Mrs. Krueger, Jigsy, and Muggs
"For of all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these, 'it might have been'".--John Greenleaf Whittier
What follows is just a little fictional story I wrote a long time ago. It's not really a sad story in my opinion, but a sweet one. It's not really a children's story, but it's written about a child and a cat and a dog and an old woman. I had dedicated it to my friend and her sons and their animals, but I am sure it wound up in the trash. Perhaps someone else will enjoy it. So here it is.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, when I was a young girl, I used to go read to an old blind woman who lived down the street. Now you may think that an odd thing for a young girl to do, but I was an odd girl to begin with.
For one thing, I preferred lying on my back in the fields and watching the clouds make beautiful pictures and strange faces in the sky to watching television , and when I would roam the mysterious green forest by the lake I would name every plant, tree, and flower a secret name that only I would know.
That way, when I was able to sneak away from the house and skip to the fields or the forest by the lake, I could call out their names-“Hi, Mr. Sky Bear….good day, Lady Elephant Ear! I missed you, Lilac Glow!!” , and being true friends, they would race across the sky and rustle themselves up from the leaves and embrace me.
It was actually my Mom who got me involved with Mrs. Krueger in a roundabout way. It was always just me and my Mom. I don’t know what happened to my Dad-I assume I had a Dad, unless the story my Mom told be once about babies being born under cabbage leaves is really true-but it was always just the two of us.
Mom worked all the time, and always looked so tired and worn, that I decided early on that just staying out of the way was best. Besides, every time she looked at me she cried, and that didn’t have to happen but once or twice before I started feeling bad about making her cry, so I just stayed hidden as much as an odd little girl can, which meant I had to seek out all the good hiding places I could find.
Mrs. Krueger’s house was a ramshackle affair, but still pretty in that rather sad, neglectful way that old houses with blind owners tend to assume. She had a lovely picket fence covered with roses on one side and honeysuckle on the other-perfect for hiding behind when I spotted the other kids in the neighborhood approaching from a distance.
You probably want to know why I would duck behind a stranger’s fence rather than face the kids I went to school with. Looking back on it, my reasons seem pretty silly now. Stuff like my clothes weren’t the right clothes, I was clumsy, my bike looked stupid, even my Dad ran away from me, and I talked to myself. You know, stuff like that.
Although I know now that what those other kids said could never be as important as a cheery hello from Puffy the Porpoise, at the time I was just a dumb kid and thought it mattered somewhere to someone.
So there I was, cowering behind Mrs. Krueger’s honeysuckle rose fence, when a clear, firm, calm (and amused?) voice behind me said, “Hello. Can I help you?” I yelped, bumped my head against the fence, yelped again, and landed backwards on my behind, staring in shock and horror at a tall, lovely, white haired old woman wearing a black old-fashioned dress, black granny shoes, and pearls. “M..mm..Mrs..Kru…Krueger, “ I stammered. “You’re supposed to be blind !”
A hint of a smile played on her lips. “I see well enough to know that you have grass on your behind”, she said. “Let’s go inside and I’ll fix you some milk and cookies.”
And that’s how it started.
When we first met, she was not completely blind, although she lost the remainder of her sight about a year after. For several months she was able to bake the cookies herself-oh, that wondrous smell of fresh baked dough and chocolate! -and at first we would just talk. She even asked me how I was doing in school-turns out she used to be a teacher-and I would lie a little and tell her I was doing ok, except for reading.
I much preferred making up my own stories in my head than reading someone else’s, or so I thought. That was before that Tuesday in winter, when I told her how much I missed my cloud friends and my green forest. She turned to look out the window (it had started to snow, but I doubt that she could see it), and stayed silent for what seemed to be a long time. Kids have a funny sense about time-it seems to take forever, when it really takes up nothing at all except our worry over it.
Finally she said, “Go over to the bookcase by the piano, on the top shelf, 3rd from the left, and bring that book”. I obediently did so, hoping she would let me bang away on the old piano while the snow fell. Instead, she said, “Read me the title.” I grimaced but did as she asked. After all, I was wolfing down her cookies. “Anne of Green Gables”, I mumbled. She smiled. “Good. Now please start reading it to me, but without the cookie this time”.
And I was hooked. The winter drifted into spring rolled into summer and sped into fall on the wings of Misty of Chincoteague, The Little Prince, Black Beauty, The Call of the Wild, and even Wuthering Heights. To my surprise, I found I had a strong, clear, rather pleasant voice and Mrs. Krueger seemed especially pleased when I would act the character parts with my voice.
