Felix - Fleeting Glimpses

Here is a poem I wrote about Felix, his memory is still around, on the sofa, on the window sill, and in the painting hanging on the wall.

Felix - Fleeting glimpses

Sometimes I think,

when looking at you in the painting,

that you will,

stand up, stretch forward,

on your front short legs,

spine lengthening.

Stubby tail uncurling,

like a black flag pole,

and come running to me.

Like I've nearly forgotten,

you always did.

Telling me about,

everything that's happening,

with your quirky little cross eyed grin.

Sometimes I catch you

sleeping in the arm chair,

among the discarded jumpers and such,

your subtle energy

peacefully reminding me,

You're no longer there.

Sometimes missing you

is far too hard to bear.

The Belly Dancers

The following is a short story that I wrote as homework for the Scribbler's Writer's group which I currently belong to. The theme was to "write about a crime I would commit if I knew I would get away with it!" For some reason this humorous group of unlikely lady villains popped into my head. 

The Belly Dancers

The three of us met at the belly dancing class as usual on Thursday afternoon at the Town hall.

Vivacious Vera is blonde and recovering from a stroke so she goes to improve her coordination and cheer herself up a bit.

Kelly has M.E. the same as me, and we both go to the class to maintain our fitness and also have a much needed laugh.

But it’s a struggle for all three of us, not just physically doing the dancing but also paying for the classes.

We are all out of work for the foreseeable future, no one would employ us even if we did feel up to the job.

So it was after the class, at the bar, over our glasses of shandy, and while comparing notes on how poor we were, that Vera, who had just lost her incapacity benefit appeal, came up with an idea.

“I know, lets rob a bank!” she exclaimed, looking flushed from the dancing and laughing at the craziness of her idea.

Kelly and I laughed too, but the longer we sat there drinking our shandies the more it became an interesting proposition.

Hadn’t that bank been robbing us for years anyway? With extortionate fees and interest rates? While we each struggled with depression and the hopelessness of our individual situations.

“Yes lets do it!” I said resolutely and straightened my back.

“Yes, why not, what is there to lose” I laughed.

Kelly looked at me wide eyed and bemused and then at Vera, trying to ascertain if we were serious or not.

“O.K. I’m in; I could knit the balaclavas!” She laughed.

Next day we met at Kelly’s and planned the robbery.

We would all wear our belly dancing costumes with veils covering our faces.

Kelly’s son had two high powered water pistols that looked just like shotguns, so we commandeered them for the heist.

Vera had the fastest car, so she would be our get away driver.

It was down to Kelly and me to do the robbery. We practiced a few role plays, I learned to say

 “Give me all of your money bitch” in a menacing voice.

While Kelly practiced waving a water pistol around the room, without firing it, and saying    “This is a robbery and I will shoot anyone who moves” in an equally menacing manner. While trying not to giggle.

We had to move quickly, before we lost our nerve, so we did the bank the next day.

It was Friday, the bank should be awash with cash.

We met at Vera’s, yesterdays bravado had slipped away, we all looked pale and worried as we shut the car doors.

I had the loot bags, high class calico shopping bags, one has to be kind to the environment and look good even during a robbery.

We  arrived outside the bank at 14:00 hundred hours, having first checked there were no police about.

Vera sat in the drivers seat, engine running, while we both disembarked and headed for the bank.

I heard the car stall as we entered the building, but it was too late to turn back, the engine was being turned over and stalling again.

With veils hiding our faces we danced into the bank, Kelly held her water-pistol high and shouted to everyone there to “Stay still or be shot!!” I switched on my small music system playing our belly dancing tunes so we could keep dancing during the raid.

A woman customer screamed, her husband put his hand over her mouth and held her tight to him.

Kelly pointed the gun at them and shouted “Shut up or be shot!”

I danced over to the counter and shouted in my best bank robber's tone of voice

“Give me all the money Bitch!” while shoving the water-pistol at her chest.

Funnily enough she actually did it, no questions or suggesting I used the ATM!

