It ain’t easy being Indian… nor running out of cats

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By Ricey Wild
News From Indian Country May 2010

“We’re running low on cats!” said the animal shelter volunteer, my Mumz Omi and I looked at each other quizzically, our painted-on eyebrows were cocked to confirm whether we had heard her right. “I don’t know if we’ll have enough for tomorrow,” she added. Later on we collapsed in laughter; cuz for sure that’s a statement we never thought to hear, i.e. “running low” on cats. What?

In April we went to a Pet Expo in a nearby town that had advertised free cat adoptions. I scooped up a slinky, poetic black cat I renamed “Tupac” as in Shakur from his previous name of Clyde. He doesn’t care if I call him Dick Cheney as long as I feed and pet him, and since I don’t have a cat named Biggie Smalls its all good.

Omi adopted two cats whose information said they could not be separated. My Mumz chose to adopt them because she figured who else would want two old geriatric cats:? They are 10 years old, much, much older and far more rickety-er than her in cat years. Heh. Then it turns out Omi is a victim of a cat scam! As of this writing no one has observed Sammy and Vinnie hanging out together at all, never mind any fuzzy, purrific affection so much so that they could not possibly be parted! Them cats are more like an elderly, retired cranky couple who barely tolerates each other’s presence, just as if they are staying together because no one else will have them. (I know of some people like that).

Omi is now looking for a real accredited lawyer, not a pretend one, to bring an Elder abuse suit against the animal shelter for deliberate misrepresentation of “free” shelter cats since we had to pay $6.50 to get in! Only those who have actually passed the bar need apply.

 

By the way, Sammy “Crazy Paws” and Vinnie “Left-Ear” are also physically deformed; Sammy has like 27 tœ toes and Vinnie has a small, crinkled-up left ear. I figure they must have been in the witness protection program for a long time. That’s my story, otherwise why were they named for mobsters? Well, now they can retire and luckily they landed in an appropriate place; the Rezberry Elders building! I know!!! How cool is that?

That unique experience got me wondering how I could possibly have survived for so long living in this small-minded, inbred, gossipy town life for the past ten years! This month is the anniversary of my leaving my former swanky, fabulous Urban Indian life to live in the Rezberry Bush.

Just a thought! They need to film “Survivor: Rezberry” and have the actual Indian tribal council representatives contend. Ay! Make them attempt to live on my pathetic income and then be ignored when horribly glaring personnel mistakes are pointed out that affect the integrity of the entire Band. Heya?

Ten years! It feels like twenty-thousand hundred X Infinity. I never thought that Time could pass so achingly, sickeningly slow so that 10 years would go by without me remembering what happened to me back in 2002. It must have been a great year as in I don’t remember anything horribly awful happening except getting the diabetes. Not like all the other years I’ve endured here.

Yeah, yeah, Boo-Hoo to me! However, it has occurred to me that I was not the only person to suffer, after all 8 of the 10 years I’ve lived here were during the Bush II Empire. FYI: I found out he is a direct descendant of Emperor Nero, A. Hitler and all Three Stooges.

Back to the 10 years I’ve lived here. It ain’t been all bad, no, there are things I’ve done like, oh…! For one instance I attended a Duck Race; my duck came in second and I won $75 bucks which was promptly cashed at my favorite local dive. Then there was the time when I um…. I’ll get back to that later when I think of something.

In other news some Loons (red-eyed water fowl) have moved to the little lake across from my Mumz building, I heard them singing the Top Ten Loon tunes. (BTW, I am Loon Clan which makes total wacky sense). Last week my Gramma and I saw a baby blue jay perched in a bush right next to her house. Aw!

The frogs are busy singing, dancing, getting tatted up and snagging at their annual Frog Powwows. The trees that protectively ring my rez house groove in time with the wind and Spring in all its glory has come again to Rezberry. My famous dandelion garden is shaping up really fast and all the blooms smile hopefully at me every day, anxious to prove they are the flower to determine that knows who really likes butter or not.

Just tonight as I finish this column, Omi, our friends and I had a jolly good time sharing food, some wine, stories and a lot of laughter and we made exciting plans for the future.
I suppose I’ll have to get back to yooz when I can write a few good things about this weird speck of kooky dirt on our Turtle Island that the immigrant invaders generously “gave” us Indians.

Thanks for the cheese, man. Really. Mac-n-Cheese ain’t right without it. Ennit?  

 

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