Frisky, the Cat with Nine Lives

My creative normally playful mind is on hiatus, while I continue to strip, stain, and varnish the kitchen table. What an undertaking! Not to mention that the flowers outside are demanding my attention. 

I needed a story to sidetrack my mind and make me smile. This story of Frisky, I wrote a decade ago, but good stories need repeating. So I make this toast to you, old cat, and share your story from decades past. 

Oh, our Frisky kitty, whatever was your fate? I pray it was a gentle sleep on a warm comforter. We have lost our paper pictures of your capers and mischief, but we have not forgotten a single antic you pulled. 

Today, I remembered a picture of you that captured all of your spirited orneriness. There you were crawling out of the trash can, leaping up at an unsuspecting four year old Katy. But that was your life, always full of surprises.

You came to us from our friend, Gary, who never knew his gift might someday be the reason we called the Greensburg, Kansas fire department to rescue a black and white kitty meowing from the highest branch of the old cottonwood tree. Our trailer and yard on Nebraska Street became your playground for three adventurous years.

Birthday party, Thane, Gail, Robin, Bruce, Richardson's,
Katy and Frisky in the middle. 

It was the pink picture of you that stumped me,Frisky. Why were you stained in shades of pink? There you were on the brown and white checkered bedspread posing like a queen with a black and white fur coat, and tail wrapped around your body. Guilty you looked, but of what? Then I noticed your white underbelly and paws stained in shades of pink and red. Whatever had you played with while I was at work? 

This puzzle would soon be solved by sleuths, Katy and Gail. They were the ones who found the magic markers on the bedroom floor, opened, scratched and strewn apart. The camera shot evoked a cat charmingly innocent of all artistic endeavors. Luckily, the olive green carpet showed only a few color blends. For months your pinkness gave the neighborhood much delight.

Frisky and Squirty dog, you both chased each other back and forth on the linoleum floors of that trailer keeping us on constant alert and in cheerful moods. But once you took a dare only a cat with nine lives would take. I had been in the hospital for a week with pneumonia and came home weakened. Katy and I hugged and hugged. Then reality set in and the dirty laundry took priority. The dog must have dared you to hide in the warm dryer. I certainly didn't let you in. I did throw my newly washed gowns and underwear into the dryer. With the door closed I turned on the dryer and you, too, to twenty minutes of low heat.

I took a nap at the back of the trailer while Katy and Gail played with Barbie dolls at the front end. We heard thumps but never suspected you. At last the buzzer went off and I shuffled to the dryer. On my first reach I pulled out blood covered lingerie and promptly did what any young woman would have done. I screamed bloody murder.

Katy and Gail rounded the corner at a fast slide in time to see me pull out a wounded cat. You were covered in blood with your eyes, nose, and mouth swollen, ears broken and torn, and a tail more crooked than any tales I've ever told. You managed a weak meow. Tears of joy and fear followed.

We wrapped you in warm towels and called Nurse Arlene for help. In the coming weeks you were nursed back to health by a community of loving people. Pictures showed the before with a curling sly tail and the after, a crooked bend and kinks in a tail that would never swing nor sway the same way again.

Frisky, you, too, were the one that could have gotten me arrested, for exposing a wet nude body in the side yard, had the bath towel dropped to the ground. I'll never forget the blood curdling screams of little girls outside. Inside, I stood in the shower with only a twelve inch square trailer window open to the outside world, I heard, "Help, Letty, help. The dogs have Katy!" Dripping wet with soap sliding down my body, I stepped out of the shower grabbing the nearest towel for cover. Running outside, I saw a covey of little girls backed against the trailer and three snarling dogs at the base of the tree.

There stood Katy safe and sound, but the screams continued, "Save Kitty. Save Kitty!" With fingers pointed at the tree I saw you, Frisky. There you were, only weeks away from the dryer episode, in a feeble crawl to save your life from the ferocious teeth and paws of the barking dogs.

What's a mother to do, but rescue the cat! My screaming and running shooed the dogs away, but there you were frozen flat to the tree, just out of reach. One ladder found in the neighbor's yard saved the day. With the ladder leaning precariously against the tree, up I crawled, step by step, one hand on the ladder and one on my knotted towel. I grabbed you by the scruff of the neck, holding you tight to my chest, and together we gingerly crawled down to solid ground.