She dropped wads and wads of used twenties and tens into the shopping bags, and finally wads of fifties were thrown into and filled the last bag.

“That’s all we’ve got she said quietly, gulping back tears.

“Great because that’s all my bags full up now. Great doing business with you! And by the way, if you try anything when we’re leaving I will shoot all of you, do you get me?!

ALL OF YOU bitch!!

I backed out of the bank, Kelly followed waving her shotgun in the air and shrieking.

We jumped into the car, but Vera couldn’t get it to start, her face was scarlet.

“It just died!” She gasped

“Now what do I do?”

Just then an elderly man was walking past,

“Hello dear, are you having car trouble?” he leaned against her window, she nodded through the glass.

“Pop the bonnet, I’ll see what it is, used to be an army engineer you know!” He smiled reassuringly.

Kelly and I were beside ourselves, frozen to the seats hearts pounding.

“Try not to look suspicious” I whispered to her as we whipped off our belly dancing veils and buttoned up cardigans over our costumes. Kelly started pulling on a pair of stretch jeans, tucking the costume into them.

I wrapped a long skirt around my ensemble and began hyperventilating.

Just as I started passing out, the old man said “arh that’s your problem, some dirt in the spark plug”, he got an old hanky out and wiped it clean, returning the plug to its rightful place with some gadget he'd taken out of his car tool kit.

I passed out, but woke up to find us in Vera’s garage, with Kelly shaking me and offering a glass of water.

So we did it! Got clean away, no fuss or fuzz!

It was in the news, a reward for info. offered, but it soon got forgotten.

Kelly bought herself a nice house in the country. I had a long holiday on board a cruise ship. And returned to buy a Scottish castle, six months later.

Vera bought a very expensive motor home, hired a nice young man to be her chauffeur and spends her time travelling around, often dropping in on us or taking us all out for spontaneous trips to nice places. Where we laugh and talk about belly dancing and water pistols.

The Fisherman's Inn

This year I won fourth prize in the annual writing competition, held by the creative writing group that I belong to, called The Scribblers. Having toyed with the idea of publishing it on my Facebook page, and thinking better of it, as the word count is a little longer than the last one I put on Facebook. I've decided to put it here instead. The exercise was to produce a short story of no more than 1,500 words, to a set ending, set by the previous year's winner, and it reads -" after everything that had happened, she turned around and instead of a dark troubled sky, there was the most beautiful golden sunset". etc. So here it is, happy reading!

Andrea Weeding, 1,500 words

The Fisherman’s Inn

Kev’s eyes darted from the angry couple in front of him. Beyond them the Inn’s old oak door swished lazily open, its heaviness pushed partly by the force of a strong westerly wind, leaves blew in and under the nearest table.

The couple had been ill, after drinking his pub’s beer, they reckoned that as the beer tasted o.k. the lines must need cleaning, and “why has this been neglected?” asked the man with an angry red face.

Through the doorway behind them, clacked a petite red haired woman, in high heels and red lipstick.

“Stunning”, thought Kev, she smiled delightfully and radiated charm, so much that the angry couple smiled back at her, immediately disarmed.

“Stupid people” thought Kev, “why should I clean the pipes? His mind flicked to the petite lady. He smiled graciously at the red head, his afternoon saviour, he was weary of fending off these country bumpkins. When would they take the hint? She obviously wasn’t from around here, he liked her immediately.

It turned out that she was his only applicant for the position of Pub manager/bar staff/housekeeper.

“Good evening Mr Ricard, I’m Brenda.” She extended her soft manicured hand with  varnished red nails, he shook her hand gleefully, she was perfect, she could start next week. Her only proviso was free accommodation, for herself and the dog Bracken. “Perfect” he thought, “that’s my security guard vacancy filled too and all on minimum wage” he hummed merrily to himself.

She was given the attic room, no good for B&B customers as the roof leaked, just a bit, she won’t mind.

Brenda fixed the leak and the stained ceiling on their first night, with an elegant flick of her rose scented wrist and her trusty old willow wand. The ceiling was made good as new, as were the old bed springs and the thread bare carpet. Soon her little attic room was a comfortable oasis of calm.

