Crazy Cat Kid (Crazy Cat Kids Book 1)

by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

  “About time,” Bill said, when we opened the doors.

  “Sorry,” Jesse said.

  I guessed when Bill and Maurie started kissing it had to run its course before they quit and, obviously, it hadn’t run its course yet. You don’t know awkward until you’ve sat in the back seat of a car with a boy, each of you crammed against a door, while the driver and his girlfriend stuck their tongues down each other’s throats. It sure does ruin a great afternoon.

  Chapter Six

  I felt guilty about leaving the girls alone all afternoon. When I got back to the motorhome, Saltry was on Mom and Dad’s bed, Red and Purple on my bed and Daisy sleeping on one of the chairs. I took the container of their treats and shook it. The rattling got their attention. Saltry sat up and I petted her on the head and placed some in front of her. I set some on the chair beside Daisy and rubbed her. She ate them laying down. Purple came to the edge of my bed and I gave her some. Red lifted her head. I stood on the bench seat and dumped a few for her to eat. I also patted them.

  I was in time to help Mom with the dish she had selected to serve at the mystery potluck this evening. There were two rules for what everyone prepared. It had to be cooked over a campfire and no one could tell what their food was going to be beforehand.

  Mom gave me a huge bag of potatoes and asked me to cube them without removing the skin. I dumped them in the sink and ran some water over them to wash them. I found a paring knife and checked the potatoes for blemishes. Mom set a bowl with clean water in it on the counter. I began to cut them into cubes and drop them into the bowl.

  Mom took out the larger cast iron skillet and set it on the table. She measured half a cup of oil and poured it into the skillet. She added a quarter cup of butter. She looked at the screen door and Purple and Daisy were sitting there.

  I dried my hands and moved the cats out of her way. I watched out the window over the sink and saw her set the skillet on the grill that Dad had placed over the fire ring. She stirred the oil and butter then came back to the door where Purple and Daisy were again waiting.

  This time I picked them up and carried them to the back bedroom. I closed the door to keep them there. Saltry was sleeping on one of the swivel chairs and Red was up on my bed looking out the window. I left them where they were.

  Mom chopped up two onions and the remaining celery. She took them out, and placed them in the hot skillet. Dad stirred them while Mom returned and started to dice three red peppers. One of the girls in the bedroom began to scratch at the door. I knocked on it and the scratching stopped. When it started again, I knocked again. This time it didn’t resume.

  By the time Mom was finished the peppers I had cubed all the potatoes into the bowl. I drained off the water and rinsed the cubes. Mom took the peppers and I carried the bowl. Mom went to the fire while I handed the bowl to dad. He distributed the potatoes around the skillet and mixed the combination while Mom dropped in the peppers.

  Dad was left to occasionally stir the vegetables for the next ten minutes. Mom went into the motorhome and came out with an armful of spices. She shook garlic powder, paprika, salt, pepper, parsley flakes, and some vegetable seasoning into the pan. Dad combined the spices into the vegetables.

  “Would you get the aluminum foil?” Mom asked.

  I ran inside and found the foil in the third drawer down. I gave it to Mom. She tore some off and placed it over the skillet.

  “Now we let it steam for about ten more minutes,” she said. “While that’s happening, I’ll make the salad.” Beside the main entrée, each family had to supply a salad of their choice.

  I followed Mom back into the motorhome to check on my cats. Red was sleeping on my bed, Saltry was using the litter box. All was quiet behind the bedroom door. Mom threw some vegetables together in a bowl for the salad while I cleaned the litter. She took the bowl outside. Rather than carry the box out to the compartment to top up, I went out and scooped some litter into the coffee can and brought that into the camper. It sent up a light cloud of dust as I sprinkled the litter into the box. Maybe that wasn’t a good idea.

  Mom set the salad bowl on the picnic table and removed the foil from the skillet. Dad stirred the potatoes to make sure they browned nicely. When the coffee can was back in the compartment, I refreshed the cat’s pail of water and added to their food pail. They would be okay until I had to give Saltry her insulin.

