My Real Memoir: Looking for My First Real Friend
Trees, Chickens, Geese
I loved them, but there was something of a communication barrier. The trees were great listeners, and happy to cradle me in their arms all day, but they said very little. And the farm fowl were frequently in a fowl mood (sorry, it was just there for the picking). I was fascinated with insects, but they were indifferent. Mice were fraidy cats, or rather afraid of the many cats that called Frieda’s Magical Garden home. I didn’t realize it yet, but I was looking for my first real friend.
I was almost five and needed someone to play with. For a while, I hung out with a horny toad, but after a month or two he disappeared. I suppose he’d met some cute horny toadess and moved away to start a family (they grow up so fast).
My Babysitter Frieda…
…raised and sold parakeets. They lived in a big walk-in cage off the back porch. I’d let myself in and stick out my arms, hoping they’d land on me and nibble affectionately at my ears. But they mostly just wanted out.
So I set them free!
I watched with delight as half of Frieda’s 200 or so budgies flew out the door and into the orange grove behind the house. It felt good. I was the Great Liberator of Keetkind!
Frieda didn’t agree.
That was the only time I recall ever hearing her yell. Over the next few days, she and her husband Alfred plucked most of the compliant critters out of the trees and returned them to their home, where Good Ol’ Frieda cared for them and gave them three square trays of seeds a day.
Then I Found…
Two feral ranch cats wandering about in the unplanted field next door. They were fresh out of kittendom like me, but didn’t immediately see me as a kindred soul.
So I captured them and trapped them under a milk basket on Frieda’s front porch, putting a brick on top for good measure. When Mom came to pick me up I insisted they’d “followed me home.” So that night, she and Dad agreed to let me keep my furry new black and grey friends. I gave them the wildly inventive names of “Blackie” and “Greyie.”
Blackie and Greyie liked to eat. That was pretty much it. A month later, they ran away. What can you say? The gypsy life was in their blood.
So, once again I had no friends, or at least not the interactive type. Then, a few months later, I spotted a weasel in our back yard. No, it wasn’t my first real friend, but…
It led me to her.
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Charming photos, and an even more charming story behind them.
Thank you, Anita.
Love these stories of little boy you. They flood my mind with memories of my little boys and my once little grandsons. I love them all still, as the middle aged men and young men that they are but I sure miss my ornery little biddies.
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Cute photos and story.
Thanks, Chanel.
I was never comfortable around pets and didn’t like to touch them. My kids, on the other hand, love all kinds of little creatures.
This is so cute!
What a Brat! 👀
But I was so cute. ;>)
All I saw was a frog and birds. ❓
What a lovely story. Love it.
Thank you, Michael.
You’re most welcome, Mitch.
I went from grumpy old man this morning to, Aww. Look at the cute baby Horned Dragon, to, Ahhhh, kittens! 😠🥹🤗😄
Shall I bill you for the grumpiness treatment, Mac? ;>)
Oh, I’m still grumpy. Lol
Love it all🥰
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If I were Frieda, I would be furious too 😭
I honestly believed that majority of male cats do have gypsy soul in them 🤣
So it would seem. ;>)
Lovely story, Mitch!
Thanks, T❣
My pleasure. 🙂
Weasels don’t make good best friends—
they’re always sneaking out of plans and somehow you end up holding the bag. 😄
One of the many life lessons we learn from Wind In the Willows. ;>)
So your love of cats evolved early on in your life with two feral cats, an upside down basket, and a brick. 🙂
Apparently so, Nancy. ;>)
Lovely story,Mitch
I thought the cats would stay,but they loved to be free.
I felt for your five-year-old self seeking a friend. Lovely writing.
Why, thank you, Liz.
Anyone who’s done their apprenticeship among animals understands humans better. I like animal liberators; I’m less keen on liberators of peoples.😏
Lovely photos!
Thank you, Daisy!
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I’ve been reading your memoirs for some time now and I love them Mitch. I wish my own memory went back to to childhood days, but I remember little of those days long ago…
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Very intriguing….
Nice one!
Thanks, Pete.
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