In my October 24 newsletter I invented a phone conversation between a National Guardsman and the DC Metropolitan Police. Turns out that my version of the story is not how the incident played out.
The “Imperial March” dog walker, Sam O’Hara, was confronted and cuffed by the DC Police for 15-20 minutes before they released him. Now he’s suing the city for violation of his First and Fourth Amendment rights, backed by the ACLU.
I think my version of the story had a better outcome.
Now, the City of DC has a lawsuit on their hands because of a National Guard deployment that they didn’t want, and the National Guard has earned a reputation for not being able to handle a little bit of teasing.
By the way, I looked up the 2:02 on O’Hara’s T-shirt. It turns out to be an Angel Number (02:02) representing balance, harmony, and the importance of relationships in our lives. Isn’t that interesting?
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You probably wanted to know about the four kittens in our basement bathroom. There’s a story there, too.
The Humane Society of told me that strays had to be delivered by Animal Control from the kittens’ jurisdiction, so I called them for two days and got no reply. On the third day I went to the police station and talked to the guy in person.
“Why did you wait so long to contact us?” he asked.
I assured him that I had been trying for two days. He was surprised to hear it and I went through my phone menu on speaker so he could hear his own outgoing message.
His coworker figured out the next day that the desk phone had been disconnected. Lots of voicemail to catch up on! Good thing I came in person.
I’ve always found that direct human contact is the best way to accomplish things. Words of understanding are spoken, clarity is established, and difficulties are resolved.
What was 02:02 supposed to represent again? Oh, yes, balance, harmony, and the importance of relationships in our lives.
I suppose I’ve been using that Angel Number for a while now.
Well these weren’t here when I walked down this path on the way to the park. I wonder if someone dropped them or just abandoned them…
I wonder.
That’s what I do. I wonder. And ideas begin to take shape.
I showed this photo to my wife—the photographer—and she complimented me on the composition after I described a different version that didn’t include the path in the distance. Isn’t it exciting to realize what you’ve learned from your partner just by sharing interests?
“Now there’s a writing prompt!” she said, reflecting my thoughts back at me. “It makes me think of someone who was so scared he jumped out of his shoes and ran. Or maybe a huge eagle grabbed him and flew away leaving just his shoes.”
“Right?” I asked, feeling the juices of more stories start to bubble up in my imagination.
In my newsletter from two weeks ago I wrote about a 12-year-old girl who came to my book signing at Main Street Books. She wants to be a writer and her mother encouraged her to ask me questions. As did I.
Of course, the most commonly asked question of any writer is “Where do you get your ideas?” Especially when the writer has written a fantastical adventure tale!
Just as the girl asked me that question, a customer walked past, saw my flyer about the kittens, and exclaimed “Awww, they’re so cute!” as she passed by.
“There’s a story right there,” I told her. Maybe she always wanted to adopt a kitten but lives in an apartment that doesn’t allow pets. Or maybe she had a cat who passed away but looked just like one of these kittens. Everyone has a story to tell, right?” The girl nodded. “If you pay attention to other people and listen to their stories, that’s a great way to begin. And then you can start playing around with those ideas by using your imagination.”
I didn’t tell her that I was a notorious daydreamer in school. My mom told me I was an easy child because she could set me in the middle of the room with a handful of toys and I would entertain myself for hours. She was right! I remember doing that.
My attraction to theatre was a natural extension of that kind of thinking. Hey, Eric, do you want to join a group of students who all use their imaginations to tell stories and then add sets, costumes, props, lights and more? Hey, sign me up! What a perfect activity for a devoted daydreamer!
Taking my own advice, I made a point of asking the girl what she had written and then listened to her story. I could tell we were kindred spirits, dabbling in fantastical worlds and characters. I could also tell that she appreciated having an adult listen to her like an equal while encouraging her aspirations.
So what flight of fancy did my imagination run to when I saw these shoes?
Maybe they’re lying in wait for you to come along and try them on, because they’ll take you into a world where trees talk, birds read your thoughts, and dreams come true.
TTFN
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Sinking Feeling
Having failed to lure Tabitha into our humane trap, Debbie and I pivoted to catching her kittens instead. Maternal instincts are a pretty major influence so this could be the needed work-around. We only managed to catch four of the five before the early snowfall, but we still hope the last one will give the cage a try.