  Outside, I looked around the campsite and saw that some were cooking mystery foods over their fires for the potluck. Others were carrying their tables to the center of the clearing to make one long table. I saw Jesse coming out of his tent. I wandered over to him.

  “So what are your parents cooking for tonight?” I asked, looking over to where his mother was moving a large, covered pot a little further from their fire.

  “Can’t tell.”

  “I’m thinking I might have a snack before just in case there isn’t anything I like,” I said.

  “Good idea.”

  But I didn’t have a chance. A bell clanged and someone yelled. “Time to bring up the meals.”

  Jesse raised his eyebrows at me. “Well, I guess we will see how well dragon boaters cook,” he said.

  “I have to help Mom,” I said. “I’ll see you there.”

  I went back to our motorhome. Dad was using oven mitts to carry the skillet over to the long table. Mom followed with the bowl of salad in one hand and their lawn chairs in the other.

  “Would you bring the plates, glasses, and cutlery?” Mom asked.

  “Sure.” I went into the camper and got the plastic utensils Mom had set on the counter. The lot owners had asked that we use our own washable plastic utensils so that there wasn’t a lot of garbage. When I stepped outside, Jesse was standing there holding his and my lawn chairs.

  “Thought you could use a little help,” he said.

  “Thanks. Where is your plate?”

  “Mom’s got them all.”

  We walked over to the table. I handed Mom and Dad their glasses, plates and cutlery while Jesse set up our chairs beside my parents. His parents were on the other side of mine. I tried to remember their names. Bonnie and… Bonnie and Stuart. I felt some relief that my memory didn’t fail me. I saw Bill and Maurie place their chairs beside them. There was a lot of activity as people arranged their dishes on the table and then set their chairs in a line on each side of the table.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said. I ran to the motorhome. No one was at the screen. I went in. Red was drinking water and Saltry was now on my bed. As I opened Mom and Dad’s door, Purple and Daisy raced each other to get out around it. Saltry came to the edge of my bed so I lifted her down. As I set her on the floor I saw where someone, it had to be either Red or Saltry, had pooped under the table. I picked it up using a paper towel and threw it in the box. I applied the disinfectant. Our camper was certainly smelling fresh.

  Back at my chair I saw that all the pots and pans and bowls were on the table and everyone was sitting in their chairs waiting to see how this meal would turn out. The owners of the property, Robin and Mel, who had planned the potluck, stood at one end of the table.

  “First of all, we want to thank everyone for coming,” Mel said.

  “Thank you for having us,” many people called out.

  “Our pleasure,” Robin said. “We want you to treat this place as yours. If you need water, there is a hose at the cabin. As you know we can’t offer you power but we do have a generator if you need to charge your batteries. Our septic has to be pumped out because of being close to the lake so if you need to dump your holding tanks you can go to the provincial park or into town.”

  “But to save your water and holding tank space, there is an outdoor shower that anyone can use anytime,” Mel added. “All we ask is that you limit your time in there.”

  Nods and agreements around the table.

  “If you run out of the wood you each brought, you are welcome to use ours. However, our wood is still in logs so you will have to split i
t yourself. Our axe is in the shed. Please return it there when you are done.”

  “There is juice in that orange plastic barrel at the end of the table and coffee in the urn,” Robin said. “Now, let’s enjoy the experience of camp dining. And we’re going first.” She and Mel laughed.

  Lids were lifted off the pots and pans and bowls. Robin and Mel grabbed their plates and started down the table. They took small spoonsful of each and it wasn’t long before their plates were full and they hadn’t reached the end of the table. Everyone else lined up behind them. There were a lot of comments and laughter as the team members and their families slowly loaded their plates from the dishes.

  When the last of the adults and small children were making their way down the table, Bill, Maurie, Jesse and I took our place. I was last in line. Some of the food didn’t look very tasty and some of it was gone so I ended up taking some chili, some of mom’s potatoes, a scoop of macaroni casserole, some salad, and a piece of what looked like flat bread.