She would laugh so much, and I would glow so inside when she did, that I failed to notice that the lady who came every morning to clean her house was now the one baking the cookies, or that a few more medicine bottles kept appearing on the delicate mahogany table where Mrs. Krueger always had her cup of hot tea, sitting on a little lace napkin.
Oh, I still lay on my back in the fields and roamed the forest calling to my friends (I do that to this day) , but Tuesdays and Thursdays were our sacred time.
One rainy and kind of dreary Thursday afternoon in Autumn Mrs. Krueger said, “I have a special book for you to read. A very special book. In fact, you are the only one, besides me, who has ever read it.” I was intrigued to the point of senselessness, since it never occurred to me to ask how the author could write it without reading it. I know the answer now, but then I was just so struck special that it was all I could do to keep my hands from shaking as I opened the thin volume clad in regal red leather with royal blue lettering. As always, I started with the title. “Jigsy and Muggs”, I read aloud, my voice cracking just a bit. And this is what I read.
Jigsy and Muggs
A long time ago-far too long for anyone alive to even remember-two houses stood side by side, separated by huge wooden fences, and in one fence lived Muggs, a lonely, little black and white spotted dog with a chewed up tail, droopy ears, one sad blue eye and one happy brown eye, and whiskers that poked everywhere in spite of how much he rubbed his face in the grass.
His owner didn’t care about him, not really, he would just throw some food out the back door every so often and let rain take care of the water bowl. Muggs didn’t mind, not really (after all, he was just a stupid dog who didn’t know any better), and only felt sad when it didn’t rain for days and days. It wasn’t the rain so much that he missed, but the little flying things that would land in his bowl and splash and play and sometimes bite him on the nose. They were his friends.
In the other fence lived Jigsy, a cat. A spoiled cat. A gorgeous, fluffy, white Queen from Persia who actually lived more inside the house than outside. Her normal routine was to lie in the window sill, sunning herself, and on nice days (and nice days only!!) would her owner let her out to wander around the yard. She ate dainty little meals, was brushed every day, and even had her own comfy pillow to sleep on.
Around her neck was a splendid collar of crystal bells and rhinestones and rubies. The first time Muggs saw her on top of the fence, he thought God had dropped an angel on a rainbow in his lap.
The first time Jigsy saw Muggs, she thought “Oh My God. What a ratty-looking creature! I bet he smells too! “ Just then poor Muggs, not knowing what she was thinking, ran his face through the grass and gave himself a quick lick and chew, trying to get presentable. “Oh My GOD how Uncouth!” said Jigsy, and with a humph and a flick of her flowing white tail, she jumped off the fence and languidly strolled toward her house. But what she didn’t know was, Muggs heard her that second time.
Now don’t ask me how a dog managed to hear a cat’s thoughts, but he did. He surely did. He felt puzzled. What the heck was a couth? And why did she flick her tail at him like that?. Sure, it was a very nice tail and all, but still…. Hmmm. Muggs pondered these things for several days, waiting for Jigsy to make another appearance. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe one of his friends bit her on her tail. But alas it turned colder and rained, and Muggs was forced to huddle under a bush with only his thoughts and the raindrops and the wind for company.
But fortunes come and go, and as it happened the day came when it was warm and clear and sunny and Muggs heard the back door of Jigsy’s house opening, heard a twinkle jingle tinkle, saw rainbow flashes of colored lights --------------------
“You can stop for the day now,” Mrs. Krueger said.
“But wait!” I protested. I want to see what Muggs is going to do!”
Mrs. Krueger gave a faint smile and said, “actually, I would have thought you would have wanted to know what Jigsy was going to do. “ I thought about this for a moment. “I don’t care what that darned old cat does. She’s just a stuck up snoot anyway.”
Mrs. Krueger’s eyes, blind though they were, twinkled. “Are you so very very sure of that”? she teased. “We’ll pick up where we left off next time.” So, like my poor Muggs, I went off with a flea in my ear and spent Thursday night to Tuesday afternoon in a soggy mess with some even messier thoughts. What if Mrs. Krueger was right, and Jigsy turned out to be not so bad after all?
That would mean I had judged a thing before knowing all the facts, and that is usually not a good idea. But surely a spoiled, pampered but beautiful cat could never understand or like an old mongrel dog-is that even possible? Of course not! And another thing-one is a cat, and the other is a dog! This bit of unassailable logic settled things for me, until Tuesday afternoon.