She felt that they would be very happy here, after she had just made a few more adjustments.

A voice had led her across the world, to this old rambling pub sat on the banks of a pretty river. It was frequented by narrow boats and holiday makers, who scrambled ashore onto the pub’s jetty, for real ale and chips, ice cream for the kids and a bowl of water for the dog. It really was a lovely place to spend quality time.

“It’s so peaceful here” She sighed as she walked Bracken that evening.  Bracken sniffed the air and barked as if in agreement, then turned back to the pub.

“A new broom sweeps clean” smiled Brenda the next day, Kev grinned back at her, enjoying her newly revealed cleavage in her barmaids blouse, as she hoovered the pub floor.

Three months later, Brenda began wondering about Kev’s motives. Though she enjoyed the excitement of running the pub, Kev seemed unmoved, there was a brooding atmosphere around him, even when he was smiling and talking to customers. He looked worried, she thought, especially when she cleaned the beer lines, which she did quite often.

Six months later….

“Kev’s in London today, Brenda told the cleaner, as she hurried past with an armful of clean linen, for the bedrooms. It was early Saturday morning, best day of the week, loads of new folk to meet.

“I’ll be manning the office today” Brenda grinned.

“Ok ” She smiled back.

Brenda trotted into the office, opened the accounts book and involuntarily tutted. All that income from the inn, but nothing was being spent on it. There was a long list of wines and spirits purchased only last week, but where had they gone? They weren’t behind the bar; it was embarrassing telling customers their only choice was between two beers. Even the crisps selection had dwindled to just ready salted. A loose piece of yellow paper fell out, it was a local authority planning application notice!

“What the hell is this?” She said under her breath. It read…

“to whom it concerns, the owner of Fisherman’s Inn has hereby applied for permission to erect ten, five bedroom houses fronting onto Rambler’s Drove.

Also a two storey extension, to front and rear of existing property.

Also a Gambling license for afore said Inn, 

Changing existing premises to 150 Bedroom Hotel and Casino, with indoor swimming pool.”

She sat down hard and peered through the office doorway at the pub’s customers, happily flopped on comfy chairs having their breakfast, dogs at their feet. Outside boating holiday makers were already chugging up the river towards the inn, anticipating a pint in the sunshine. All that would go if this planning permission was granted.

“No! It won’t happen, not on my watch!” She shut the book.

The previous owner Mr Granger, had haunted the Inn, since his death last year. It was he who had called to Brenda, across the desert, where she had tried to ignore the pull of his cries, but had finally dusted off her magic carpet, gathered her wand, her dog, and her best lipstick to fly with the Sahara winds, steering straight to this Inn, from one oasis to another.

Now she understood why. “He can’t rest while his Pub is threatened” She applied a fresh layer of red lip stick, while a plan formed in her mind.  

Over the coming months Kev became painfully aghast at the massive change in the fortunes of Fisherman’s Inn.

So many people turned up, that the B&B was fully booked, the bar always packed, the restaurant full, even the beer garden overflowed with customers. He watched Brenda, and guessed that she was the reason.

“Hardly surprising” he thought “With knockers like those, and such wondrous legs…” I should have known better, she’s going to wreck my plans, she’ll have to go!”

But he couldn’t sack her, for what reason? As much as he tried he couldn’t come up with a single reason for her dismissal. Her spell on him worked well, it usually did.

The W.I. started holding regular meetings at the Inn, while their eager husbands sampled a vast selection of beers. All Brenda’s work, just a flick of the wrist with her willow wand!

Kev’s planning application was refused, with the help of Counselor Evan’s wife who ran the W.I. and other prominent locals.

Brenda was particularly happy the day the letter of refusal arrived. Kev couldn’t understand it, he always got his way, “why was that woman so damned happy anyway”?

He suspected that she knew something. He drank some of the gin that she had magically procured for the bar. How did she do it? He had tight control over the money. Did she know about the application? He had to get shot of her; she was wrecking his chances of a profitable development.

