them back again.

"What are you thinking, Gran?" one asks.

"Oh, nothing much."

The brain cells die, the creature fails

She'll now not ever know what ails.

The mind she had which could have told,

Gave up the fight as she grew old.

No time left now to search for soul,

No time to play another role,

To let the line sink in the deep,

To hook the Fish, to see it leap.

In flashing arcs above the sea,

A shining prize for all to see.

No time, and so she sleeps.

I have her now,

Though at one stroke,

E'en that could vanish in

A whiff of smoke

What could have been 

A heavenly rose,

Merely a tickle In the 

Cosmic nose.

February 2012

I Screwed Up!

By Ruth Hoppe

In an alternate universe, dramas often play out differently than the way we have observed them from our own universe. Here are a couple of examples from the historical record of a world similar to our own, but a little different.

Universe Date 7.77777765 aka December 19, 1998

Good morning, distinguished members of Congress, members of the press, and my fellow Americans, thank you for allowing me to address you this morning.  I’ve something to share with you that’s very difficult. I want to give you my apology.

We are all painfully aware of the drama of these impeachment hearings going on and on for months. We have wasted millions of dollars of government money and too much time in such a farce. We have heard the vicious, prurient, opportunistic, self-serving tone of the questions and of the direction the interrogators intend on taking this boondoggle. All that has made me bitter, and I’d like to change that.

I don’t blame myself for allowing this grand inquisition to put me on the defensive and slip and slide around those questions like an Olympic slalom contender. I didn’t lie, technically, but I didn’t tell the truth either. I told the interrogators that I never had sex with that woman. Well, that depends on how you define sex. I used a definition of sex that I could deny.

Recently I met Stan Dale. Stan Dale is the founder of the Human Awareness Institute, whose mission is to create a world where everyone wins. They put on workshops dealing with love, intimacy, and sexuality. Stan told me one way to define sex is S-E-X – Sacred energy exchange. By looking into someone’s eyes with love and compassion, you can have a sacred energy exchange. That blew my mind! Needless to say, I have had a change of heart. After much soul-searching with Stan Dale, prayer with God, and consulting with the First Lady, still one of the finest attorneys in Washington, I have decided to provide another level of truth about this matter. To paraphrase Hillary, “Bill, you screwed up, now fess up!”

The committee asked me if I had a sexual relationship with Ms. Lewinsky. The answer is Yes, I did, and I do not, at present. Therefore, my previous answer was correct. At the time I answered the question, I was no longer in relationship with her.

I am not going to answer any further questions about the details of this past relationship. It is sufficient to say that whatever we did together was indeed of a sexual nature. It was great fun, very pleasurable. It was absolutely loving. And it was wrong for me to engage in it because it involved deception and hubris. I always admired President Kennedy and wanted to be like him. Even when I said that, I knew deep inside I wanted to emulate his ability to get the women he wanted, any woman he wanted.

I have a weakness for pretty women who also exhibit self-confidence and aren’t afraid to flirt with me. This is not the first time that I have broken my marriage vows. I am a very lustful man.  Some would describe this type of behavior as that of a sex addict. Perhaps it is.

I admit that I have abused the trust of the people of the United States of America, who elected me to this privileged office. I let my own powerful ego and sense of entitlement let me believe I could get by with behavior behind closed doors in ways that I am ashamed to admit in public, and which violate all ethical considerations and the spirit of the Civil Rights laws.

My conscience will no longer allow me to evade, squirm around, and slide around your questions, as objectionable as they may be to me and many others. I have come to believe that absolute honesty is the right thing to do, so that our government can put this regrettable act behind us and begin dealing with the critical and serious problems of our nation.

If any think I should be punished further, I should remind you that everyone has a skeleton in their closet. Some are of a sexual nature, others involve money, and all involve lying. If you think you haven’t lied, I assure you that the FBI and Secret Service will find out what you did and we will publish it for the public to know all about it.

In conclusion, I know I did wrong. I did wrong to the First Lady, I did wrong to the intern involved, and I did wrong to the people of the United States. I ask you to look into your hearts and grant me forgiveness, if you are willing to do that. I will live with the consequences of my actions, regardless, but I do hope you forgive me. I intend to be more conscious of my own ego-driven desires so that I can be a more aware, ethical, and responsible leader for this country. I am not willing to continue the unethical and unreasonable behaviors I have done in the past.

God bless you and God bless the people of the United States of America.

Chapter 2:  June 8, 2008

Now we have our guest of honor for this show, the Honorable Condoleeza Rice, Secretary of State of the United States:

Oprah, I’m delighted that you’ve allowed me to be a guest once again on your show! I enjoyed it so much last time, and I have a special reason for requesting to come on again, an announcement that has tremendous importance to me and probably to others as well.

Condi, I can’t imagine what kind of surprise you would bring here! For sharing with our entire viewing audience … And please go on:

I need to start at the beginning. I’ve told you before about my growing up in Birmingham and how the bombing of the church and killing four little black girls, one of them a schoolmate of mine, affected me. Being a little black girl myself, and attending my own church only a few blocks away, I actually felt that explosion on Sunday morning. That act of terror affected my entire life and the life of this country. I realize it’s no wonder I was also affected by the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon!