---------and with a breathtaking leap there she was, on the fence, his very own rainbow angel. Muggs was so taken by the sight he fell on his back and wriggled his legs wildly in the air, his tail thumping a heartbeat he didn’t even know he had. Jigsy’s eyes widened in surprise. She had never, ever, in her life seen such a display. “How astonishing!” She said, and arched her back. Funny. She couldn’t seem to do what that curious and funny looking dog was doing.
She tried to thump her tail a time or two, but that didn’t work either. “How very very odd”, she murmured. The sound of her voice had brought Muggs to his feet , and with a good shake all over, he yelled, “Hey, what’s a coothe anyway? By the way, my name’s Muggs. You got a name other than snooty-britches?” Muggs was proud of himself for that one, and as a reward he spun around and around and started to chase his tail. He was such a goofy hilarious spectacle with his flying ears and stubby waggy nob that Jigsy, in spite of her slightly wounded cat feelings, had to laugh .
And laugh she did. -a melodious, sparkling, thrilling sound that made Muggs spin faster and faster and Jigsy laugh harder and harder until she lost her balance and, with a scared Meeeooowww!!! fell off the fence, right into Muggs yard, where she lay still.
Muggs was horrified and started yelping, why he didn’t know. After all, he wasn’t the one that fell, was he? He ran to her side and without thinking stuck his nose into her ear and barked as loud as he could. Jigsy calmly opened one eye, and said, “Please remove your nose. It is only my pride that is wounded.” And with that she sat up and started licking pieces of grass and leaves and dirt off her fur-gracefully, of course.
Muggs was so relieved he sat down on his haunches slowly, then sank to the ground and watched her intently. After all, she might fall again, mightn’t she? Jigsy continued her languid grooming and, much to her embarrassment, found herself purring. Muggs’ ears tweaked forward. “What’s that sound you’re making? “ He asked. She stopped with her dainty paw in mid-air and said “It’s a cat thing. You wouldn’t understand. She resumed her licking and said, off-handedly, “Why do you have one brown eye and one blue eye?”
Muggs gave a little grunt. “It’s a dog thing. You wouldn’t understand.” Jigsy stood up, flashed her collar in the sun and in a flash was back on top of the fence. “Well, I think your eyes are rather nice”, she said, and was gone. “I like how you sound,” said Muggs to the silence around him, and was immediately sad that he didn’t shout it to her. Poor Muggs. . He didn’t know that cats have as good a hearing as any dog.
And that’s how it began between them, but since fortunes come and go, and since Jigsy had a slight limp for a day or so after her fall, her owner wouldn’t let her back out for a long, long, time, and Muggs watched in horror as Jigsy’s owner put some evil-looking barbed wire contraption ----------
“Thank you dear”, said Mrs. Krueger. She sounded tired, so I didn’t plead with her to let me go on, although I was dying to know what was going to happen next. So I hinted a little. “Well, could you at least tell me if they see each other again?” Mrs. Krueger stayed silent for a long time. “Child,” she said finally, “none of us ever knows that.”
The thought that one day my cloud and forest friends might just disappear haunted me for days, and I spent every moment I could out with them, watching for any sign that they may leave. They never did, and after a while I felt better, and started wondering again what was going to happen with Jigsy and Muggs.
What if Jigsy tried to get to Muggs and got caught in the barbed wire? Cruel, mean old owner! I couldn't bear the thought of something happening to either one of them, and was kind of glad and sad at the same time that I didn't have a real dog or cat of my own to worry about. But I made up my mind that I would never allow barbed wire anywhere near a dog or cat of mine, and I would have lots of each when I got all grown up. How did one cut through barbed wire anyway? Would scissors do it? It sure seemed a long time til Tuesday. But as always,. Tuesday's at Mrs. Krueger's and the regal red book finally arrived.
-----------on top of the fence to keep Jigsy safe. Of course Muggs didn’t figure it out at first, that it was to keep Jigsy safe. Being the poor dumb dog that he is, he just sat out in the rain, staring up at it, wondering if God had taken his rainbow angel away from him forever. But then he saw it, somehow shining in the muck of his yard-a piece of crystal from her collar, that must have broken off when she fell. He thinks he cried, but since his eyes were different than most he couldn’t really tell.
But once he figured out that what he thought was so horrible and evil was really for Jigsy’s protection, and he had a part of her that no one could ever take away from him, his heart got lighter and beat faster and he no longer cared if it rained or if it was cold or if he had enough to eat. He may have even smiled, but who could tell behind that wild mess of whiskers? So he carefully buried their crystal in his hole under the bush and settled down with it underneath his heart and waited and waited and waited until fortune turned once more and he heard a door open and twinkle jingle tinkle.......