We were all safe that day and lived to tell our versions of your escapades. Thanks for the memories, Frisky.

Rudolph's Red Nose

The winter, that Rudolph guided us home on the night before Christmas, began with a week of snowy winter days wrapped in fog, with clouds of drizzling mist that kept us shivering on the cold Kansas plains in Greensburg. The long drive across the state to Miami, Oklahoma was daunting on nights such as this, and I was often exhausted from teaching.

Beauty and the Bleakness on the prairie

On Dec. 24, 1976 school was dismissed at 2:00, an early release was quite a bonus.  Because the weather had been so questionable, we decided to caravan with another teacher and her husband (Dennie and Karen Smith) across the state, where they'd meet up with family near Coffeyville, and we'd drive on into Miami if the weather and the roads allowed it  We packed our 1975 little green Toyota Celica with winter clothes, blankets, Dr. Pepper, water, food, a few packages, and our beloved Cairn terrier, Squirty. 

Squirty and Frisky

The weather stayed dreary then dark prevailed. After Augusta the old black asphalt highway narrowed to two lanes and the headlights barely showed the tail lights of the sleek red Camaro that we were following. Somewhere near Sedan (on the old highway) I lost our caravan, so we made one last stop at a dirty battered gas station.  Afraid I'd get sleepy, I washed my face and kept the wet towel handy in the car for spills and to splash my face.  

With only a radio to keep us company we listened to the "Old Time" radio shows out of a Coffeyville station, and laughed at "Fibber McGee and Molly" and "George and Gracie Burns." Suddenly, I realized that we were the only people on the road, and our sight was limited by the low clouds and fog lining the bar ditches along old highway 166.  Even going 55mph seemed dangerous, but the slower I drove the longer the night.

Somewhere over a field Katy noticed a blinking red light up above and cried out, "Mommy, there's Rudolph.  I bet he's going to the farm."  Then like a tiny miracle I, too, saw that twinkling light.  Even though my mind knew it was a small airplane, my heart really felt the presence of life and hope. I opened my heart, released my fears, and let Rudolph's red nose guide us home safely to my parents farm.   

An hour later, we pulled into a star lite night on the farm with my parents outside to greet us. Katy leaped from the car and ran to gramps shouting, "Has Rudolph been here yet?"  To which my dad gleefully smiled, "You just missed him Kitten. He and Santa flew away just before you arrived."  

Jumping up and down in excitement Katy continued, "I knew it, I knew it.  I saw Rudolph's nose in the sky, and he showed momma how to find the farm."  

Katy's Christmas dolls.

Aunt Jonya listens to Katy's story.

Seven Eleven

Forty-three years ago this morning a precious baby girl entered our world and I was happy. Kathryn Alexis Rains, with a head full of dark hair and rosy cheeks, roared into the world at St. John's Hospital, Joplin, Missouri, arriving at 7:11am on a Tuesday morning, before grandparents could even be called.  For them, no waiting! What a delightful surprise for all of us. I had the luxury of a grand insurance plan from BF Goodrich, which allowed me six full days of hospital care.  

I quickly learned what so many of the "old wives' meant when they said, "sleep when you can, your pleasant nights of rest are over."  So began the cycles of life for both of us and a connectedness between mother and daughter that runs deeper than the ocean's bottom, with highs that surely crest the Alps, and blues that churn the rolling seas.  Her cholicky days and nights must have rivaled mine, as my father heard her cries and immediately was

Gramps and his kitten, Katy.

transported to the months following my birth when I, too, would scream and cry, keeping the whole world awake and weary.  As my mother, the sage, would say when she pursed her lips and made a slight kissing sound, "This too shall pass, Letty."