They’re isolated in our small downstairs bathroom and when I went to visit them, these two were cuddled up together in the sink. That’s like a greeting card photo, right?
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I had the pleasure of going to see twelve high school students perform a one hour version of this play on Sunday. I had directed all of them in junior high or high school plays over the past seven years. Some backstage students, too, and several more who were in the audience.
Talk about a proud Papa! I got to sit in the auditorium and appreciate how much each of them had grown, both as actors and young adults.
The new director told me that when the students heard I was coming, someone had said “I hope he’s ready for a lot of hugs.” That really warmed my heart, and after the show I gave and received lots of hugs!
The play also made me stop and think about what I had learned in kindergarten.
It’s not easy to remember specifics after sixty years, just a lot of general things. One day we made applesauce, which was delicious! On another day we learned our addresses and phone numbers by pasting pieces of construction paper onto a page and writing on the house cut-outs we had made.
I’m sure we also learned please and thank you, if we hadn’t already learned those “magic words” by watching Captain Kangaroo on TV.
But what stands out in my mind is the epic incident of a visit from Batman.
You see, my friend Rob had a Batman costume from Halloween and I had my Superman costume. He came up with the idea to wear them to school because, you know, that’d be really cool.
The next morning when I told my mom what we were going to do, she vetoed the whole notion. Halloween was months behind us and, despite my protestations that Rob was going to do it, the answer was NO.
We walked to the elementary school with Rob in full Batman gear, cowl and all. And when we arrived at the classroom, the kids erupted.
The Batman TV series was playing every week and the Caped Crusaders were enshrined on lunch pails, cereal boxes, and jars of peanut butter. To have Batman show up in your classroom was a lightning bolt from the sky!
Have you ever experienced mob behavior? I got my only taste of it in kindergarten.
Like a kennel of loose puppies on a sugar high, the entire classroom rose as one and headed straight for Rob. He did the only logical thing. He ran.
A double classroom of forty or fifty kindergarteners (it was the Baby Boom, not enough classrooms) chased my friend around the playground like a swarm of bees defending their hive.
I chased him, too. Like I said, mob mentality.
We ran until everyone was exhausted, including the teachers, who were insisting that we come in AT ONCE.
What did I learn? I learned that I was perfectly capable of getting caught up in the moment along with dozens of other children. When Rob later asked me why I chased him, the answer was simple. Because everybody else was doing it.
I expect that the two kindergarten teachers gave us a firm talking-to on how not to behave, but I have no memory of that speech, just the unruly run around the playground under the influence of all those kids.
What I learned in kindergarten was that crazy things can happen when you’re part of a mob. And you know what? I haven’t done it since!
TTFN
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My wife took this picture of Tabitha nursing her kittens on the back deck. I thought I’d share it with you. Talk about a mob. It’s an entire kittenkaboodle! (I figure if I use that word enough it’ll catch on.)
Tabitha entered the humane trap a few days ago and backed out with a mouthful of food without setting off that hair-trigger spring. Clever girl!
Three torties (tortoise shell markings), one tabby (already looking like her mother), and one black cat (a Halloween kitty).
If you’re thinking you only see four in the photo, zoom in on the black kitten in the middle of the kittenkaboodle*. Its head is down but if you can find the eyes, you’ll suddenly see the fifth kitten. It’s like one of those Magic Eye pictures.
While you’re looking closely, check out the paw of the tortie to the far right. There’s a bright white patch on the toe, like a mani-pedi gone awry. But totally adorable. I’ve already started calling her Toe White.
We’re thinking we can drop one in the first five Trick-or-Treat bags that open up when we answer the doorbell. A trick that grows into a treat! Probably throw in a can of cat food for good measure.
So all that time we spent worrying about getting Tabitha back to her unseen kittens when we took her to the vet was absolutely accurate! And she’s now bringing them around for us to take over the feeding of the brood. We’re pretty sure they’re nesting under the deck by way of a small opening at the steps.
In my updates from the last few months I’ve mentioned how streetwise Tabitha is—dare I say cagey—and that she won’t walk into the humane trap we used before.