“You know I can’t jump up there anymore”, Jigsy said through the fence. Muggs ran back and forth in front of the fence, straining for a glimpse of the flashing jewels around her neck, but saw only wood. He sniffed so loud at the wood that Jigsy innocently asked “Do you have a cold?” But Muggs just kept running and sniffing in that silly obsessed way that dogs do and panted, “No I’m trying to find you a way out”. So he ran and he panted and ran and panted and Jigsy started laughing, silently at first, switching her tail, the picture of smugness, until she could no longer contain it. “Uh, Muggs, don’t you guys know how to dig or something?”
and like a wild animal (which he kinda is, you know), Muggs dug-and dug-and dug-and dug-and dug-and dug-and dug--until his pads were raw and cracked and hurting and bleeding and he was covered in mud and dirt and you know he could care less because….there she was. Jigsy rewarded him with a slap to the nose, and he gleefully grabbed her luxurious tail and pulled, and they sniffed and wrestled and laughed, and bit and fought and played and laughed and bit and fought and sniffed some more ….
In fact, they did this for many years, every time Jigsy could get out. Muggs kept the secret opening well hidden, rolling dirt and grass and loose leaves into a pile and shoving them in with his nose, then digging them out again. Muggs always thought of that first day as the day heaven came to earth, and Jigsy thought of that day as the day the Queen found her King.
And as long summer days gave way to the bursting colors of autumn they basked in the sun and played in the leaves and looked forward to the day they would be together again. As the years went by, they found their coats a little duller, and played less, and rested together curled up more often, but who cared? They sure didn’t. But fortunes come and go and-------------
“That’s enough, child. You really do read so very well”, Mrs. Krueger said.
“NO !” I exploded. “We can’t stop now!”
“We have to,” Mrs. Krueger said peacefully. “Oh no we don’t!” I cried. “I’m not stopping here!”
“You must”, she replied.
“No I don’t”, I said petulantly. Mrs. Krueger just gave me that funny half-smile.
“Turn the page”, she said.
I did. It was blank. As was the next one. And the next, and the next……..
I was so stunned I didn’t even move. My head hurt, and I felt like crying. Slowly, I flipped back through all the pages, then once more quickly. I did it again, and again. Nothing more was written.
“I don’t understand”, I said slowly. “Who in their right mind would just leave a story hanging like that?” Then, to my utter bewilderment, I burst into tears and sobbed like a baby. I don’t know when my heart has ever hurt so much, or that I felt such soul-robbing disappointment.
I didn’t even hear Mrs. Krueger get up from her chair and walk over to me. I just felt her thin hand
touch the top of my bowed head, and looked up. Her eyes saw nothing and everything all at the same time. I never realized how very very old she truly was.
“You finish it”, she said.
“I can’t”, I cried bitterly. “It’s not my story”.
“Isn’t it?” was her gentle reply.
****************
I couldn’t go to her funeral when she died a week later. I thought about going out to the cemetery by myself, but didn’t know what to say to her. I felt so lost, so alone, that I just wandered through the fields and my green forest and called out to my friends and poured out my wounds on their sacred ground.
Then one day the package came for me. There, inside, wrapped in velvet, was a familiar thin red volume with royal blue lettering. It was The Book. She left it to me in her estate. She had included a note that just said
Finish it. It’s what writers do. There was also a picture, of a young and beautiful Mrs. Krueger holding in her lap a small mongrel dog and a stunning Persian cat.
So I grew up, and I wrote. I won’t bother you with all of it, just the part that I went to read at her grave so very long ago.
------just as inevitable as the clouds changing their faces and scudding across the sky, or the leaves turning first red then purple then brown, there came the day when a very thin and weak Muggs (his owner hadn’t fed him in a while) dug out their secret place and met Jigsy for the last time. She limped noticeably now, and her collar was worn and frayed. “Aren’t we a sight”, Jigsy laughed.
Muggs, his eyes long since rheumy and hollow, chuckled back. “I’d say a sight for sore eyes but everything on me is sore. Especially where you have about slapped my nose off.”
“What about my poor tail?” Jigsy teased. I got a knot in it bigger than that head of yours.”
“At least you had one to begin with”, joked Muggs.
Then they curled up together and just lay there for hours, and Muggs watched the sun dance one
last time off her throat. He nestled his nose into her chest, and she put her paw on his head. “You will always be my rainbow angel”, he sighed.
“And you will always be my king”, she whispered.
As the sun slowly faded and the stars rose twinkling in the evening sky, the wind ruffled the grass into gentle applause, and the flowers curtsied lightly in the breeze.
