Queer

Just to keep on the same subject of rodents, my hunny bunny is downstairs cooking dinner. And it smells so nice. And just to have rodent enemies into the picture, my six cats are roaming the place forfeiting the food for the aroma which is coming from downstairs. I have very tame cats which suddenly turn extremely dangerous if they see so much as a fly. I don't know how they do it, they turn their ears inward and hiss so hard that if one were to walk just by the main door of my house they'd think I was watching The Exorcist. And I know this is totally silly, but I have come home only to hear the hissing from outside and walked right past my door because someone else was in the street and the volume was so loud that it sounded like a possessed house. The thing is, I knew that once I put the key in the hissing would stop and that once I opened the door I would find all six cats waiting obediently in army style. They're such good cats, they sleep with me, they are so comforting although their purring is sometimes too loud. But I forgive them for everything because they were the turning point in my life. I'd read somewhere that pets would be good for therapy needing me, and I got two who gave birth to four, then one died of bone cancer, and God sent me another right by my door so as to have all six again. I never knew what a good mummy cat I'd become. I had no experience, now I'm a pro. I will know exactly what one wants, what the other needs, and what, God forbid, the other is suffering from. Six cats, who like humans, have their own different characteristics and ways. And I have my dogs. They're big like me, just like big bears. They look so fierce but are just cuddly teddy bears. I have no idea why they've grown so big, and no, I do not overfeed them. Even vets are mystified. Alaskan Malamutes are big, but these are enormous creatures weighing a whopping 100 and a 92 kgs. And they're male and female, and after four years they've still had no babies. Because my Lady (that's the female dog) is smart. She's happy enough with the foreplay but just doesn't want to do it for the fear that she'll get pregnant or something. Fluke (that's the male one) is on frustrated being poor old soul, but resigned to the fact that Lady is the boss. This house is such a happy house, and I feel so relieved once I close the door onto the outside. Perhaps people think I'm queer to have so many pets running around. But if queer equals happiness, then I'm happy being queer.

Returning Rodents

It is amazing the way rodents work their way slowly but steadily into whatever it is that takes their fancy. There are cute rodents, like sweet little fluffy rabbits, and then there are the not so cute. And although the aesthetic appearance of the two varies a great deal, they are intrinsically the same, only thing is the grey one probably never takes a bath and is filthy and riddled with disease. The white bunny is ever so cute because it probably is a very well groomed rodent. The same goes for human beings, there are the cute and the not so cute. The bunny and the rat. And the world's not all bad, there are plenty of bunnies running around, especially little bunny people. Then there are mice people, and when it cannot get any worse but it does, you get a big black rat straight out of the sewage sometimes also called life, at least one part of life. If I have learnt anything at all during my 16+ years occupying the post of Principal Viola with the Malta National Orchestra, it is patience. Perhaps not a good kind of patience. A patience which I saw in action, a patient man, quite small and very clever who didn't know how to spell the word rash, but instead waited for his enemies to be on the downside and pounce on them and then tear them to pieces. A vulture man. Even if that meant he had to wait patiently for 20 years. I never agreed very much with this kind of a patience, but I have to say I have seen it work, and sadly, it works brilliantly. But it also means you have to hold a grudge for a 20+ years, something which I am not ready to do. I have something called hurt, but that is different. Being wounded is far more different than waiting to strike with a dagger in hand. That's so different. Unfortunately, because I probably am very good at being a simpleton, the rat is at work again and he's had a head start. Because I didn't know he would strike again, and anyway I wouldn't know how to strike beforehand. What's done is done now. It's started. It is already evident in the way that my family are scorning me and laughing at my anger. Which is wrong. Anger is a big part of sadness, but my family have not been through what I have, so they are completely ignorant in the subject. But I'd better stop excusing them because it's not helping either. I know that the rat can be extremely influential. And if they choose to be influenced then I'm going to have very little choice. My twin has screamed down the phone at me, while I have screamed twice as hard at him. My mum must suddenly think that I'm some sort of jester and has grinned at my plea. My dad must think I'm a buffoon. Worst of all is that all three think I am laughing material because of the dreaded big issue. Which is making me even sadder. Because if my own blood and flesh have suddenly stopped seeing the me inside, if they think I deserve to be smirked at, if they think I deserve to be ratted around because of my 100+kgs, then there is nothing I can do. I cannot exactly give myself a flat human tyre now and then. I have had my mum say that it's wrong and bad to be big. My dad thinks that since it somehow suddenly must be my fault then I deserve no sympathy. Yeah right dad, have you forgotten how much you weighed 35 years ago? I just take after my dad, he was bigger than me so I think he should just zip his mouth. But the equation seems to be, that since big is wrong and bad and I'm big, then I wrong and bad. What makes things worse is that this is being said by a woman obsessed with God, Jesus and church-going. I doubt very much that God or Jesus would really have such a thought. I doubt that I would be thrown into an abyss because I'm big. And I even doubt that God or Jesus would have thought of making an extra large opening just to be able to throw me into the abyss. Once upon a long time ago I sufferded from a lot of sensless guilt. A guilt which I had to work through on my own. And now I remember that I'm forgetting. Where was everybody when my life turned tragic? Nowhere. Where was my family? It was there but it didn't help much. So why am I expecting something different? People do not change. Nor do rats. And this is what's worse about returning rats, they make me so angry that I start saying silly things like these. Oh well, at least I'm harming nobody.