Katy was a child, now a woman, who cannot be contained by walls.  Her energy, her curiosity, her head strong stubbornness all woven together has created a life full of good and bad choices, love and heartache, and learning from experiences more than from books.  She steadfastly learned how to ride a two-wheeled bicycle down the gravely streets of Greensburg, Ks before she turned four.  Blood, sweat, and tears were a daily part of our lives.  We have been guided by a loving patient higher-power and been held by the hands of angels in this journey.  Though my mother died twenty-five years ago, she has held me daily as Katy and I continue our journey of life.  A mother's touch reaches beyond the world we wake up to, and can be felt when the breezes brush our cheeks, when the sun radiates across our faces, or when the ocean waves lap at our feet.  

One noonday lunch break on a September 28 when I was teaching at Wilson Elementary a light touch whispered in my ear, and I realized that I was 46 and Katy had just turned 23. For one half of my life, she had been the child I wanted and held so closely that day in 1971. Today she is 43 and I' m 66, and the numbers keep rising, aren't we lucky.   

We have so few traditions, the two of us, possibly because of divorce, that ugly word that causes rivers of tears, or because of moves, but one tradition we hold strong to takes place every year on her birthday at 7:11 in the morning.  No matter where she is I wake her with a gentle touch or a phone call at 7:11 on September 28 and wish her happy birthday and sing in my mother's voice "Happy Birthday to You."  

Today, Katy is on the beach at the Gulf of Mexico refreshing her soul with the ocean waters, sitting in the sun, or holding a fishing pole casting for the biggest catch of the day, as always looking for adventure.  I love you Katy and am blessed to be a part of your life.  

Sound (wo)man on the OU sidelines.

Greensburg: Times Past

While looking for spring decorations a few weeks ago in our basement the sunrise fell into our ground level window flooding the cement gray walls with faded oranges and golds. Had the one ground window in this storage room been clean the colors might have danced and glowed, even below ground. Standing there absorbing the rays, my mind flashed back to a little basement apartment in Greensburg, Kansas, where Katy and I lived for a year of our lives. We had only one East window that poured daylight into the bedroom which I had painted lemon lime green. Guess I was hoping to bloom while I lived there.

Little Katy in the handmade tub in our basement apt. on Nebraska st.

The two South windows also gave us nurturing sunshine in the winter with one window in the kitchen and the other in the living room. Our one West window gave us a warm glow much like a pretend fireplace in the winter. Out of the three North windows we noticed green grasses or brown tumbleweeds that had reached a dead end. Sometimes we looked out of the North window of Katy's room and imagined our dog, Snow King Kodiak, who had to be fenced in this yard. Our little basement home on Nebraska street was unique. In the beginning, the basement was built as home covered only with a roof. The farmer/father who dug out and constructed the basement home had four little girls to raise, or so the story went. To accommodate his wife's needs or that of the little girls he constructed a hand made tile tub big enough for four children. The tile was a terra cotta pink with a torquoise trim. It was a rather rugged tub, but one that Katy and I enjoyed sharing. As the family made more money, he was finally able to build a home on top. I don't know who he was or where they may have moved to, but I was charmed by his construction savvy. He installed wall to wall closets and drawers in the one long bedroom that must have held four little beds. We had storage under the stairwell, and a wall length closet in the main bedroom. The kitchen was small but functional. I guessed his wife might not have enjoyed cooking either.

For a small town we moved around alot. Year one we lived in a trailer on Iowa street where our cat, Frisky, survived twenty minutes in the dryer. Year two we had the opportunity to move into Kathryn Waters' home on Nebraska street, same longitude just one street south. Our third year we moved to the basement of Larkin's home, which sat right in between the two previous homes. Ironically, we loved our basement home best of all because it was naturally warm in the winter and cool in the summer. The sun was just enough to let us know there was light for all, and besides we were rarely there during the day.

Luckily for us, we never moved far from Cecil Scrones' garden. So every summer we had fresh tomatoes, squash, peppers, and onions. I learned a lot about fresh garden cooking from Cecil and Arlene. Now our Kansas soil grows delicious tomatoes, but I don't begin to till a garden plot like Cecil. Hats off to you Cecil, and to all of those other wonderful folks who helped to raise Katy and me while we lived in Greensburg, Kansas.