What follows is just a little fictional story I wrote a long time ago. It's not really a sad story in my opinion, but a sweet one. It's not really a children's story, but it's written about a child and a cat and a dog and an old woman. I had dedicated it to my friend and her sons and their animals, but I am sure it wound up in the trash. Perhaps someone else will enjoy it. So here it is.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, when I was a young girl, I used to go read to an old blind woman who lived down the street. Now you may think that an odd thing for a young girl to do, but I was an odd girl to begin with.
For one thing, I preferred lying on my back in the fields and watching the clouds make beautiful pictures and strange faces in the sky to watching television , and when I would roam the mysterious green forest by the lake I would name every plant, tree, and flower a secret name that only I would know.
That way, when I was able to sneak away from the house and skip to the fields or the forest by the lake, I could call out their names-“Hi, Mr. Sky Bear….good day, Lady Elephant Ear! I missed you, Lilac Glow!!” , and being true friends, they would race across the sky and rustle themselves up from the leaves and embrace me.
It was actually my Mom who got me involved with Mrs. Krueger in a roundabout way. It was always just me and my Mom. I don’t know what happened to my Dad-I assume I had a Dad, unless the story my Mom told be once about babies being born under cabbage leaves is really true-but it was always just the two of us.
Mom worked all the time, and always looked so tired and worn, that I decided early on that just staying out of the way was best. Besides, every time she looked at me she cried, and that didn’t have to happen but once or twice before I started feeling bad about making her cry, so I just stayed hidden as much as an odd little girl can, which meant I had to seek out all the good hiding places I could find.
Mrs. Krueger’s house was a ramshackle affair, but still pretty in that rather sad, neglectful way that old houses with blind owners tend to assume. She had a lovely picket fence covered with roses on one side and honeysuckle on the other-perfect for hiding behind when I spotted the other kids in the neighborhood approaching from a distance.
You probably want to know why I would duck behind a stranger’s fence rather than face the kids I went to school with. Looking back on it, my reasons seem pretty silly now. Stuff like my clothes weren’t the right clothes, I was clumsy, my bike looked stupid, even my Dad ran away from me, and I talked to myself. You know, stuff like that.
Although I know now that what those other kids said could never be as important as a cheery hello from Puffy the Porpoise, at the time I was just a dumb kid and thought it mattered somewhere to someone.
So there I was, cowering behind Mrs. Krueger’s honeysuckle rose fence, when a clear, firm, calm (and amused?) voice behind me said, “Hello. Can I help you?” I yelped, bumped my head against the fence, yelped again, and landed backwards on my behind, staring in shock and horror at a tall, lovely, white haired old woman wearing a black old-fashioned dress, black granny shoes, and pearls. “M..mm..Mrs..Kru…Krueger, “ I stammered. “You’re supposed to be blind !”
A hint of a smile played on her lips. “I see well enough to know that you have grass on your behind”, she said. “Let’s go inside and I’ll fix you some milk and cookies.”
And that’s how it started.
When we first met, she was not completely blind, although she lost the remainder of her sight about a year after. For several months she was able to bake the cookies herself-oh, that wondrous smell of fresh baked dough and chocolate! -and at first we would just talk. She even asked me how I was doing in school-turns out she used to be a teacher-and I would lie a little and tell her I was doing ok, except for reading.
I much preferred making up my own stories in my head than reading someone else’s, or so I thought. That was before that Tuesday in winter, when I told her how much I missed my cloud friends and my green forest. She turned to look out the window (it had started to snow, but I doubt that she could see it), and stayed silent for what seemed to be a long time. Kids have a funny sense about time-it seems to take forever, when it really takes up nothing at all except our worry over it.
Finally she said, “Go over to the bookcase by the piano, on the top shelf, 3rd from the left, and bring that book”. I obediently did so, hoping she would let me bang away on the old piano while the snow fell. Instead, she said, “Read me the title.” I grimaced but did as she asked. After all, I was wolfing down her cookies. “Anne of Green Gables”, I mumbled. She smiled. “Good. Now please start reading it to me, but without the cookie this time”.
And I was hooked. The winter drifted into spring rolled into summer and sped into fall on the wings of Misty of Chincoteague, The Little Prince, Black Beauty, The Call of the Wild, and even Wuthering Heights. To my surprise, I found I had a strong, clear, rather pleasant voice and Mrs. Krueger seemed especially pleased when I would act the character parts with my voice.