  “That’s my mom’s bannock,” Jesse said.

  “I’ve heard about the First Nations’ bannock but I’ve never tried it.”

  “It’s good with butter. And actually the word ‘bannock’ comes from northern England and Scotland. It’s of Celtic origin.”

  “Celtic? Are you sure? I’ve only ever heard it associated with First Nations peoples.”

  “Robert Burns mentioned it in his poem Epistle to James Tennant of Glenconner which he wrote in 1789.” Jesse recited. “An’ Lord, remember singing Sannock, Wi’ hale breeks, saxpence, an’ a bannock!”

  “Wow, do you know the whole poem?”

  Jesse reddened. “Yes, but it’s really long.”

  Jesse and I went back to our chairs. I immediately picked up the piece of bannock and spread some butter on it. I bit into it. It had a heavy texture and yet a light taste.

  “It’s good. What’s in it?”

  “Usually in our band it’s made of flour, lard, sugar, butter, baking powder, and water. The ingredients are mixed into a dough and spread out in a pan to bake or in a skillet to cook over a fire. I think every culture has something similar and when the first white man saw the way we made it, he associated it with the bannock he knew.”

  “But this has more than just flour,” I said, looking the piece in my hand.

  “Mom is always trying different recipes and today she added some rolled oats.”

  “Rolled oats?”

  “Mom said putting oats in could indicate that the recipe may have begun in Nova Scotia, or Acadia as it was known.”

  “Wow, from one ocean to the other. Are there other types of bannock?”

  “The original bannock was heavy because it was unleavened and made from barley or oat flour. It became lighter once baking soda or baking powder was introduced. In some countries raisins, dried fruit, or spices are added to give it different flavours.”

  I finished the bannock but instead of digging into the chili I watched Jesse take a forkful of his. He had it to his mouth when he saw me looking.

  “What?” he asked. “Waiting to see if I survive before trying it?”

  “No.” I gestured at the rest of the group where there was a lot of chatter as everyone ate. “No one else has died from eating it. I’m waiting to see how spicy it is.”

  “Don’t like spicy food?”

  “Not really.”

  Jesse put his fork in his mouth and chewed. “It’s hot,” he said. “But it is good. Maybe try some.”

  I took a small amount on my fork and tested it. It immediately began to burn my tongue. Rather than spit it out in front of everyone I swallowed it.

  “Oh, that’s too spicy for me.”

  Jesse put his plate on the table and hurried over to the orange barrel. He came back with a plastic glass of orange juice.

  “Thank you.” I sipped it, letting it sit on my tongue.

  I pushed the chili to the side and ate mom’s potatoes, the salad, and the fried bread. Jesse went back for seconds and when he was finished he and I walked over to the garbage cans. I scraped the chili into one.

  Mel stood and held up his hand. The chatter stopped and everyone turned to him.

  “Now that we’ve sampled the food and survived, there are a few more things to tell you.” Mel said. “There are two canoes and two kayaks for you to use and six lifejackets that must be worn any time anyone goes out on the water. We also believe in the buddy system even for adults when swimming. No one goes into the water without someone with them in the water or on shore to keep an eye on them.”

  I thought of Maurie and Bill going out that morning. There had been the two of them in the water and me on shore. They’d been doing things right even if they hadn’t known it.

  “For those of you who brought bicycles you can bike on the highway just be careful of traffic especially RV’s on their way to the provincial park. If you brought a boat, there is a boat launch at the park. The water is excellent for water skiing. The fishing is not good at this time of year. I want to thank everyone who brought dogs for keeping them tied up. I’m sorry to tell you that they are not allowed on the beach. If you want to walk them you will have to go onto the highway.”