The Rat

My blog states one shouldn't cry, that I shouldn't cry. But I want to cry out of so much rage. I'm smelling a rat, a big rat. I'm not scared of this rat because I know him so well. But then again that is why I'm overflowing with rage because I know what the rat is able to do. He's one talented rat, we would know what the other was thinking with just a fleeting look. I thought he was a friend for 16+ years. But friends do not do give you the shoulder just when you're hitting rock bottom do they? And a friend's wife who has been playing the part of a sweet trusting wife for 16+ years only to turn into a green-eyed monster is not a friend either is she? My guess is not. The wife could do what the hell she likes, but not the friend who suddenly cut whatever it was we had as if it never were. And it hurt, because I missed my friend. But I got over it. I never hated him, I was just very sorry for having given so much into a friendship that never was. And I spent years observing how a good friend was suddenly turning into a rat. And I was suddenly grateful because I could do without a rat anyway. But now it seems it's my time. And the scared girl 5 years ago is scared no more. I can take a rat, no matter how big. I don't have six cats for nothing. They're the cats, but my anger is slowly turning me into a tiger. How dare he play the dirtiest trick of all now? The trick which is called let's-separate-the-twins-for-all-it's-worth. The saddest part of it all is that my twin is actually falling for it. I have warned him over three very angry cell phone conversations that it's not what it seems. He has called me a fool. I wonder who the real fool is. And I have warned him that this will be the crunch when I will have a twin no more. A family no more. Because the flipping rat is not just targeting my twin but my mum and dad too. And it's so sad because I know it will be useless explaining. And they know perfectly well how the rat once gnawed at my core. And I know people forget, but family? So I play the game I always do, what if it were me? If it were me I would never ever give a chance to a rat which was at my brother's throat. No way. If I were a mother I would never ever think sweetly about the rat which made my daughter feel ill. And if I were a father there would be no way on earth that I'd talk to the rat. I'm not so sure about dad, dad seems to have felt what I felt at the time. But then dad will do what mum says I guess so as not to cause a rift in the family while causing the biggest rift ever. That's the road to hell, paved with tarmacked good intentions, with shining lamp-posts and pretty flower beds and a sparkling fountain at every other corner. Because somehow they will think I'm a fool. And I am because I always forgive. But not this one. I have startled myself by issuing my twin a warning... "It's me or the rat and I will never again speak to you in my entire life." Which would be devastating to me as in feelings, and devastating to him and his TV programmes. Because no, he'd never be able to employ an all in one like me. And no he'd certainly never be able to employ someone who will write endless articles like me. But it's his choice. He's said that I am a fool, and I usually am, I always fall for the feelings thing, for the because-he's-my-brother trap. Not this time. I know the rat and I know my twin both very well. My twin will finally tire of the rat and his conscience will make him even more tired because he will not sleep. I won't sleep either, but that's what hypnotics are for. I've braved too many things alone, now I'm wiser the second time round. And I have a colony of support. And when the rat will exhaust my twin, my family, they will corner him and turn against him. I just have to keep my word this time, screen phone calls or put the phone down, and looking through the peeping glass installed in my door. I will try not to think about the game called what-if-it-were-the-last-time-I-saw them? Because they don't even know it exists. I am in no way a perfect image of Homo Sapiens, and I know I make mistakes. My friend made a huge mistake which could have cost me my life, and 5 years later I still haven't got an apology. I also know he's asking around about me with a smirk. He's been doing that for five years, nothing new. What he did would have an enemy appalled. And I know he doesn't like my man for reasons which make me think a lot. Doesn't like is too weak a phrase, he loathes him. And I know where all this will be going. And It will be just another ploy to sweet talk my family into making my man look like a monster. My man is big in ever sense, but no monster. And no, I'm sorry rat, I'm not leaving him for you. And now that's another thought, why ever would a rat want to make me leave my soon to be husband? Would the rat want to take his place I wonder? Whatever it is, it's not happening, not if there isn't a soul at my wedding which is what it'll be like once the rat has got to my family. But it's about the man I love who has spent endless nights nursing me back to life, the one who has gone to all lengths, possible and impossible, to see me smile. He's the man who thinks I look beautiful in a scrunchy and worn out PJ's, because my man is big on love. And I'm keeping my word... period. Because the most beautiful thing on earth is loving and being loved back. Rat or no rat.