I’ve imagined the old fashioned upside-down cardboard box held up by a stick, but you have to be there to pull the string, AND be ready to hold down the box during the thrashing of a frightened feral cat, AND have a way to transfer the cat from the box to a cat carrier. Not very practical.
I’ve also thought about childhood TV cartoons of a dog catcher carrying a big net on a stick. They don’t do that anymore.
Tabitha still needs to get those non-dissolving stitches removed, so stay tuned for more updates and more precious kitten pictures.
TTFN
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I thoroughly enjoyed my Saturday at Main Street Books in Lafayette, made several new friends and got to encourage a 12-year-old girl who already knew she wanted to be a writer. I could see her mother’s gratitude and approval for what I was saying. Their mutual thanks were really special to me.
I also got to reunite with some of the high school students I had directed in plays over the last few years. They were at the Farmer’s Market outside and were so enthusiastic about coming in to see me. They have a play coming up this weekend and I’m excited to see what they’ve accomplished under their new director.
After the book signing, Debbie and I visited one other former high school student working up the street. They are already out of college, also a writer of plays, and we got to talk shop between customers. They work at Scones & Doilies and let me tell you, walking into that bakery, the aroma alone will register an additional five pounds on your bathroom scale. And you won’t object because it’s heavenly! We bought a few treats, including gluten free options that Debbie could enjoy.
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*kittenkaboodle—get out your scorecard, Eric has added one more word to the English language!
I had a good laugh recently when I saw this sequence on line. A citizen of DC decided that he would protest the unnecessary invasion of the military into his city by following around the National Guard playing “The Imperial March” on his phone.
Sergeant Beck here got a little fed up with it, broke ranks, and confronted the deejay protester with a threat to call the Metro PD.
Can you see the guy over Beck’s shoulder biting his lower lip as if to suppress a guffaw? He’s thinking “Don’t do it, Beck, just keep walking.” But the Sergeant has had it and the video ends with him whipping out his cell phone to call the police.
I figure the call went something like this…
Hello? Yes. This is Sergeant Beck with the National Guard. I need you to send an officer down to—[aside] Where are we?
[First National Guardsman says] Kingman Park.
Kingman Park, to arrest a civilian.
What’s he doing? He’s walking around following us, playing music, that’s what he’s doing!
Um, I don’t know. Classical, I guess. [Asking the three other National Guardsman.] That’s considered classical, huh?
[First National Guardsman says] It’s the soundtrack, from Star Wars.
[Second National Guardsman says] John Williams won an Oscar for that. Since then he’s conducted the Philharmonic.
[Third National Guardsman says] Definitely classical.
Okay, shut up you guys. [Into the phone] It’s classical music. [Pause.] No, it’s recorded. It’s just one guy. You think we’d have an entire symphony orchestra following us around?! [Rolls his eyes.]
What do you think? We DID tell him to stop, and he kept on playing it!
Because I’m not here to arrest people. That’s YOU’RE job! [Stomping his boot.] I want you to send someone over right now!
What? No, we don’t do police work.
Because we’re not trained for policing! We’re here to ensure the safety of the citizens of Washington, DC!
I don’t know! [To protester.] Hey, fellah, are you a citizen of Washington, DC? [Protester nods.] Yeah, he’s a citizen.
But we’re not threatening his safety!!
But it’s Darth Vader music!
But…But…okay.
[Whining.] I said okay, jeez.
[To protester.] You’re free to go. [Protester starts up the same music.]
Can you at least play some Taylor Swift, or something?
[Other National Guardsmen snicker as he resumes the head of the formation.]
What, she has a good voice!
TTFN
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Evidence of Tabitha’s Kittens
We haven’t tried to trap Tabitha yet, we’re still regaining her trust. She’s at our back door every morning meowing for the canned food (with the medication).
The other day Tabitha lay on the back deck with her belly facing towards us. I saw two teats that were definitely enlarged, so we’re confident that she’s still nursing at least two from her recent litter.
If you want to see the kittens we’re currently feeding, I posted a short video of them playing on the back deck. You can find it on Instagram (@ericmargerum), Bluesky (@margerumeric.bsky.social), or Substack (@margerumeric.substack.com).
Next week we’ll try to capture Tabitha again.