She would laugh so much, and I would glow so inside when she did, that I failed to notice that the lady who came every morning to clean her house was now the one baking the cookies, or that a few more medicine bottles kept appearing on the delicate mahogany table where Mrs. Krueger always had her cup of hot tea, sitting on a little lace napkin.
Oh, I still lay on my back in the fields and roamed the forest calling to my friends (I do that to this day) , but Tuesdays and Thursdays were our sacred time.
One rainy and kind of dreary Thursday afternoon in Autumn Mrs. Krueger said, “I have a special book for you to read. A very special book. In fact, you are the only one, besides me, who has ever read it.” I was intrigued to the point of senselessness, since it never occurred to me to ask how the author could write it without reading it. I know the answer now, but then I was just so struck special that it was all I could do to keep my hands from shaking as I opened the thin volume clad in regal red leather with royal blue lettering. As always, I started with the title. “Jigsy and Muggs”, I read aloud, my voice cracking just a bit. And this is what I read.
Jigsy and Muggs
A long time ago-far too long for anyone alive to even remember-two houses stood side by side, separated by huge wooden fences, and in one fence lived Muggs, a lonely, little black and white spotted dog with a chewed up tail, droopy ears, one sad blue eye and one happy brown eye, and whiskers that poked everywhere in spite of how much he rubbed his face in the grass.
His owner didn’t care about him, not really, he would just throw some food out the back door every so often and let rain take care of the water bowl. Muggs didn’t mind, not really (after all, he was just a stupid dog who didn’t know any better), and only felt sad when it didn’t rain for days and days. It wasn’t the rain so much that he missed, but the little flying things that would land in his bowl and splash and play and sometimes bite him on the nose. They were his friends.
In the other fence lived Jigsy, a cat. A spoiled cat. A gorgeous, fluffy, white Queen from Persia who actually lived more inside the house than outside. Her normal routine was to lie in the window sill, sunning herself, and on nice days (and nice days only!!) would her owner let her out to wander around the yard. She ate dainty little meals, was brushed every day, and even had her own comfy pillow to sleep on.
Around her neck was a splendid collar of crystal bells and rhinestones and rubies. The first time Muggs saw her on top of the fence, he thought God had dropped an angel on a rainbow in his lap.
The first time Jigsy saw Muggs, she thought “Oh My God. What a ratty-looking creature! I bet he smells too! “ Just then poor Muggs, not knowing what she was thinking, ran his face through the grass and gave himself a quick lick and chew, trying to get presentable. “Oh My GOD how Uncouth!” said Jigsy, and with a humph and a flick of her flowing white tail, she jumped off the fence and languidly strolled toward her house. But what she didn’t know was, Muggs heard her that second time.
Now don’t ask me how a dog managed to hear a cat’s thoughts, but he did. He surely did. He felt puzzled. What the heck was a couth? And why did she flick her tail at him like that?. Sure, it was a very nice tail and all, but still…. Hmmm. Muggs pondered these things for several days, waiting for Jigsy to make another appearance. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe one of his friends bit her on her tail. But alas it turned colder and rained, and Muggs was forced to huddle under a bush with only his thoughts and the raindrops and the wind for company.
But fortunes come and go, and as it happened the day came when it was warm and clear and sunny and Muggs heard the back door of Jigsy’s house opening, heard a twinkle jingle tinkle, saw rainbow flashes of colored lights --------------------
“You can stop for the day now,” Mrs. Krueger said.
“But wait!” I protested. I want to see what Muggs is going to do!”
Mrs. Krueger gave a faint smile and said, “actually, I would have thought you would have wanted to know what Jigsy was going to do. “ I thought about this for a moment. “I don’t care what that darned old cat does. She’s just a stuck up snoot anyway.”
Mrs. Krueger’s eyes, blind though they were, twinkled. “Are you so very very sure of that”? she teased. “We’ll pick up where we left off next time.” So, like my poor Muggs, I went off with a flea in my ear and spent Thursday night to Tuesday afternoon in a soggy mess with some even messier thoughts. What if Mrs. Krueger was right, and Jigsy turned out to be not so bad after all?
That would mean I had judged a thing before knowing all the facts, and that is usually not a good idea. But surely a spoiled, pampered but beautiful cat could never understand or like an old mongrel dog-is that even possible? Of course not! And another thing-one is a cat, and the other is a dog! This bit of unassailable logic settled things for me, until Tuesday afternoon.