My parents educated me and expected me to go far in life. It was as if the sky was not the limit. Even though we were discriminated against, not allowed to mingle with white people, Mom and Dad prepared me for a life of achievement. They prepared me to carry myself with dignity no matter what. Well, I’ve achieved it. And now I’m renouncing it. Yes, I’m quitting. I’m no longer going to be Secretary of State.

Condi, does George W. know about this?

No, Oprah, he doesn’t. He’s going to really be surprised! I know this kind of stunt goes against everything proper my mom and dad taught me to be, and maybe that’s the point. I’ve been a good, obedient yes-girl too damn long.

Oh my! Well, whatever this is about, you have my blessing …

You know I’ve loved being the expert in foreign affairs. My fascination with the Soviet Union and its ultimate demise … my stint in the first Bush administration … my post as National Security Advisor, and finally Secretary of State. I guess all this prestige really got to my head.  Hanging out with the big boys, so to speak, made me a sucker and seemed to override my common sense. Stanford was pretty heady, too, but the Oval Office is testosterone city on steroids.

Condi, those sure are colorful metaphors, but then again, I wasn’t there. What happened, dear?

Well, I never did learn the whole truth about what happened on 9/11. But I know the way I was handled and pushed into testifying before the 9/11 Commission, like the administration was throwing them a bone to keep them off the real trail.

Then I found myself doing things that sounded reasonable, but I regretted later, like misleading everyone about the evidence for weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. My comment “we don’t want the smoking gun to be a mushroom cloud” was pure propaganda. I sincerely regret authorizing the waterboarding of Abu Zubaydah – he was a leader of Al Quaeda. I admit I didn’t realize I approved that type of torture. I thought I was just passing on someone else’s order. But I didn’t object either. I got in so deep in this mud puddle, I wasn’t sure I would ever get out. Only God could help me.

So, Condi, do you think you were a people-pleaser?

Absolutely. My parents taught me to respect legitimate authority. But I was seduced by the dynamics of the highest powers in Washington. I let too many details slide by me. I didn’t want to question my boss. Let me rephrase that – I questioned him and Cheney all the time. But when they overrode my opinions, I let that slide. I let slide my conscience, my sense of right and wrong. Besides, I always was a diplomat, not a debater. I really can’t deal with politics and politicians. Ironically, my major was political science.

I had a dream three nights ago. In this dream, I’m playing the piano, which I love to do in real life. Next I’m still playing the piano and I’m dancing and singing as well. Now the piano is levitated and it’s dancing too. I keep playing, I keep singing, I keep dancing. Now the floor itself is moving, is dancing. Now I notice that all the notes I’m playing don’t sound right. Some of them sound okay and some of them are just off. I finally stop playing and lift up the lid, and there are two little men inside moving around on the strings. No wonder it didn’t sound right.

When I woke up, I knew this dream was my sign from God. You know, my father was a Presbyterian pastor as well as a teacher, and he taught me about the power of dreams. The Bible has so many examples of prophetic dreams. I talked with my dad about my dream. Yes, I know my dad has been dead 8 years now, but we still talk, and he gives me good advice. He told me I can’t keep propping up men just as evil as the one we killed in Iraq. He told me not to worry. I didn’t really screw up … I had to take the job so I could learn from the experience. Now I know it’s not my job anymore. I’ve lied and misled and done it happily, just to be a part of the leadership. A leadership of either fools or traitors, or both.

Condi, you say you don’t know for sure what happened on 9/11?

Yes, Oprah, I don’t. I know what they want me to know about it. I even know a few other bits and pieces, but I haven’t fit all those pieces together yet. It just isn’t coherent. There is a man named Fred Burks who has a website with more information than it’s possible to evaluate … wanttoknow.info, I think is the website … I think there are some really evil men in our government, as my dad pointed out to me, and they aren’t playing my song. It’s time for me to leave.

Goodbye, George. I won’t be back!

Condi, I understand you are a Christian and that Christian morality informs your decisions. How does this fit here?

I haven’t been consulting God enough in the past. George W. and Cheney became God-like in my mind, even though the real God was always in my heart. I am being guided to do more spiritual exploration in the future. I met a Sufi recently and found that my own faith seems quite compatible with that, an open and curious approach to spirituality. Also, I met Hameed Ali, who writes under the name A. H. Almaas, who is the creator of the Diamond Heart approach. Oprah, have you ever met Hameed Ali? I think you would really like him. He really encourages inquiry and discovering one’s own essence. I’m also reading books written by some Catholic brothers and sisters. I know from DNA testing that I am part African, part European, and part Native American. My genetic heritage may inform my spiritual activities. There are several paths I might take. I think I need some time out and God will lead me in the way I am to go.

Do you think you might run for President?

Oh no! Well, at least for now, I can’t contemplate further engagement either in the political process or the military-industrial process. I am a peaceful person, and whatever path I take I pray will be a peaceful one and a way to help all people.

Condi, I want to congratulate you for your courageous decision, your willingness to honestly explore your own life and the person you are meant to be. I especially thank you for this conversation on our program. Many blessings to you in your new life, your new future!

Ruth Hoppe