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Book Signing
I’ll be at Main Street Books, my favorite indie bookstore, on October 25 from 10:00 AM to 2:00 PM. I’ll be signing books, giving away mazes and bookmarks, and can sell you a MAMLA coffee mug. Smiles are free.
It was my first semester at the University of Southern California where I was working on my Master’s Degree, and one of the great icons of science fiction was coming to campus to speak!
The man who wrote Fahrenheit 451, The Martian Chronicles, Something Wicked This Way Comes, and countless short stories. THAT Ray Bradbury.
And because I was born in October, he clearly wrote The October Country just for me. I had to meet him!
What made me think of him for this newsletter? I’ve been listening to his novel Death Is A Lonely Business, another Bradbury masterpiece that he wrote in 1985. It features a young aspiring writer in 1949 living alone in Venice, California, who gets caught up in a murder mystery that’s rife with haunting metaphors of fog and mist, and a pay phone that rings in the middle of the night only to deliver the sound of a distant person breathing.
Bradbury doesn’t write horror, he writes the stuff that makes you pull your covers over your head to protect yourself from the monsters under the bed. The psychological terror of childhood fears. He’s a poet of anxiety, a purveyor of winds off the graveyard.
In this novel, his protagonist is writing some of the same stories that Bradbury himself wrote in his younger years. An informed reader will hear the echoes of stories like “The Fog Horn,” “The Wonderful Ice Cream Suit,” and many more. I was transported to when I had first read these stories and felt like Bradbury was telling me the origin of each story.
In his talk at USC, he pointed through the dark auditorium, his finger penetrating the walls and across the quad. “The library,” he told us, “that’s your most important education of all right behind you.” The university had a huge library. “Go read,” he told us, “anything you can get your hands on. That’s where you’ll learn the most. One book will lead you to the next and the next… Never stop.”
I never have.
While I sat listening to him speak I thought about the many stories he had adapted into short plays, and I wrote him an invitation to see me in my first play at USC, Eugene O’Neil’s “Ah, Wilderness!” I promised to reserve two tickets for him if he could make it.
The other advice he gave about writing was entirely practical: begin by writing short stories. You can spend a year writing a terrible novel and it’ll waste a year of your time, or you can write fifty-two short stories, one a week, and sell at least one. He defied anyone to write fifty-two terrible stories in a row, one of them was going to be good!
A few years later I wrote one story and sent it in to Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine. I sent it on paper, through the mail, with an SASE (Self-Addressed Stamped Envelope) so they could send me their reply. I still have that story in my files, and my rejection slip. I was too embarrassed to send it out to another magazine, or to write fifty-one more. My bad.
I was also embarrassed when I handed Mr. Bradbury my hand-written invitation to see my play. Others were waiting in line for autographs but I had to run to class so I just handed him the folded paper.
“Does it have your return address?” he asked, stopping to take me in, probably seeing a reflection of himself in my eyes.
“No,” I answered, “you don’t have to answer it.”
I still picture him opening up my note and reading it long after the play was done, thinking to himself “I’d like to have seen that.”
TTFN
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Tabitha is still coming to eat her medicated food, but we’re going to run out. We need to capture her soon. Her son, GG, looks in the window to see if I’ll come out to pet him while he eats. He also lies on top of the picnic table outside to watch TV with us every night.
He’s so ready to be domesticated.
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For anyone who lives around Lafayette, Indiana, I’ll be signing copies of The Most Amazing Museum of Los Angeles at Main Street Books on Saturday, October 25th from 10:00 AM to 2:00 PM.
The books make a good holiday gift for children ages 8 to 12. I’ve heard from parents and grandparents who have read the book aloud—the original audiobook—saying they created special memories with the young folk.
I can sell you a MAMLA coffee mug for your hot apple cider, and I’ll be giving away bookmarks and mazes if you just want to come by and say hi.
October 25th is the last day of the Farmer’s Market for the 2025 season. Always a fun time and just a block away from Main Street Books.
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The saga of Tabitha has reached a stalemate for the time being. She will not re-enter the cage to eat food and spring the trap, but after several days of not eating she showed up at our back door looking thin and forlorn. So we fed her…with medication. She ate more than one-and-a-half cans.
She still needs to have her sutures removed, but her rear end didn’t look swollen last time we could see it. Maybe she bit through them while cleaning herself?
