Wendy Welch | Wendy Welch: Books, Yarn, Cats, Opioids

Hi. I’m Albert. My sister Princess Stephanie is around here someplace. We live in a bookstore. Well, we do right now. Someday we’re gonna live in our own house, but I hope it has lots of shelves in it ’cause we’ve gotten really good at bouncing off them an’ using them for hide and seek.

Steph and I came here with our mom an’ brother Alfred. Alfred was really shy which for some reason got humans all excited. “Oh, look at the little one peeking around the corner!” they’d say, all gooey an’ everything. Next thing you know Alfred went out the door, riding high on some lady’s shoulder, giving Steph an’ me this “So long, losers!” look. Kinda makes me mad, ’cause I taught him that corner trick.

I’m the oldest. It’s my job to make sure Stephie gets a good home, too. That’s her on the left; you can see she’s fluffier than me. She whacks me with her paw whenever I say this, but she’s gonna run to fat when she’s older. You know those fluffy cats who lie on the sofa back all day watching television, between bowls of cream and tummy rubs? Yeah, that’s my little sister.

Me, I’m more of an adventurous guy. I’m studying mousing now; you should see my jumps! Stephie an’ me, we’d kinda like to go together at this point. We’re twelve weeks old, been friends all our lives an’ all that, but I know it doesn’t always work out that way. She’d be okay anywhere, too. We don’t call her Princess Stephanie for nothing.

Mom went back to the place she used to live. She was barely out of diapers herself when she got pregnant with us. I feel kinda bad for her, but at least she did have a home to go back to, once we were in foster care. I don’t mind being a foster kitten. The meals are regular an’ people cuddle us an’ if mom’s not here, well, we’re not out on the street like some cats.

Steph an’ me, we’re happy cats, like to run an’ play, like our tummies tickled. We’ve got big purrs an’ big hearts an’ we know how to use the potty all by ourselves. We keep our food area clean an’ if you just roll a jingle ball my way every once in awhile, I’ll count myself a lucky kitten. So how ’bout it; wanna come visit and let’s see how we get along?

Driving back from Mt. Heritage Literary Festival, where I had taught a laughter-filled and successful workshop, the sun was shining, the buffalo were out (no really, there are some on that back road) and bees were humming among the blooming hillside clover. A perfect ending to a good day.

I had decided, since I would get back to the bookshop just before closing, to blow off the evening as a responsible adult, forget the laundry and the overdue writing, and kick back with a glass of red and a few episodes of my secret vice, Say Yes to the Dress. Then I’d write a nice cheery blog about my time at Mt. Heritage, take a cool bath with some scented talc, and pile into bed (while it was still daylight, maybe!) with a novel.

Pulling up in front of the bookstore, I watched a man exit and walk to a large pick-up, parked backwards so the bed faced the shop stairs. He scooped a he-man-sized stack into his arms and headed back up the stairs–just as my shopsitter exited the shop and went to the truck, where he performed the same actions.

A small sinking sensation gathered in my chest and worked its way down to my liver.

You guessed it: some 600 books, mostly hardbacks, had to be triaged, and quickly, as the shop’s front room floor had disappeared under the deluge. I began sorting and stacking, while faithful shopsitters Wes and Rachael trotted back and forth to the romance shed, the free book bin, and the bargain basement. I am proud to say that we got through this first round of sort-n-sift in about ten minutes, clearing some 200 books from the floor, but by then it was closing time, when Wes and Rach resume their normal lives.

No no, don’t worry about me, go on, I’ll be fine. Nothing planned this evening anyway.

Good thing. Fortunately, I’ll still have help.

It’s gonna be a long night…..

Wendy Welch: Books, Yarn, Cats, Opioids

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