On Mars The Cats Are Crazy

Chapter One:
On Mars, the cats are crazy.
Maybe it’s because of the smell.
I had never experienced anything like it before. Being from the Moon, where the oxygen rechargers remove odors, I admit I have a limited aroma vocabulary, but I had been to Earth, and Earth sure hadn't smelled like this.
A penetrating sort of tangy, sort of urine-like, sort of spicy cinnamon-and-lemon kind of scent that got into your nostrils and stayed there, so deep you could taste it.
I worried that it might drive me crazy, and wondered how were we going to live here.
“Henry, what is that?” Mom had her hankie out again, covering her nose and mouth. She looked at my father as if he had just handed her a dead skunk.
“Sorry, dear, must be something I ate.” Dad tried to smile, but it came out more like he was eating dog turds.
Mom shot him a look.
“How should I know? Have I ever been here before?” He grabbed her elbow and started guiding her towards the spaceport lounge, a low flat building that looked like any strip mall on Earth. Mars so far was a huge disappointment. “Let’s get inside and see if we can find out.”
I tagged along behind, my fingers pinched firmly over my nostrils, not sure if that helped or not. The smell was so thick it crawled down my throat and threatened to make me puke.
Davis nudged me. “Maybe you need to take a bath.”
I ignored him.

Cats and the Power of Positive Thinking

My cat Sassafras, who was neutered at five months old but still thinks he's a tom, got into a fight the other day and came home with a torn ear. I decided to keep him in the house for a few days until he healed.
Being a cat, and therefore stubborn, he now spends a lot of time standing in front of the door, waiting for it to open. It’s as though he’s chanting an affirmation in hopes that the door will open if he focuses enough.
My family spent the dinner hour last night laughing at him, and indirectly at the concept that being positive about a goal can make it happen. No amount of “sending it out to the universe” is going to make a door open, we thought.
But then, right after dinner, I wandered into the kitchen, saw the cat by the door, and quite by habit, opened it and let him out. Then I swore as I remembered I wasn’t supposed to do that. Of course, the cat was gone, and I felt the idiot.
Cats catch mice by waiting beside the mouse hole for so long the mouse forgets about their presence and ventures out. Bam! End of mouse. I’d fallen for the same trick.
The episode made me wonder about the concept of positive thinking. Perhaps that’s how it works. However ludicrous the concept may seem, wait by a door long enough, and someone will open it.

Garden Cats

My cats like to help me garden. They like to roll in the dirt, and dig holes, and add their own brand of fertilizer for me. They appreciate my plants, choosing favourites for shade, or for hairball remedies, or for hiding under. They especially love the fresh catnip. They have their trails to follow through the garden when chasing each other, and me. Raking leaves is always a cause for feline celebration. My cats race and leap for joy whenever I join them in the garden, unless it’s a hot sunny day, when they merely smile and roll over on the deck. It’s as if they’re saying, “How can you design such a beautiful garden and spend so little time in it? You must sit here all day, every day, in order to truly understand its essence.” Perhaps they’re right.

On The Moon There Are No Dogs

On the Moon, there are no dogs.
So how did a fresh dog turd get into my closet?
I knew what it was. Most Moon kids wouldn’t, but I’d just returned from a trip to Earth to visit my dad. He moved there after the divorce, and he has a dog, an Irish setter named Molly.
This was not a good way to start my first day back to school. I wanted to see my friends again, and I was eager to start lessons, but I still felt a bit shaky. Like I’d been split between two worlds, the one here on the Moon with Mom, and the one with Dad back on Earth. I did not need to deal with mysterious feces.
I called Mom.
She blamed me for the mess. “Isadora, what have you done?” she shrieked, holding her nose.
“I didn’t!”
“You crapped in your closet!” She didn’t say crap; she said something I’m not allowed to repeat. “Why would a twelve-year-old girl crap in her closet?” Mom stood in my bedroom, all one hundred fifty-nine centimeters and sixty-two kilos of her, with her hands clasped over her mouth. She stared at me like she’d never seen me before. “What is the matter with you, Isadora?”
She didn’t wait for my answer. “It’s your father’s fault. What are they teaching children on Earth?”
Did she think all Earth kids crapped in their closets? I quit listening and went to the kitchen to get a baggie.

Amy Poops and Poops

Amy is a beagle.
She wears a coat when she goes for her walk.
Her coat has an opening for her tail.
Kathy is Amy’s friend. She takes Amy for her walks.
She wears a coat, too.
Her coat does not have an opening, because Kathy does not have a tail.
When Amy goes for her walk, she poops and poops.
Kathy scoops and scoops.
Amy poops in her front yard. Kathy scoops it up.
Amy poops in Mrs. Lemon’s flower bed.
Kathy scoops it up.
Mrs. Lemon frowns at Kathy and Amy.
Kathy frowns back. Amy barks.
Amy poops beside the playground.
The children in the playground laugh.
Kathy laughs too.
The children want to pet Amy.
Kathy lets them. Amy likes children.
Amy poops on the walking path.
Kathy scoops it up.
Amy poops on the walking path again.
Kathy scoops it up again.
Kathy has to bring a lot of scoop bags when she walks Amy.
Amy poops in Molly’s yard. Molly is a black lab.
She sniffs Amy’s poop. Then she poops.
Amy sniffs Molly's poop.
Then Kathy scoops up all the poop.
When Amy is all done pooping, Kathy walks her home.
Kathy throws away all the poop scoop bags.
She takes off Amy’s coat, and gives her a doggy treat.
Then Amy has to poop again.