---------and with a breathtaking leap there she was, on the fence, his very own rainbow angel. Muggs was so taken by the sight he fell on his back and wriggled his legs wildly in the air, his tail thumping a heartbeat he didn’t even know he had. Jigsy’s eyes widened in surprise. She had never, ever, in her life seen such a display. “How astonishing!” She said, and arched her back. Funny. She couldn’t seem to do what that curious and funny looking dog was doing.
She tried to thump her tail a time or two, but that didn’t work either. “How very very odd”, she murmured. The sound of her voice had brought Muggs to his feet , and with a good shake all over, he yelled, “Hey, what’s a coothe anyway? By the way, my name’s Muggs. You got a name other than snooty-britches?” Muggs was proud of himself for that one, and as a reward he spun around and around and started to chase his tail. He was such a goofy hilarious spectacle with his flying ears and stubby waggy nob that Jigsy, in spite of her slightly wounded cat feelings, had to laugh .
And laugh she did. -a melodious, sparkling, thrilling sound that made Muggs spin faster and faster and Jigsy laugh harder and harder until she lost her balance and, with a scared Meeeooowww!!! fell off the fence, right into Muggs yard, where she lay still.
Muggs was horrified and started yelping, why he didn’t know. After all, he wasn’t the one that fell, was he? He ran to her side and without thinking stuck his nose into her ear and barked as loud as he could. Jigsy calmly opened one eye, and said, “Please remove your nose. It is only my pride that is wounded.” And with that she sat up and started licking pieces of grass and leaves and dirt off her fur-gracefully, of course.
Muggs was so relieved he sat down on his haunches slowly, then sank to the ground and watched her intently. After all, she might fall again, mightn’t she? Jigsy continued her languid grooming and, much to her embarrassment, found herself purring. Muggs’ ears tweaked forward. “What’s that sound you’re making? “ He asked. She stopped with her dainty paw in mid-air and said “It’s a cat thing. You wouldn’t understand. She resumed her licking and said, off-handedly, “Why do you have one brown eye and one blue eye?”
Muggs gave a little grunt. “It’s a dog thing. You wouldn’t understand.” Jigsy stood up, flashed her collar in the sun and in a flash was back on top of the fence. “Well, I think your eyes are rather nice”, she said, and was gone. “I like how you sound,” said Muggs to the silence around him, and was immediately sad that he didn’t shout it to her. Poor Muggs. . He didn’t know that cats have as good a hearing as any dog.
And that’s how it began between them, but since fortunes come and go, and since Jigsy had a slight limp for a day or so after her fall, her owner wouldn’t let her back out for a long, long, time, and Muggs watched in horror as Jigsy’s owner put some evil-looking barbed wire contraption ----------
“Thank you dear”, said Mrs. Krueger. She sounded tired, so I didn’t plead with her to let me go on, although I was dying to know what was going to happen next. So I hinted a little. “Well, could you at least tell me if they see each other again?” Mrs. Krueger stayed silent for a long time. “Child,” she said finally, “none of us ever knows that.”
The thought that one day my cloud and forest friends might just disappear haunted me for days, and I spent every moment I could out with them, watching for any sign that they may leave. They never did, and after a while I felt better, and started wondering again what was going to happen with Jigsy and Muggs.
What if Jigsy tried to get to Muggs and got caught in the barbed wire? Cruel, mean old owner! I couldn't bear the thought of something happening to either one of them, and was kind of glad and sad at the same time that I didn't have a real dog or cat of my own to worry about. But I made up my mind that I would never allow barbed wire anywhere near a dog or cat of mine, and I would have lots of each when I got all grown up. How did one cut through barbed wire anyway? Would scissors do it? It sure seemed a long time til Tuesday. But as always,. Tuesday's at Mrs. Krueger's and the regal red book finally arrived.
-----------on top of the fence to keep Jigsy safe. Of course Muggs didn’t figure it out at first, that it was to keep Jigsy safe. Being the poor dumb dog that he is, he just sat out in the rain, staring up at it, wondering if God had taken his rainbow angel away from him forever. But then he saw it, somehow shining in the muck of his yard-a piece of crystal from her collar, that must have broken off when she fell. He thinks he cried, but since his eyes were different than most he couldn’t really tell.
But once he figured out that what he thought was so horrible and evil was really for Jigsy’s protection, and he had a part of her that no one could ever take away from him, his heart got lighter and beat faster and he no longer cared if it rained or if it was cold or if he had enough to eat. He may have even smiled, but who could tell behind that wild mess of whiskers? So he carefully buried their crystal in his hole under the bush and settled down with it underneath his heart and waited and waited and waited until fortune turned once more and he heard a door open and twinkle jingle tinkle.......