Hopefully she’ll trust us once more to provide food and care and have her stitches out at the vet, but it hasn’t happened yet.
Meanwhile, I have an excellent book to recommend:
The Maid, by Nita Prose
Like me, you’ve probably seen this book cover several times over the last few years. It was selected for the GMA Book Club, among other things. I saw the audiobook on sale and decided to give it a spin.
I like whodunnits and, having worked retail, served coffee and bartending, I figured I could relate to the service aspect of a hotel maid.
But Molly is a maid with a difference.
Molly is the first person narrator, so her perspective isn’t entirely explained. She seems to be on the autism spectrum, as she admits to having difficulty discerning other people’s emotions. She is also obsessive about cleaning rooms, her clothing, and her apartment.
Molly is also very observant, like her TV hero Columbo. She and her Gran used to watch that show together all the time, making her a perceptive detective.
When Molly enters to clean a room in The Grand Hotel she discovers the dead body of a very rich man. She becomes a prime witness, and later the prime suspect.
Molly’s point of view is delivered with perfection by Lauren Ambrose in the audiobook, conveying her confusion, frustration, and emotions. I suspect that if you read the book yourself, you’ll also hear Molly’s voice in your mind. The narrative is written that well.
No spoilers here, but I will say that I was surprised by a few twists and turns near the end of the novel and even got a bit choked up by the sentiment in that part of the story.
Speaking of the end, do not skip the epilogue. Writers these days are discouraged from presenting a prologue or an epilogue because, they say, it should just be part of the book. I don’t have an opinion on that, but if you skip the epilogue of The Maid you’ll miss the most interesting twist of all.
I see that Nita Prose has written additional books for this character, but this first book is completely self-contained, no cliff-hanger or unanswered questions. You could start and stop with this first book and feel very satisfied.
Thanks, Nita, I appreciate that. I don’t like those stray hairs any more than Molly does.
When I left off last week, Tabitha had stepped on the metal plate to trigger the door spring and we whisked her off to Purdue Veterinary Clinic. Then we made the decision to bring her back and release her so she could go nurse her kittens somewhere out there in the woods.
We had decided to trust her to trust us.
Now you’re caught up.
After feeding her the canned food with the stool softener, we lifted the cage door and she pulled back like the photo above from when she was captured.
“C’mon, Tabby, we brought you back to feed your little ones. Go.”
I pressed my finger against her backside through the bars of the cage and she dashed out, crossed the deck, and disappeared into the brush.
“Just please come back, so we can give you more medicine.”
A moment after she left I realized that I had touched her for the first time since she was born over two years ago. In the past she had been willing to touch her nose to my finger, and I’d settled for “butterfly kisses” from her whiskers but I always wanted to pet her. She was soft and furry, of course, and a little bit scrawny, but mostly I felt her warmth and the moment of connection that came with it. Interesting what your finger can tell you in a brief touch.
It was a bucket list moment. Brief but meaningful.
God bless that cat, she’s returned to eat every morning since. And I know the medicine is working because I saw her in the neighbor’s yard a few days later when she lifted her tail to spew brown liquid generously across the grass. Sorry, Cindy.
The current conundrum (or cat-nundrum) is our need to catch her again to have the sutures removed. On Monday morning she sat by the cage staring at the food for twenty minutes hoping to get her daily bowlful, then gave up and left.
No food. No medication. Did we make a mistake by letting her loose? Or did we save her kittens?
The vet checked her for lactation and was uncertain whether she was actively nursing because of the low amount of milk they could express. We chose to let her feed them if at all possible—these kittens we’ve never seen.
I started writing about this series of events two weeks ago with “Fear of the Unknown,” and we’re still fearing the unknown. A reflection of our times, isn’t it?
Meanwhile I finished writing the adventure of the two girls in The Most Amazing Museum of Chicago and got them safely away from The Great Chicago Fire. More unknowns ahead for me and my characters!
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In the picture above, Tabitha waits patiently outside the trap.
“I can wait here all day,” she seems to say. “How about you?”
“Just go in, Tabby, so the vet can help you.”
It was a game of chess that could only continue if she made the next move.
As I wrote last week in “Fear of the Unknown,” Tabby had what looked like a piece of raw meat hanging out from under her tail. If we ignored it and it got infected she’d probably die, as would the three-week old kittens she had nested somewhere in the woods.
