Cats and Birds communicate well. The Cat stalks the Bird and the Bird flees for its Life and then the bird is caught and killed by the merciless hunter. Now that's a pretty clear communication.  Birds are cats prey. It has caused a dilemma for me over the years because I love cats but I also love birds.

I already had two parakeet birds when I brought my first cat home. To remedy any conflict I put up a shelf and kept the bird cage on the shelf. The shelf was up high and I had to step on a stool to reach it but it granted the birds absolute safety from my two cats while I was at work or away. The second cat I got was a female gymnast that could jump high and climb anything but the shelf was not in her reach.

Over the years my original set of birds changed because they died, except for a blue colored bird that survived the three other birds in the span of ten years.  I named this bird "Bluebird."  Everytime a bird would die I thought it was sad that the single bird was all by itself and I would drive to the pet store and purchase another bird to make the world right.

After the third bird died there was a short lapse of time that Bluebird stayed by herself.  I noticed that Bluebird was not sad at all.  In fact, I never saw her so happy.

She started singing all the time and jumping merrily around the cage like she was having the time of her life.  She would go into the corner of the cage and do little somersault flips in the corner of the cage that were so funny and cute that I would laugh out loud when I saw her do it.  I would make a clicking noise to the bird that she would repeat back to me and at that point I just couldn't find a good reason to purchase another companion bird for my single bird that was so happy to be on her own.

At the end of the day when it was time to relax, I would be in the living room watching evening television with my two cozy, affectionate cats.  Usually pet people consider their pets their family as I did, and I started bringing the bird cage in the living room in the evenings so that Bluebird would spend time with the family.

It is perfectly alright to laugh at this because it is hilarious that someone would consider their cat creatures their family but I was sincere, single and loved my pets which have always been a major part of my life. Since I didn't have anywhere to put the birdcage I just set the cage on the floor against a wall right in front of me so I could see the cage at all times.

At first my girl cat would sit in front of the bird cage and just stare at the bird and watch the bird closely.  I would make an announcement to my cat that Bluebird was a family bird and not for hunting.

As time passed, the cat would lay casually by the bird cage and watch the bird casually.  Further down the road the cat would lounge and take naps by the bird cage, abandoning  the need altogether to watch the bird so closely.  The other cat stayed away from the cage and was not interested in the bird.

The cat and the bird started playing through the cage.  A game of tag was initiated by the bird. Now, in the evenings they played tag through the cage and I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see it myself.

My twelve pound girl cat was gentle and careful as she pawed where the bird was chirping and jumping inside the cage and insisting dramatically that the cat catch her and when the cats paw touched the bird through the cage it was caught and the bird would acknowledge the catch by touching the cats paw with its beak and then continue jumping all around for the next tag.

They did this on a regular basis.  It was neat.  It was love.  It was fun. Sometimes when the cat would leave the cage and be heading a few feet away, the bird would make a lot of chirping sounds as if calling to the cat and the cat would stop, turn around and go sit back at the cage keeping the bird company.

The bird actually called the cat back to the cage to hang out.  I was never so brave as to let the bird out of the cage to play with the cat without the protection of its cage.  

It was just a pleasure to see the cat treat the parakeet bird as one of the family as the two of them became very good friends.

A Rasberry is the sound Archie Bunker makes when he sticks his tongue partially out of his mouth and then blows air through it.  

<<<<<<<<<RASBERRY>>>>>>>>>>>

I'd like to tell you about something I saw in the Maple tree.
It was perched on a branch during sunset's glow and sat there being so free.
Old Maple tree in its eternity, green summer leaves that flow.
As we live, we may learn if we allow ourselves to grow.                 

 To be with God, to love the day, to flow as easy as air.
My Racoon friend spotted me watching him from my chair.
Gracefully and with delicacy he moved at one with the tree.
His silouette gathered my heart in love and unity.                                         

For awhile I watched him and he watched me without making an utter sound.
He decided I wasn't a danger and came down to the ground.
He ran off into the night to do what he may do.
And that is how we parted without any further adieu.

