Buckwheat shreds homework and pounces on keyboard

 On November 7, 2009, at the age of 20 years and two months exactly, my beloved cat Buckwheat died, having been my buddy for more than 20 years. I thank all those who sent  me such kind messages when they heard the news.  I reposted  this article that I had written earlier to my "good boy" and "pretty cat" who is now playing near the Rainbow Bridge. In 2009, this story was number one, and amazingly, it has stayed in the top ten throughout 2010...  michael

Suddenly Buckwheat reached into the pile of English essays, grabbed one with his teeth, and before I knew it, had torn it into shreds. No kidding. Now I had taught school for a long time, and had heard every reason in the book about why an assignment was late. But, how does a teacher explain to a student, "Sorry, but my cat shredded your homework."

On another occasion, Buckwheat gently picked up a student paper and brought it to me. I later learned this student was a cat lover and had sprinkled a little cat nip on her paper. That alone made it worth an A!

Both incidents occurred during my first year at College of the Rockies 20 years ago, and Buckwheat was just a kitten, arriving in my life very shortly after I arrived in Cranbrook, British Columbia. He's having his afternoon nap as I write, and obviously isn't as frisky now, but we still try to go for regular walks in the courtyard where he is considered Sir Buckwheat of Woodland Court.

Some of the children have told me, "I know you. You are the old man with the old cat," and I nod and agree. I guess we are conversation pieces and that's just fine because Buckwheat has been one all his life. I've been the subject of a few conversations too so not much new there, except we are both older!

In fact one student went so far on an instructor evaluation form to note: "All he did in this course was talk about his cat." Imagine, according to this student, I spent 45 hours talking only about my cat. With all respect, I don't think so. Hockey maybe as some may say about my time at Chapleau High School, but not Buckwheat, although I am guilty in part.

But for the most part, students were animal lovers and would share stories about their cats, dogs and yes, out here, horses and other animals. I have been retired a few years now and when I meet former students, many still ask about Buckwheat.

Buckwheat has always become annoyed when I read, mark papers, talk on the phone or type. In fact years ago, he destroyed my last electric typewriter by pouncing on the keyboard. However, we are making progress after all these years. He is not showing too much annoyance now when I talk with my best buddy on the phone. At one time he would have made it a nightmare!

My friend Melanie reminded me that Buckwheat comes to get me every night when he thinks it is time for me to go to bed. He's done that every day of his life, and waits until I turn off the TV or computer, and follow him to the bedroom. Once I am settled down, off he goes to do his thing!

Why am I bothering to tell you about Buckwheat? Well the other day I was chatting with a friend on IM and she said, "I can tell you really love your cat." I was taken aback for a moment, but I replied, "Yes, I do" and have enjoyed his friendship all these years despite the fact that he can be so damn independent and is really the one who runs our home.

I would love to have you share pet stories or offer comments. I promise I will read them all to Buckwheat and won't let him destroy them!

Email me at mj.morris@live.ca

God, the king, the country and ME!

As I wait for the Harper government to present its budget in the House of Commons today, my mind wanders back to a much simpler time in my life. At least as I look back 60 years or so, it sure seems that way. Notwithstanding the reality that my father was killed while on active service with the Royal Canadian Airforce in World War II, life was pretty good for me growing up in Chapleau, a small community in Northern Ontario.

I had a wonderful Mom, and grandparents. along with my aunt and uncle on Mom's side and cousins who constantly bugged me, and my other aunt, my Dad's sister who fascinated me because she had moved from home and lived in such exotic places as Calgary and Toronto.

I had my friends with whom I spent countless hours playing children's games often centred near the huge rock on the "back river" across from our house on Grey Street adjacent to the Roman Catholic Cemetery. I also had my tricycle which enabled me to patrol the streets of Chapleau, and head off to visit Maw and Grandpa, my Dad's parents who lived on the "other side of town."

Enough already, you say. What does all this have to do with the Harper budget, and God, the king, the country and me. In a way everything, because back then despite great differences on political and religious issues, we knew where we stood. I don't recall ever hearing that Canadians did not trust the prime minister, to me a very serious allegation indeed.

For example, family came first of course, and by extension that included all members of the community when any were in need. I think it was Cervantes who first noted about the small community that people cared about each other! And they did. And I am sure they still do.

In my home, after I was all growed up so to speak I could look back and say unequivocally that God, duty to serve country and community, love of family and friends were the guiding principles in my early life. This also meant support of the Anglican church, the Progressive Conservative party, and loyalty to the king (George VI at the time.)

All these years later I am a lapsed Anglican, (although God certainly remains), no longer a Conservative and after Stephen Harper, in my view abused power by going to the Governor General to have parliament prorogued rather than face a vote of non confidence in the House of Commons, a convert to the abolition of the monarchy in Canada. I still love my friends and family.

I think of the poem 'The Second Coming' by William Butler Yeats as I sort out where I stand today

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming!

Link to the poem: http://classiclit.about.com/library/weekly/aa031701a.htm

Please feel free to post your comments or email me at mj.morris@live.ca