The Side Yard

One side of the house had a little sidewalk that connected front with back yards, and the other side was cut off by a six-foot fence separating back and front portions of the house. If you traveled on this path you went under a lovely white rose arbor that held Daddy’s favorite red climbing rose. This was also the means by which our cats accessed the roof and our upstairs bedroom whereby they could secretly enter the house and find a nice warm haven from the cold outdoors. Further on down the walk was a flowerbed next to the house and a lawn that lay between our house and our neighbor’s house. Fences, gardens and lawns were in constant need of attention. Both Mom and Daddy were kept busy with mowing, weeding, repairing, and general maintenance. It wasn't as though we children were without responsibility; we had our chores and were expected to pitch in. I myself would always rather help Dad with an outdoor project than help Mom with household chores (big surprise!) There was one time when I was telling a friend of mine that I’d much rather work outside in the garden with Dad than in the house doing the mundane chores of keeping the home clean. At this Daddy loudly guffawed and I felt embarrassed and in self-defense stated that it was the truth. I never knew if Dad thought I didn’t want to do any work or if he doubted that I liked being outside more than being in the house. But it wasn’t as though we had a choice in the matter, we were expected to do what chores we were assigned, and so I think it was more a laugh at the absurd idea that we had a right to a preference.

The side yard held a small white picket fence separating back yard and garden from the side yard and its garden. The tiny garden area at the end of the yard held a beautiful snowball tree that blossomed every spring. This tree was blamed for every sniffle and sneeze that my mother suffered. She seemed to be terribly allergic to any plant, except her precious fuchsias and the snowball tree was her favorite culprit when it was blooming. Naturally, this was my favorite tree mostly, I think, because it had beautiful big perfectly circular flowers that carried the most incredibly beautiful scent throughout the yard. Eventually, Mom would have her way and the tree would be cut down, although this didn’t seem to abate her “hay fever” for a moment.
The little sidewalk that ran from the back yard to the front yard on the right side of the house separated another garden from the side lawn area. This garden held beautiful orange poppies that had black centers and as they died back towards the end of summer left large peculiar looking seedpods. After these pods dried each year we shook out the seed into the garden beds hoping that we were insuring another year of these lovely plants.

More Cat Stories
The Mouse Gift

The little sidewalk was our only access between the front and back yards. When we were washing or polishing the living room floor this walkway allowed us to access the other end of the house; likewise once the kitchen floor was scrubbed and we were waiting for it to dry, we used this pathway to access the front of the house. I had a cat one time who frequently brought us “gifts” and left them on the back door steps. He did this so frequently that we began to carefully look out the back door before we ventured to tread on one of those steps. Too often one of us would be surprised to spot at the last moment a field mouse, or baby bird’s body lying there as we skipped out the back door. One day, when I was a teenage, after I had finished scrubbing the kitchen floor, the phone rang in the living room. Since the floor was still wet, I madly dashed barefooted from the back door, around the outside of the house to the front door to grab the all-important phone, my lifeline at the time. In my haste I failed to check the back steps, but luckily there were no gifts lying in wait for a misstep. However, as I was running around on the little sidewalk I was going so fast that I was almost to the front door before I thought to myself, “Wow that sure felt funny, I wonder what I just stepped on.” The phone was forgotten and I slowly turned around and retraced my steps down the little sidewalk to a few feet from the entrance to the back yard. There on the sidewalk lay a dead mouse, and not too long dead because the warm furry feeling on the bottom of my foot lingered to remind me that in my haste I had run right over and landed on another “gift” that my feline friend had not quite gotten to the back step. I can still feel the squish under my foot and the surprising delayed reaction I had running over the poor little thing.

Left to right: Bobby Larry with Karry on his shoulders, Arlen withBeverly in front

Circa: 1950

Attack of the Lonely Cat

Daddy was never a defender of cats and sometimes not even close to being friendly with any cats that happened to be around him. To him cats were supposed to be working animals, they had one purpose in life, not as pets but as pest control. He had been raised on a farm and when he was on his family’s farm cats were supposed to keep the farm free of vermin. Cats weren’t supposed to be fed; they were supposed to find their own food, preferably any spare mice that happened on their path. Any of this nonsense of spending hard-earned money on pet food was just a ridiculous waste of funds.

During our summer vacation we would often leave for an extended period, often a couple of weeks or a month, and stay with our Grandparents in Medford or go for an extended stay at the beach. Most of the time Daddy wasn’t able to stay with us the whole time, but would drive us to our destination and stay for the weekend, but then he would head back to Longview and his job. In preparation for these long absences Mom would madly work in the kitchen to prepare meals ahead of time and freeze them so that all Daddy had to do was take one out of the freezer and heat it in the oven for his dinner. I sometimes wonder if he didn’t just chuck them all and go out to dinner with friends. The house must have been very quiet and subdued while we were away, and although it would have been a relief to have some peace and quiet it must also have been somewhat lonely after a bit of time had elapsed. It also must had been kind of a pain in his backside to take care of any pets that we had, especially a cat that was supposed to be self sufficient.On one particularly long summer visit to Medford Daddy left us on Sunday morning and headed home for a week of work in Longview. Now this was not a quick trip up the Interstate, it was a long tortuous journey that took at least six hours, so it was not taken on without some forethought. This time he was going home for a couple of weeks and would then head back to spend a week of vacation with us in Medford and then we’d all take the final grindingly boring drive back to Longview. We all looked forward to the day when he’d arrive back in Medford with news from the home front and any mail that might have been of some importance. It was always better when he arrived because we seemed to be whole again, complete when we were all together. When Daddy arrived this time we were all stunned to see that one arm was quite damaged with several large cicatrixes covering the wounds down the length of his left arm. The story was that when he arrived home from his long car trip a fortnight ago he was in no mood to greet the cat or pay any attention to him, he was tired and was headed for the back door and bed as soon as possible. As he headed down the side-yard to the back door, the cat greeted him and he ignored the cat, per usual. However, the cat had decided that, after being left alone for several days, he was not putting up with being ignored. It was his time to have some attention, some petting and some food. So, rather than let Daddy just walk on by without so much as a “Howdy,” he was going to get some attention. A scuttle around his legs led to a shooing away, which only encouraged the animal to show a bit more aggression by climbing his leg and flinging himself into Dads arms. It was like oil and water, to say the least and the result was that Dad was the worse for the wear. Winner, cat; looser, Daddy. More surprising than anything was that the cat survived the attack, there was never any doubt that Daddy would survive…he was a survivor if nothing else. But in the end, I think Dad found a new kind of respect for the cat because they seemed to form some kind of a contract from the event. Daddy fed him and gave him the little attention that he needed and when we all returned home the two of them carried out a certain unique détente throughout the remainder of the cat’s life.

L to R: Arlen, Bob, Beverly in wagon, and Larry

Circa 1947