The cat with one black shoe
By Alex Carrier

Have you seen a cat with one black shoe? I know it has only one shoe because I have the other. I’m sure I had both just yesterday. I did not notice myself listing when I walked.

Yet, here I stand with one lonely shoe in hand. Not expensive shoes. Not new shoes. Not Manolo Blahnik’s or Jimmy Choo’s.

Certainly Sex in the City would not feature this shoe and no housewife is desperate enough to ask for it at a fancy store but the missing shoe matches a perfectly good shoe and I would like to have it back.

I know the cat that has the shoe, because it is my cat Zoie. Out of 2 cats and 2 dogs, she is the only creature in the house interested in my shoes. I do not think this is out of any love for me but because shoes – well, they smell and animals seem to like smell.

I am sure it is my cat since she does not do untoward things with my husband’s shoes but then she could fit inside my husband’s shoe and I do pride myself on having much smaller footwear. This cat is a huntress and she loves to hunt my shoes. I guess the smell makes them easy to find.

She loves to hunt, kill and then carry off one shoe. If only she would take two, I might think I had simply misplaced them and move on to another pair or perhaps, even forget about the shoes entirely since there would be no lonesome, pathetic shoe crying out to be reunited with its mate. (I understand that by nature, shoes are monogamous and if one of the pair dies, the mate meets its demise soon after.)

So, I have one shoe. A black shoe, worn and scuffed and bulging at the seams and useless without its partner.

I would give it up but, I like these shoes. They are that rare footwear find – a comfortable fit. These are “my feet are killing me and I know the heat has expanded them two sizes and I would go barefoot only my feet hurt too much to walk on them” shoes.

Have you seen a cat with one black shoe?

Photo of Zoie by Alex Carrier

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© 2007 Virginia Greene

Don’t Blame Mother Nature
By Alex Carrier


Spring was here. I know I saw it – the colorful flowers, the green grass, birds building nests, people prodding green life from winter-brown lawns. Then, poof, it was gone with a freezing wind.

While cuddling up against the cold, I noticed a lot of chatter about how Mother Nature had tricked us and heard several none-too-kind words about the good lady.

Don’t blame Mother Nature. This is the work of that chilly curmudgeon Old Man Winter.

Oh, yeah, you’ve seen his work before. Frosted flowers shivering in their crystal cloaks. New buds bent and burned by cold.

Even animals are confused and seem to constantly check the timing of sunrise and sunset to reassure themselves spring is the season.

Spring season is, of course, locational. Our neighbors 30 minutes to the south in Charlottesville but a greater distance south in latitude always suffer spring a few weeks earlier than we do and enjoy fall a few weeks later.

Personally, I like cooler weather since you can comfortably snuggle up to your keyboard and work with little or no outside distraction. No longing to walk barefoot in new green grass or to lose yourself listening to romantic feathered Romeos tunefully tempting their mates.

But Old Man Winter, like all crusty curmudgeons, will go grumbling on his way. His dreary gray days will give way to color so intense it stains the sky and turns lawns into rivers of all hues imaginable. He’ll take his minion Jack Frost with him and the buds will not fear to stand straight and open their petals to the sun.

Mother Nature will sweep through our hollows and along the Blue Ridge Mountains and coax new life from every possible portion. We will remember why we love living here and will enjoy the warm days and cool nights only Spring can bestow.

Until Summer steams in.

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© 2007 Virginia Greene

Cyber Voodoo
By Alex Carrier

Are there exorcists for possessed computers? Do witchdoctors and shamen make cyber calls to depossess your cpu?

While my drastardly machine did not begin spinning on the desk or spitting out split pea soup it certainly behaved in a manner totally unfitting for a valued business associate. Not to mention the fact it was driving me even crazier than my normal not-so-normal!

The computer whined. It flipped out. It shut down. It threw tech tantrums.

While my on-site tech support (i.e. husband) ordered parts and made temporary repairs, I contemplated cyber voodoo. Who voodoo?

Nothing organic, I am sure but some silvery silicon shaman with flashing LED eyes and dreadlocks of Ethernet and ribbon cables with picks of memory sticks and dangling flash cards.

Cloaked by a hissing aura of excited electrons, the which doctor gyrates around the offensive/offending computer spitting out sparks of bits and bytes while it untangles the web, unknots the net, keys up the keyboard, untraps the mouse and monitors the display all the while chanting cyber voodoo of hertz, mega, this-a, that-a.

With a sizzling sigh, the computer huffs out the carbonized electrified essence of evil that has here-to-fore rendered my pleasantly productive powered partner into a snarling, recalcitrant, voracious file-eating malevolent mega-monster.

A flash, a puff, a swoosh and a whoosh. The air clears. Cyber spirit and cyber voodoo are gone. A heavy sigh of relief and my computer and I are back in business.

Reality check. My husband does his own tech magic and all is well for now. But cyber voodoo is only a thought away if needed.

If you like this blog read our free web magazines Virginia Greene http://www.vgreene.com/ and Greene Lite www.vgreene.com/greenelite.
© 2007 Virginia Greene