Something In The Maple Tree
by Lynn Guevrekian

Sunshine, Moonshine, Cloudy day........

Years ago before one of my friends was married or had children we hung out a lot and were best friends. I visited her at her apartment one evening to socialize. She had her other best friend there too and the three of us ordered a pizza.

When they delivered the pizza they brought the wrong kind of pizza so we ended up getting an additional free pizza because they delivered another pizza free of charge. Now that is a good pizza place.

After eating lots of pizza we had some drinks and our conversation at one point shifted to the subject of Batman. Someone asked, "What is the name of the actor that played the Penguin in the original version of Batman?"

For some reason no one could remember the name. All three of us took turns trying to remember the actor's name but no one could remember the name . Several different names were suggested but none of the names were correct.

All three of us were laughing our butts off because we were blurting out all tbese different names of actors but none of them were the correct name. The name escaped all three of us and it seemed to be on the tip of my tongue but I couldn't get to it.

I remember at one point in desperation to spit it out and come to a conclusion I blurted out, "Cloris Leachman!?" which is actually a female actress.

We had fun that night and our conversation was on many different topics but several times during the evening it shifted back to the guessing of the actor's name that played the penguin in the original Batman. The night ended without anyone figuring out or remembering the actor's name.

I went home that night and went to bed. I woke up at 3 a.m. in the morning and sat up in bed for a moment and whispered "Burgess Meredith." Then I promptly went back to sleep.

It seems that even while sleeping , in the back of my mind I was working on the missing information that was causing such a dilemma.

Over the years I have done this type of thing again and again quietly to myself when trying to find an answer or solution to a problem often much weightier and more significant than the fun guessing of an actor's name.

I have always referred to the process that produces the answer to a question that is not immediately attainable as "The Burgess Syndrome."

I was standing outside a downtown building one morning with my friend Trudy when this *****, somewhat scary looking homeless man walked up to us and started talking to us. He asked us for a cigarette probably because he saw us both smoking. Trudy gave him a cigarette. I wished that she hadn't given him a cigarette because I was sure that he would be obliged to smoke it and continue to talk to us and I was right.

Trudy was six feet tall and from what I have gathered throughout my life experiences, the rules of a six foot woman are just different than other, less tall women because of their height. They seem fearless of other people whom I am sure they view as midgets and munchkins.

The homeless guy told us that he went to Chicago and a famous person gave him a million dollars. He said that when he went to the bank to try and open a bank account that the bank teller tried to take his money away from him and he had to go through a lot of trouble to get it back. I remembered my experience with a bank teller who shorted me exactly one hundred dollars and when I spoke up in a loud voice, she dispersed the missing one hundred bucks without rechecking anything or batting an eye lash except there was a clear look of guilt in her eyes.

The more the homeless man spoke the more apparent it was that he was mentally challenged or perhaps *******. He reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. He opened his wallet and produced a million dollar bill. He said the banks in town would not break the bill for him so that he could have smaller bills to spend.

I couldn't believe my eyes that this ***** homeless guy was wandering the streets and had a million dollars in his pocket. I saw the bill myself and it was authentic. He wanted me and Trudy to help him. I referred him to the Community Center and told him they would probably help him set up a bank account and straighten out his financial affairs.

For the rest of the day I was bewildered by the homeless man and his dilapidated condition wandering the streets ***** with no place to go and not even enough money for a pack of cigarettes and meanwhile he was a millionaire!

My astonishment came to a halt when I found out there is no such thing as a million dollar bill.  The authentic looking bill is how they make them since they are fiction and are not a valid currency amount.  The bill felt to the touch like paper currency too;an exact replica of something that does not exist.  Apparently the bills were handed out to people as a promotional smile to make them feel like millionaires and the man who was mentally ******* believed the bill was real.   The End