That night, after hours, he did the only thing left to do. He poured a trail of petrol from the door to the bar, stood at the open doorway and chucked a lit match into the petrol, the flame ran along, he left quickly, needing an alibi.

Up in the attic Bracken was going crazy, barking and running around. Brenda followed him, he rushed out of the door as soon as she opened it, and down the stairs. Smoke billowed up towards them but Brenda used her quenching spell, her wand activated itself, its sparkles of magic flew around quenching the smoke and flames.

They reached the bar, where a sooty trail across the floor had been smothered.

The B&B customers appeared in their pajamas; one had a mobile phone and photographed the petrol trail.

Kev was duly arrested, “its twenty years for arson” said the arresting officer, Kev protested his innocence but went quiet when Brenda arrived at his court hearing. The judge smiled across at her like an old friend. Kev went down for the full term; his usual friendly veneer hadn’t worked for him this time.

Brenda bought the Inn when it was auctioned off. She felt at home, running her own pub.  Mr Granger’s ghost visited on her first night as new owner, he said “I am so happy, now the inn is safe, I can rest, good luck my dear, I don’t think I’ll be back again” the ghost faded towards the heavy oak door and was gone.

The following afternoon just as the sun was setting, customers in the beer garden clapped as Brenda and Bracken joined them.

“Well done! Congratulations!

She smiled and Bracken wagged his tail with gusto. One of the W.I. ladies came and gave her a big hug “Well done, we are all very grateful, you’ve saved our pub! Brenda felt her eyes moisten, she loved these people and she loved her pub.

After everything that had happened, she turned around and instead of a dark troubled sky, there was the most beautiful golden sunset. A pink ethereal light glowed across the land reflecting rose flames in every window. 

 