  Robin took over. “We are going to leave your entertainment up to you. The only thing we are going to organize is the Hawaiian night that you were all told about before coming. That will be Thursday evening. So enjoy yourselves and if you have any questions don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Chapter Seven

  I picked up our plates and cutlery while Jesse grabbed his parents’ and Bill’s and Maurie’s and we walked over to our separate sites. All four girls were at the screen so I did a balancing act with the plates and cutlery and entered the motorhome through the passenger door. I set our things in the sink. I glanced at the clock. Half an hour until needle time. I went back outside and over to my chair. Jesse joined me soon after.

  The food was being left on the table in case anyone wanted some leftovers. Bottles of liquor and mix, beer cans on ice in coolers, and plastic cups soon appeared on the tables. Some of the women brought out cakes, pies, and packets of cookies. Everyone seemed content to sit around the table and visit.

  I had a piece of pie then looked at my cell phone. Time to feed my girls. I stood.

  “Where are you going?” Jesse asked.

  “I have to feed my cats.”

  “Cats?” he asked quizzically.

  “Yes, I own four of them and we brought them with us.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, it could be because we were afraid they would have noisy parties if we left them at home or they picketed us until we agreed to bring them, or they all snuck into the motorhome in the middle of the night, or they are too young to leave alone.” I stopped, thinking I had gone too far.

  I heard laughter around us.

  “Any more reasons?” Jesse grinned.

  “We were afraid they would load the house up with dead mice and birds, or we were afraid they would all climb a tree and not be able to get down and starve. Then we would have cat skeletons hanging from our branches.”

  Jesse laughed. “That’s it?”

  I nodded my head. “I’ve exhausted my repertoire.”

  “So, what’s the real reason you would spoil your holiday by bringing cats?” Jesse’s Dad asked. I detected derision in Stuart’s voice. Derision that I usually heard in the voices of people who didn’t like cats.

  “One of my cats is diabetic.”

  “Diabetic?” Jesse asked. “Cats can become diabetic?”

  I nodded. “Apparently.”

  “How? Why? How do cats get diabetes?”

  “Basically the same way people do. I’ve had her five years and she was overweight when I got her. Last year she started to lose weight and drink a lot of water. I took her to the vet and after tests the vet said she was diabetic and needed insulin shots twice a day.”

  “That must be expensive.”

  “It is but Mom and Dad help.” />
  Stuart snorted. “I bet they pay most of it.”

  I ignored him as I continued. “To save money I buy the large bottles of insulin and one hundred needles at a time.”

  “One hundred needles?” Jesse sounded shocked.

  “Yes. They get dull easily and reusing them too often can contaminate the insulin. I use one in the morning, store it in the fridge with the insulin, and reuse it at night.”

  “That seems like a lot of work.”

  “It is but she’s worth it.”

  “Why don’t you just get rid of her?” Stuart asked. “She’s just an animal.”

  “Stuart,” Bonnie said, quickly, hitting him on the arm.

  “What? It’s true.”

  In my opinion the true nature of a person is shown by how they treat an animal. I believe there is something wrong with someone who thinks animals don’t have rights. Stuart was one such person. I wasn’t liking the man.

  “We are also considered to be of the animal species and we think our lives are important.”

  Stuart stared open-mouthed at me as if stunned that I would contradict him. He looked at my parents probably expecting them to reprimand me. They didn’t.

  I turned and headed to the motorhome. I was mad. How dare someone tell me to put my cat to sleep just because she had diabetes? He didn’t know her. He didn’t know me.

  My bad mood disappeared when I saw my girls sitting at the screen door waiting for me. I smiled and went to the passenger door. The first thing I did was pick Saltry up and hug her.

  “I will never get rid of you,” I whispered into her fur. “Never.”

  She began to purr and I held her tight. I liked Jesse, a lot, but I didn’t like his dad. And I had made it clear tonight. I wondered if what I had said would affect our budding friendship. After a few minutes, I set her down on the floor.

  I opened the fridge and took out the tin of cat food and went through the same routine that I had in the morning to give Salty her needle. The only change was that I washed out the can and put it in the recycle bag.