That summer after the devasting tornado my husband and I drove around Greensburg. Like so many other stories I struggled to find my three homes and school where I taught. My landmarks were gone. When we finally found our two streets my little basement was covered over with dirt, no homes, no garden, but a few trees remained. I've often wonder if the backyard daisies in Kathryn's home grew back. What must that look like to see those spring iris, peonies, lilac bushes, and daisies grow where no homes stand? I miss those days when a bicycle ride around town was just that, where a hand dug well brought tourists to town, where a giant swimming pool brought families together for hot summer days, where a drugstore still administered ice cream sundies, cherry lime squeezes, cherry chocolate Dr. Pepper, and smiling faces.

Greensburg Memories: A Toast to Frisky

Oh, our Frisky kitty, whatever was your fate? I pray it was a gentle sleep on a warm comforter. Today, I found a picture of you that captured all of your spirited orneriness. There you were crawling out of the trash can, leaping up at an unsuspecting four year old Katy. But that was your life, always full of surprises.

You came to us from our friend, Gary, who never knew his gift might someday be the reason he called out the Greensburg fire department to rescue a black and white kitty meowing from the highest branch of the old cottonwood tree. Our trailer and yard on Nebraska Street became your playground for three adventurous years.

It was the pink picture of you that stumped me. Frisky, why were you stained in shades of pink? There you were on the brown and white checked bedspread with a black coat, tail, and forehead and the white underbelly and paws stained in shades of pink and red. Whatever you had played with while I was at work, would soon be solved by sleuths, Katy and Gail. They were the ones who found the magic markers on the bedroom floor, opened, scratched and strewn apart. The camera shot evoked a cat charmingly innocent of all artistic endeavors. Luckily, the olive green carpet showed only a few color blends. For months your pinkness gave the neighborhood much delight.

Frisky and Squirty dog, you both chased back and forth on the linoleum floors of that trailer keeping us on constant alert and in cheerful moods. But once you took a dare only a cat with nine lives would take. I had been in the hospital for a week with pneumonia and came home weakened, but with a trailer filled with delight at my return, and dirty clothes. The dog must have dared you to hide in the warm dryer. I certainly didn't let you in. I did throw my newly washed gowns and underwear into the dryer. With the door closed I turned on the dryer and you, too, to twenty minutes of low heat.

I took a nap at the back of the trailer while Katy and Gail played with Barbie dolls at the front end. We heard thumps but never suspected you. At last the buzzer went off and I shuffled to the dryer. On my first reach I pulled out blood covered lingerie and promptly did what any young woman would have done. I screamed bloody murder.

Katy and Gail rounded the corner at a fast slide in time to see me pull out a wounded cat. You were covered in blood with your eyes, nose, and mouth swollen, ears broken and torn, and a tail more crooked than any tales I've ever told. You managed a weak meow. Tears of joy and fear followed.

We wrapped you in warm towels and called Nurse Arlene for help. In the coming weeks you were nursed back to health by a community of loving people. Pictures show the before with a curling sly tail and the after, a crooked bend and kinks in a tail that would never swipe the same way again.

Frisky, you, too, were the one that could have gotten me arrested for exposing a wet nude body had the bath towel dropped to the ground. I'll never forget the blood curdling screams of little girls outside. Inside, in the shower with only a six inch window open to the outside world, I heard, "Help, Letty, help. The dogs have Katy!" Dripping wet with soap slidding down my body, I stepped out grabbing the nearest towel. Running outside I saw a covey of little girls backed against the trailer and three snarling dogs at the base of the tree.

There stood Katy safe and sound, but the screams continued, "Save Kitty. Save Kitty!" With fingers pointed at the tree I saw you. There you were, only weeks away from the dryer episode, in a feeble crawl to save your life from the ferocious teeth and paws of the barking dogs.

What's a mother to do, but rescue the cat! My screaming and running alone shooed the dogs away, but there you were frozen flat to the tree, just out of reach. One ladder found in the neighbor's yard saved the day. With ladder leaning precariously against the tree, up I went, step by step, one hand on the ladder and one on my knotted towel. I grabbed you by the scruff of the neck and together we gingerly crawled down.

We were all safe that day and lived to tell our versions of your escapades. Thanks for the memories, Frisky.