23 October 2024
Don’t Tread on Me - The Annabella Quilt
Even though she is no longer physically with me, here, on Earth, October is Annabella’s Month.
During her month, Annabella would softly paw up to the rafters of the barn-garage at the Peach House. She’d investigate the cavernous space for however long she felt was necessary to find new treasures. She then descended the wooden stair-ladder — one cautious step at a time — to come to Her Owner. That human was I, awaiting her, standing on the concrete ground floor of the garage.
I’ve no idea how long my black cat spent in her elevated cachette, but I do recall, with a smile, her appearance, and her attitude of feigned innocence, once her reconnaissance lark had come to an end.
A fine mist of cobwebs covered, in a dainty random pattern, her little cat-nose, her large ears that moved like anemometers, and her sweet, winsome face.
Annabella calmly widened those big, green saucer-shaped eyes and looked at me, as if to say:
“I haven’t been doing anything. I’ve been down here, at ground level, the whole time. Nothing is amiss or out of place. I would have taken care of anything that has gone out of order.”
Yes, with my Black Cat, in charge, I feared nothing.
I do miss that aspect of my life, fearing nothing, though, in truth, I feared many things during those years in the Peach House. That approach to one’s existence is not the hallmark of the Black Cat. Annabella also feared many things. She and I understood, and understand, this truth:
Courage is not living without fear. Courage is facing fear and prevailing over it.
To honor my Black Cat, during Her Month, I ordered online — on 1 October — several yards of black-cat fabric. I’d envisioned my accomplishment of some fun sewing during the past few weeks.
The yardages, however, took “forever” to arrive at my doorstep. I use the word, forever, in quotes, because forever does not last as long as it used to, or it truly is an eternity.
FJB World has messed with so many things that a complaint over the less-serious matters in America can seem trivial, or inconsequential.
And, yet, even the small and simple pleasures of life in America, being bollixed, is symbolic of the entire shambolic cosmos of Corrupt Cabal on Overload.
I mean, the entire aggregate of idiots has exhausted itself, trying to Look Real!
What is real is the astronomic prices of everything in the USA.
The price of a pumpkin in Placer County is $6.99 each. I’ve deferred Pumpkin Love until next year.
The long-awaited box of fabric arrived today, via a shipper who has become known for delays, ahem, casual shipping time-tables. I’ve checked tracking, online, many times, only to find that Tracking Is Unavailable from this formerly efficient company, founded during the Jimmeh-Carter years.
I bet if I’d ordered merchandise from a certain former President, the item would be tracked, along with my cell-phone pings, by the FBI!
I ought to have known about the FJB delays in shipping, but I’ve focused on trying to forget the tsunami of idiotic, and illegal, assaults upon the republic of America, her strong democracy and my Constitutional rights of the past 4 years.
I’m endeavouring to forget a lot of things. It is difficult, however, to forget bad memories until you have good memories with which to replace them. And, without the physical presence of my serenely charming Annabella, I tend to get a bit uncertain about the timing of things.
We’re all waiting for something, aren’t we????
This morning, much like every morning during this past month, I was awakened by Jolene, at 7:30. Sometimes, the wake-up canine call is earlier, but we’ve established a dependable sunrise routine.
My little hound steps directly onto my shinbone, right smack dab in the middle of it, with bold determination. She then climbs, very quickly, over my blanketed body — until she reaches my face.
I pet her soft ears, and say: “Good morning, Jolene.”
Thus starts my day. With the joy that cometh in the morning!
At other times, such as 3 a.m, Jolene climbs over my blanketed body, after returning from her outdoor bathroom-break. She wants to make sure that I know she’s returned to me.
I’m told by Dear Husband that I utter the following statements:
“Yes, I love you, Jolene. I missed you terribly. Now go lay down and go back to sleep.”
I have asked her, at times, not to climb over my body as if I am a rock. I don’t think she’s quite grasped the meaning of the word, rock, although sleeping like one is definitely what she does, after I’ve assured her that my shinbone didn’t break in two under the pressure of her Hound-Love-Stomp.
Annabella never did such a thing to my shinbone. She preferred rubbing up against my calf, back and forth, forth and back, as a way of claiming ownership of me. It was a much more gentle, subtle gesture.
But I cannot expect a tri-colored beagle to be a black cat!
I’ve not yet decided upon the pattern for the Annabella Quilt.
During my years, in the Peach House, in Newcastle, with my green-eyed Burmese-mix cat, I sewed a table topper with some whimsical material that’s very much the Spirit of Annabella, my feline sprite.
I also used an adorable black-cat-and-the-moon fabric for the backing of a Puss-in-the Corner quilt made with 1930’s reproduction fabric. I made use of a cat-pattern to quilt the set pieces (the muslin squares) in between the quilted blocks.
Annabella has, therefore, not been assigned a quilt dedicated just to her. Methinks there will be an incoming signal on the inspiration of that as-yet undecided design.
One thing is certain. Don’t Tread on Me is the starting, and never-ending, impetus for me and My Muse!