FINCHES FEAR CATS
BY
Angelica Hart and Zi
From: The Sin-Sin Cinderella Series of Feghoots and Groaners
In a kitchen...in a small home...in a
homey community...in a quaint village...in a hidden valley...far, far away from
Hamlet there was a conversation.
“Why don’t we live in the city?”
asked Ronny.
“Fear.”
“Fear?”
“Fear!”
“That shocks me,” he remarked, as he
gazed out the kitchen window into the wide expanse of a lush backyard, tire
swing, birdbath ready for birds, detached garage, a trellis with vines, and a
beehive bustling with bees.
“People fear people. Sadly, cities seem to breed a fear that one
cannot trust others. I also know that
people are people, built to have the same instincts. It is the environment that may cause this
fear. I don’t fear the people but the
fear. It is treacherous and jades the
beauty of human spirit.”
His mother stirred the soup,
aromatic, chicken noodle soup. The scent
popped into the air, inducing a stalking hunger to anyone near.
“Still I’ve never known you to be
afraid of anything.”
“Let me relate a story to illustrate
my point.” She put her ladle into the
pocket of her apron. Ronny snickered
thinking she reminded him of the alien coming out of Ripley’s chest.
Ronny sat on the edge of the table
and bit into a red apple he grabbed to quell his appetite. Some juice from the fruit dripped out the
side of his mouth, it was wiped away onto his shirtsleeve.
Mrs. Matters looked at him with that use a napkin, please look then she
began, “A couple swooshed-out the side door their cat, covered the finches’
cage they still chirping, quickly showered, called the restaurant, made
reservations, dressed, and called for a carriage. They were going downtown to enjoy a nice
dinner, something they did most Saturday nights. They heard the carriage arrive, left one
light burning to present the appearances of someone being home, and opened the
door at which the cat ran back into the house.
The husband told his wife to let the driver know that he’d be right out
and went to find the cat. They never let
the cat stay in alone with the birds.
She would torment them.”
“Yeah, cats like birds but they were
in the cage,” interjected Ronny.
“Torment is torment. She returned to the stove, stirred the broth,
tapped the spoon on the pot, and then put it aside as she shoved biscuits into
the oven. “Where was I? Torment is still torment. They respected their birds’ well-being as we
all should do for living things. It is a
cosmic harmony thing.”
Ronny smiled knowing that subject was
better left unvisited.
The oven door closed and she shook
her head as if tossing away a thought.
“Let me finish my story. The wife
slipped into the back seat of the carriage and immediately told the driver that
her husband would be right out. Feeling
that she did not want to let him know that the house would be empty she stated
that her husband was helping her mother before they left.”
“Ok?”
“Do you catch the fear thing? The lights?
The worry about the home being vacant?”
“Kinda.”
“The husband finally arrived and
scooted along beside his wife. He said,
“Sorry. Thanks for waiting. I finally was able to corner her upstairs
after she had run from me and hid under the bed.” The driver’s face flashed astonishment. The husband continued, “I used the dust mop
to push her out, she fought but was able to catch her in the corner. Grabbing her by the scruff of the neck,
though she screeching, scratching, and fighting, I was able to drag her to the
back door and throw her out into the backyard.
She’ll be fine until we get home and let her back in the house.”
Ronny smiled at the dilemma that the
story painted.
His mother returned to stirring
soup. Steam painted curly wisps,
spreading appetizing enticement, though she still continued with her
story. “At that moment the driver, who
was captured by every word the man was saying had to swerve quickly to avoid a
cart.”
“Is this a true story?” Ronny tilted his head in that disbelieving
manner.
“It is a story to illustrate a
point. True or not really does not
matter. My point is that people trust so
few people these days. What a sad fear
to hold.”
“Yeah, it is sad,” Ronnie agreed, his
apple nearly gone, juice splatters creating a new pattern on his shirt, his
feet on the floor as he pondered what it would be like to be that worrisome all
the time.
“I wonder if that specific fear
results in the perpetuation of the concept that people are unworthy of
trust. I believe that we create what we
fear. Believe that if people are
perceived not to be trustworthy then in your mind they are not, your actions
dealing with them invariably send messages that they are thought to be not and
ultimately I believe that the interactive dynamic becomes that of mistrust.”
“So what does that mean?”
“Treat people the way you expect them
to be. Treat a friend as if they are
important and they feel so.”
“So city people are different?”
“Aye and nay. It is the fear that changes some.”
“The country mentality that we reap
what we sow is more simplistic. Not that
the people are better. Just that I
believe they have a better process.
Country folk depend upon each other.
Expect a certain code of behavior.
Believe and trust in that. And I
see that the result is that people trust their neighbor and have good reasons
to do so. Ask for respect and you shall
get it. Give respect and others shall
feel its power in their lives. Abstain
from all that and uncertainty fertilizes fear.”
“Was that a true story about the
cat?”
His mom offered a small non-committal
smile. “Finish your apple and take the trash out, please. As soon as you are done, take a quart of this
soup to Ben Campbell, he is ill. See if
he needs anything. We’ll eat when you
get back.”
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