“You know I can’t jump up there anymore”, Jigsy said through the fence. Muggs ran back and forth in front of the fence, straining for a glimpse of the flashing jewels around her neck, but saw only wood. He sniffed so loud at the wood that Jigsy innocently asked “Do you have a cold?” But Muggs just kept running and sniffing in that silly obsessed way that dogs do and panted, “No I’m trying to find you a way out”. So he ran and he panted and ran and panted and Jigsy started laughing, silently at first, switching her tail, the picture of smugness, until she could no longer contain it. “Uh, Muggs, don’t you guys know how to dig or something?”
and like a wild animal (which he kinda is, you know), Muggs dug-and dug-and dug-and dug-and dug-and dug-and dug--until his pads were raw and cracked and hurting and bleeding and he was covered in mud and dirt and you know he could care less because….there she was. Jigsy rewarded him with a slap to the nose, and he gleefully grabbed her luxurious tail and pulled, and they sniffed and wrestled and laughed, and bit and fought and played and laughed and bit and fought and sniffed some more ….
In fact, they did this for many years, every time Jigsy could get out. Muggs kept the secret opening well hidden, rolling dirt and grass and loose leaves into a pile and shoving them in with his nose, then digging them out again. Muggs always thought of that first day as the day heaven came to earth, and Jigsy thought of that day as the day the Queen found her King.
And as long summer days gave way to the bursting colors of autumn they basked in the sun and played in the leaves and looked forward to the day they would be together again. As the years went by, they found their coats a little duller, and played less, and rested together curled up more often, but who cared? They sure didn’t. But fortunes come and go and-------------
“That’s enough, child. You really do read so very well”, Mrs. Krueger said.
“NO !” I exploded. “We can’t stop now!”
“We have to,” Mrs. Krueger said peacefully. “Oh no we don’t!” I cried. “I’m not stopping here!”
“You must”, she replied.
“No I don’t”, I said petulantly. Mrs. Krueger just gave me that funny half-smile.
“Turn the page”, she said.
I did. It was blank. As was the next one. And the next, and the next……..
I was so stunned I didn’t even move. My head hurt, and I felt like crying. Slowly, I flipped back through all the pages, then once more quickly. I did it again, and again. Nothing more was written.
“I don’t understand”, I said slowly. “Who in their right mind would just leave a story hanging like that?” Then, to my utter bewilderment, I burst into tears and sobbed like a baby. I don’t know when my heart has ever hurt so much, or that I felt such soul-robbing disappointment.
I didn’t even hear Mrs. Krueger get up from her chair and walk over to me. I just felt her thin hand
touch the top of my bowed head, and looked up. Her eyes saw nothing and everything all at the same time. I never realized how very very old she truly was.
“You finish it”, she said.
“I can’t”, I cried bitterly. “It’s not my story”.
“Isn’t it?” was her gentle reply.
****************
I couldn’t go to her funeral when she died a week later. I thought about going out to the cemetery by myself, but didn’t know what to say to her. I felt so lost, so alone, that I just wandered through the fields and my green forest and called out to my friends and poured out my wounds on their sacred ground.
Then one day the package came for me. There, inside, wrapped in velvet, was a familiar thin red volume with royal blue lettering. It was The Book. She left it to me in her estate. She had included a note that just said
Finish it. It’s what writers do. There was also a picture, of a young and beautiful Mrs. Krueger holding in her lap a small mongrel dog and a stunning Persian cat.
So I grew up, and I wrote. I won’t bother you with all of it, just the part that I went to read at her grave so very long ago.
------just as inevitable as the clouds changing their faces and scudding across the sky, or the leaves turning first red then purple then brown, there came the day when a very thin and weak Muggs (his owner hadn’t fed him in a while) dug out their secret place and met Jigsy for the last time. She limped noticeably now, and her collar was worn and frayed. “Aren’t we a sight”, Jigsy laughed.
Muggs, his eyes long since rheumy and hollow, chuckled back. “I’d say a sight for sore eyes but everything on me is sore. Especially where you have about slapped my nose off.”
“What about my poor tail?” Jigsy teased. I got a knot in it bigger than that head of yours.”
“At least you had one to begin with”, joked Muggs.
Then they curled up together and just lay there for hours, and Muggs watched the sun dance one
last time off her throat. He nestled his nose into her chest, and she put her paw on his head. “You will always be my rainbow angel”, he sighed.
“And you will always be my king”, she whispered.
As the sun slowly faded and the stars rose twinkling in the evening sky, the wind ruffled the grass into gentle applause, and the flowers curtsied lightly in the breeze.