Thinking about Felix

This is Felix, we were his people from 2005 -2019. You can see he has a shaved belly after having an ultra sound scan at the v.e.t.s. when he became ill the first time. 
It was late July 2005 and I had persuaded my husband to accompany me on a nice walk across our nearby fields, on Berry Fen. We had only got a short way, down the entry footpath to the first field, when we saw a little skinny black and white cat, with a lovely shiny coat, dashing hither and thither in and out of the hedgerows along the footpath we were on. Being cat people we made encouraging noises to the cat, and he stopped hunting and focused his attention on us, he spoke to us "meiow, meiiow, meeeiow" and started to circle around us while continuing to let us know that somthing was wrong. Well, I was all for walking away, telling my hubby that the cat probably belonged to a nearby house and not to worry. But after a while observing the cat's irratic behaviour, we both postponed our walk and hubby ran back home to fetch the cat carrier, we would take him in tonight if no one claims him, when we knock on nearby doors. No body claimed him, so he spent the night with us, he was starving hungry, and nearly ate the plate when we first fed him, and he cried like a baby, his meiows sounded just like a new born baby crying full throttle. I have M.E. and so, due to his loud baby mieows got no sleep that night. We took him to the vets the next day, to check if he had a microchip, sure enough he did. His owners were living just up the other end of the village in a modern cul-de-sac and they were emmigrating that very day, we know this as we took Felix to them, the container with all their possesions was parked outside their house, all that remained was a desk in their laminate floored living room, we let Felix out of his carrier as we talked, and he tappy toed up and down the bare hard floor mieowing his baby cries. His owners told us how he had disapeared six months ago, and after much searching, they had given him up for dead. So they hadn't been able to get him passported/innoculated (along with their other cat) and whatever else was needed to be able to take him with them to Canada. They would have to hand him to a pet rescue that day before leaving. My husband said "oh no! could we have him? We would love to have him!" His owner agreed, gave us a cheque to cover initial costs and off we went. I wasn't so sure this would work, as we already had a fiesty long haired tabby cat called Purrdy, and due to Felix's loud mieow I was worried about how this would effect my ability to sleep at night. But hubby was determined, so I agreed.
After a week, Felix stopped his late night baby cries, and I was able to relax and sleep at night. Felix had settled into our household and made it his home too. He loved the beds, especially newly made beds with fresh clean linen to lounge on and snuggle into. This is what initially told me that he was a pet cat and not a feral cat. He never lost his love of bed snuggling.
Felix also had a great sense of humour, he continued to enjoy running around in circles a lot, for the rest of his life, we wondered if this was because of his wonky eye which apparently was the result of his mother treading on him when he was born, he was I believe the runt of the litter, and apparently got picked on a lot by the other cats, so he developed a defensive attitude towards other cats, this was often to his own detriment especially when a new neighbour moved in next door with the psycho cat from hell, but that's another story. Needless to say we had many emergency trips to the vets as a result of his fights with cats who dared to trespass on his territory.
Our other cat Purrdy soon got used to him and his comical ways, one of her tricks was to lay outstretched on her favourite armchair and wait for him to pass near her while doing his usual circling patrol of the lounge, when he was near enough she would lean out and swipe at him with a mischeivous grin on her face, I don't think claws were used, she just loved to make him jump, and start his circling all over again. But on cold winter days they would be best friends and snuggle up together to keep warm and sleep the day through while keeping an eye on the high street from their armchair.
Over the following forteen years Felix became my constant companion. I have had several episodes of ill health and he was always there for me, either on my lap, on my bed or on my belly while I rested on the sofa, usually purring and dribbling and needing my belly or my boobs, apparently this was due to him being weened too early?! He was a healing cat, and took his job very seriously I think.
The bottom line is he loved his family very much, and we grew to love him too. His constant "talking" endeared him to anyone who met him, he really was a very knowing cat, and even predicted the weather for us, he particularly hated windy weather and would spend the day before any storms mieowing incessantly until I relented and allowed him to hide in one of the bedrooms, on or under the duvet ofcourse.
He was a hunter, and caught a few Black-birds until they got wise to him, then the tables were turned and every spring and summer he would get mobbed by irrate brooding blackbirds as he patrolled his territory, I would watch with laughter from the kitchen, as he would have to run the length of our long garden to the house with his body low and head down like a man going over the trenches in WW1 as the blackbirds around him scolded and divebombed at him, then he would crash through the cat flap and tell me all about it.
One summer afternoon we were out in the garden together, when a particularly irrate Blackbird started to divebomb at him, I laughed, he put up with it for a few divebombs, then suddenly right in front of me he looked at me appearing to grin and waiting till the blackbird was at its lowest divebomb height above his head, he launched himself up vertically, pushing up with his back legs his front legs stretched up as high as he could until he had his front paws around the blackbird's body, then just let it go again, it shrieked and flew for cover in an embarassed kind of way. He just looked like he was laughing while he was doing it, and afterwards ran and jumped on my lap on the deckchair, like it was a job well done.
He loved to be my entertainment I think.
He also loved to watch TV, and would snuggle up with the pair of us on the sofa for our evening viewing, he particularly enjoyed Spring Watch and would try to locate the baby birds as they fledged behind the tv. He also enjoyed watching the 6 o'clock news with hubby, and appeared to be fascinated with the Brexit debate. Oh and he liked James Bond films too.
Over the last few months he enjoyed having some special time on the sofa with hubby and a plate of Wensleydale cheese with cranberries and biscuits, while watching the 6o'clock news. Hubby had the cheese with biscuits while Felix had his with thyroid and heart tablets hidden within the chunks of tasty cheese, Felix loved this special treat for some weeks, he really felt like he had had an illicit treat eating with his "Dad" on the sofa. 
But by last Thursday those special cheese treats had lost their appeal, and Felix's breathing difficulties became too much for him, and despite us promising that he would soon be home from his check-up at the very nice v.e.t.s. Felix had to be put-to-sleep, he come home with us, but not as we wanted, no noise from his carrier box on the back seat of the car this time, just a peaceful bundle wrapped gently in his favourite old towel, his dear body spent the night in our conservatory, and was tearfully buried in a favourable location in the garden, (near where he ambushed the Blackbird a few summers back), the next day. We will miss you Felix, night night little man, God bless.