Welcome to Blogging With Reese! Thank you for coming! This week, I wanted to share a bit more about my writing. So, recently (well, relatively so – about five months ago) I have taken up writing, which is strange, beacause I used to dread writing. With a fiery passion. But anyway, I just wanted to make this post about how my writing has changed since those days – oh, those dark ages when I wouldn’t touch pen to paper – and how much I need to write now.
It all started a few days ago when I had finished writing my book, but it was not done (as of now, it’s still not published, but I expect within the next two weeks). My sister and I were going to see the cats in the park across the street as part of our usual morning routine. We brought cat food and went to go feed the cats. Claire and I had been told before by the ladies who lived in the yellow house in the park not to feed the cats there, so we didn’t. But whenever they saw us near their house, they came out and told us not to be there. This is my account of what happened. I wrote this right after it had occurred because I had to get it out. And I felt so much better after I did.
Also, for the reasons of this post, Thorn and Thumper are kittens and the rest of the names in there are all cats that my sister and I have named.
“Reese, come here,” Claire says as she pets one of the cats by her feet.
I walk over and bend down. Claire dumps some cat food out of the old, recycled yogurt bucket and onto the pavement beside the garbage cans.
“I wish Thorn and Thumper would come out,” I say.
“Me too,” my sister agrees.
I stroke Chubina lovingly. “Look at you, save some food for the other cats. Pansy hasn’t had any yet,” I scold, but it has no effect.
“King Mossington, come back!” Claire says as Moss crosses the paved path onto the other side where the house is. It’s not our house; no, far from it. It’s the house where some cranky ladies in their forties and fifties live. They basically live to ignore us every time we see them, except for when we’re with the cats. Then they stop and say stuff in Bulgarian that we don’t understand. But I get the gist of it. They don’t like it when we feed the cats. They point to places like the garbage cans and tell us to feed the cats over there. We do, but we go over to the side with the house when we want to see the kits. Like now.
“Maybe the kits will come out if we call for them,” Claire suggests and makes a noise that most of the cats here respond to. I see Moss coming over and pull out my tablet. “Hey, Claire, this is the perfect thing to take a video of for the intro to The Moss Show.”
She agrees and I start filming. Moss gets about halfway across the street when something scares him and he quickly scampers to the other side, wrecking the perfect shot. I look through my tablet screen where it’s recording the path and see feet. Great time to photobomb, I think, I was just about to get a great video!
I watch the feet as they walk by, but then they stop right outside of the gate leading to the dreaded house. Oh, I think, It’s one of the ladies.
But instead of just ignoring us as usual, this time she stops and looks at my sister and me. I stop filming and stand up, looking right back at her. She says something in Bulgarian, and from what I can tell, she is trying to tell us to feed the cats somewhere else. That’s outrageous! We are feeding the cats where she told us to! Just then, another lady comes out of the house and out the gate. I turn around, starting to walk towards the garbage cans. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the ladies trying to get the cats to go away, shooing them and kicking at them. Not touching them, but enough to scare them. But they never pick up the cats. Not once. No, I think, definitely they can’t pick up the cats. The fur would ruin their perfect outfits. Besides, who wears a slim black dress that goes to your knees and black high heels at eight in the morning?
I start walking to the garbage cans, trying not to cry. I am about to stop at the garbage cans and pet Cooper, but then I change my mind. I can’t hold the tears back and I don’t want the ladies to see me crying, so I continue on, through the trees. I want to see if Claire is behind me, but I don’t want to turn around. I’m still close enough to the house that the ladies would see me crying if I turned around. Instead, I keep going until I get to the road on the other side. I decide to go see the other cats. I walk over, but there is a guy leaf-blowing right next to where the cats usually hang out, and I just want to be by myself with the cats. I don’t want anyone to see me crying. So I turn back and head through the trees. I’ll just go home, I tell myself. After all, I can’t stay here.
I go through the trees until I reach the garbage cans. I look at the house. The ugly, pee-yellow house in the middle of a public park and these ladies are telling me to go away. Suddenly, my anger flares up and I get a sudden burst of confidence. They can’t just go around telling people to go away. It’s not my fault their house is in the middle of a public park. I walk over to near the gate but don’t stop. I walk by slowly, questioning my decision to talk to them. The ladies glance at me warily, but then look back at each other and pretend not to see me. I walk faster. What was I thinking? They won’t listen to me. Best get home before the worst of the tears come. But then I stop. This is wrong. I turn around and go back to the gate.
“Excuse me,” I say to the ladies. My voice comes out a little more squeaky than I would have liked, but there’s no stopping now. I continue and the lady in the black dress and heels gets up from her chair. “This is a public park,” I say, tears starting to come to my eyes.
“What?” she asks me in Bulgarian, coming down the path, but I hardly notice.
“This is a public park,” I repeat. I’m blubbering now, but I can’t help it.
She gets to the gate and looks at me. The look on her face is something I will never forget. It’s a mix of frustration that I’m still here, and there’s a bit of something that looks like she’s a bit intimidated by a crying ‘child’. I have a feeling that she’s not really a ‘kid person’. She starts saying stuff in Bulgarian that I don’t understand. She starts motioning with her hands to places farther away. No doubt she’s talking about feeding the cats. She uses some other hand gestures, but I don’t understand what they mean. It doesn’t matter anyway. All of my confidence is gone. I nod when she’s done, but really, what does it matter? She didn’t understand me and I don’t understand her.
As I turn around to leave, I notice Chubina sitting nearby. I look at her and she meows. It feels like she’s trying to tell me ‘good job’. I subtly shake my head at her. It didn’t work. I turn away and start heading down the path towards home. I don’t look back, but I can feel the ladies staring at me as I walk away. As soon as I am behind the house, the waterworks start. For real now. I can’t hold them back any longer. I walk towards the street and watch as a car whizzes past. Then the street is still. I cross and walk along the median, wanting nothing more than to bury my head in my pillow and cry as much as I want. When I get to the front of our building, I see Claire sitting on the curb and petting Camomile.
She looks at my tear-stained face and says, “Camomile fixes everything.”
I bend down to pet Cam, but then head towards the door. I can’t stay out here. I need to get to my bed. I push the buzzer and after a moment, the door opens. I run up the stairs, open the door, run into my room and collapse on my bed, sobbing hysterically.
It’s not fair, I think. They keep telling us to go feed the cats somewhere else, and we do. But then they still tell us to go away. Maybe they shouldn’t live in a public park if they don’t like people. I want to listen to them, to not do something that they’ve told us not to do, but I can’t. Not in this case. They just keep saying the same thing over and over again, and I want – no – I need to see the cats.
I bury my face into my pillow and cry, letting the tears come.
This is only my opinion of what happened that day in the park, and I’m not saying that those ladies were nesecarily trying to be mean, but this is how it came across to me, and this is my account of it. Looking back on it, a few days later, I realize that I wasn’t super fair to those ladies, writing those things about them, but I just wanted to share today how much I needed to get out my feelings and how I felt better afterwards.
Thanks for reading my blog and be sure to come back next week for another post!
What helps you calm down after being angry? Can you relate to this story? Post your thoughts in the comments below!