On the phone, I asked the vet how often three-week old kittens needed to feed. The answer: “They need to nurse every few hours.”
We had replaced the food holder in the cage with something much smaller. Something that would require her to step on the metal plate and trigger the door to shut.
“Nice fresh canned food, Tabitha,” we murmured from indoors.
After forty-five minutes of waiting, she entered the cage. She stepped on the plate and the door slammed shut. It was GO time!
My wife and I had prepared for this moment. An old towel to cover the cage and another one under it. We didn’t know if Tabby would scared-pee or, as the expression goes, get pissed off. No problem with that, thankfully.
We got her to the Emergency Vet Care at Purdue University where she refused to cooperate. She’d never been touched by a human being! They had to put her under just to examine at her.
I’ve heard of a prolapsed uterus after childbirth, but I’d never heard of a prolapsed colon. Apparently it’s not uncommon with outdoor cats who have worms. Inside the cat’s guts things can get so backed-up that a cat will strain enough to push out part of the colon. That was the “raw meat” we saw under Tabby’s tail.
While Tabitha was asleep, they restored the colon and used sutures to hold it in place. Non-dissolving sutures that encircled the “tube” of the colon. She would need to eat food with stool softener to have successful poops. They told us to bring her back in two weeks to have the sutures removed.
I’ve found that being a pet owner, a home owner, a car owner, and a parent, comes with a lot of choices and responsibilities. Not to mention a thorough education in how things work.
If we took Tabby back home and let her go, would she ever trust us again? Would she return to eat the medicated food? If we kept her in captivity we could make sure she did. But if we didn’t let her go, the newborn kittens would starve to death.
We decided to trust her to trust us.
Before releasing her, we fed her medicated food inside the cage and then we opened it up to let her go.
Our daughter and her husband stayed with us recently on their way to her ten year high school reunion. They stayed in the bedroom downstairs which requires them to pass by the doorway to my unlit office on their way to the bathroom. She asked if I minded her shutting the door. Not at all! I was instantly reminded of the heebie-jeebies I used to get passing a dark staircase on my way to bed.
The picture above looks like a large but cozy old home and it was—during the day. It was built in 1303 as a home for the clergy of the Canterbury Cathedral. My family was renting rooms on the corner of the top left staircase while my dad was on sabbatical leave in England.
Leaving the living room to go to our bedroom, my brothers and I had to pass that wide black opening into the dark Great Hall that seemed to echo the sounds of ghostly spirits from centuries past. My English playmates confidently told me about the woman whose baby fell down that old wooden staircase to land on the stone steps at the bottom and die. They said her spirit had been seen walking down the staircase, bloody baby in her arms, weeping and wailing at the loss of her little one.
If the fear of an ancient ghost mourning her child’s death isn’t enough to make you hurry past an empty doorway, I don’t know what is!
I had another heart-pounding experience much more recently.
Our outdoor cat, Tabitha, the mother of at least three litters, showed up the other day with something hanging from under her tail, something that looked like raw meat. And when she sat to eat from the food bowl she left behind a bloody stain on our deck.
To add to the complication, she just became un-pregnant again about two weeks ago and we don’t know where she’s keeping her little ones. We set up the humane trap to capture her and take her to the vet, knowing they might keep her overnight, maybe longer.
Who will nurse those kittens? Who will nurse them if she dies of an infection? Will we get her safely to the vet, or will she fight us tooth-and-nail? So many unknowns.
I was standing at the sliding glass doors when Tabitha approached the cage, went inside and started eating the food.
My heart was beating a hundred miles an hour, my adrenaline energy was topped out. She just needed to step on that metal plate to trigger the door and we’d be off to the races! Even as I type this, my hands are shaking once again.
That streetwise Tabby ate the food and backed out of the cage without ever triggering the capture!
The unknown haunts us still.
Will we need to drop everything when she comes back and DOES step on the plate? Will she succumb to whatever it is under her tail? Will we have to search the neighborhood and the surrounding woods to locate the hungry kittens?
Those are very real questions based on very possible consequences, and the primitive brain feels more than a little panicky about the fear of the unknown.
[PHOTO CREDIT: Strutt & Parker Real Estate]
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Eric Margerum 