Ire and the Bad Neighbors

22^nd October 2014

Dear Cassi,

       

I have named the kitten Ire for her early temperament thou I must admit she has become rather playful and well behaved in the last few days. She has spent much time on my shoulder even sitting quietly as I filmed a video.

       

Ire’s testament to the poor nature of my neighbors has become more pronounced as she takes on proper nutrition. The wound on her right front paw nearly cuts her foot clean in two, and I can clearly see the shreds of flesh that make the exit wound between her toes.

She stumbles on the foot every now and then but acts as if this is a bother rather than a true wound. I spoke to the man across the street, and he insists it was an animal attack, but that would have led to infection and how would it have an entry and exit?

That fellow has confided in me that he has a stray cat buried under every rose bush and that he “discouraged” these animals with a pellet gun before finishing them off with a .22 caliber rifle.  I guess you could say I live amongst monsters, but I’ve known that since I was in my 20s.

I would remind you that in 1990 my mother died, and Yule, the old man who calls himself my parent, never took it on himself to live with and look after his children. I didn’t think of it at the time but leaving a ten year old in the care of a 14 year old mental patient can’t be legal.

Should it be legal for the neighbors to ignore this condition? Surely they noticed that there wasn’t a car in that driveway five nights a week. Further, how old should I have been before this ceased to be child abuse? Should I look at all that lived around me when I was 14 as guilty of this criminal negligence?  I can’t answer these questions, but then I have a kitten to look after.

Keep your eyes open, little sister,

Richard Leland Neal

Focus in Life - Charles Swindoll

Wounded Cat

Dear Cassi,

       

Today I came home to a horrible happening. My dear ginger cat, Caramel, was licking his wounded leg which had developed an abscess in the night and exploded before the morning. The leg itself was rather swollen, and I imagine full of the custard colored pus that oozed from the hole at his knee.

       

He’s limped for the past two days and been wanting closeness to comfort his pain. Caramel is my big fluffy boy, and so I have much the want to hold him. His temperament is such that he has little love for laying about and would much rather wrestle his brothers and sister. He is a cat that will stand embrace only for short spurts but in light of his condition has sought out companionship. 

        

Two other of my cats have limped, but neither suffered for long as they recovered quickly, but my Caramel was not so lucky, and so I boxed him up and took him to the vet. With him went his sister Cheshire who needed shots. The long drive to the vet was a difficult as the cats would not stop crying, and Caramel clawed at the fake leather carrier that held him.

       

It was my early thought that some furan body lived within Caramel’s wound and this put there by annoying neighbors who disliked my cats on their car. The Veterinarian said it was probably from the cat fighting with another animal. Only time or a hundred and fifty dollar x-ray can tell. It was already two hundred for cleaning, bandaging, and antibiotics.

       

I have always loved my animals, but love will never pay vet bills. I still have no regrets keeping all four cats. This just reminds me that I should prioritize. In this world, responsible folk have to know what’s important.

Know your world, little sister,

Richard Leland Neal

The Day My Mother Died

This whole thing came from a conversation regarding my birthday were I had to explain why I did not celebrate the day.

I don’t know if these morbid topics make for good reading so maybe you can tell me. I have to tell Cassi because she asked but not necessarily tell you. So tell me what you think, do you want to see more letters like this?

19^th November 2011

Dear Cassi,

   

It had never occurred to me that I had failed to relay the events of my mother’s death now some twenty two years ago. It happened around this time of year and so I was given reason to dislike the holidays. Somehow I got it into my head that topics like that are things I should shy away from. The dismal facts of my life are many and numerous. I could drown you in a deluge of depressing events, but as the scars are closed if not healed I have no need.

   

In any case, my mother died in her second relapse of cancer. It was a disease that ate her over the years, and finally its burrowing caught into the chamber of her spirit and she was gone. That is not to say that this was the day she died, but the day she stopped living.

   

That I recall well. Her three children were called to come see her at the care facility as we did every weekend, and she called us in one by one to tell us that she was going to die.

   

I remember telling her that we had seen all this before and that she had lived through it, but she told me that it was worse this time. I believed that it was best to try and keep a positive outlook. I was a not to bright nine year old who believed what I was told.

   

I don’t blame my mother for giving up. She had lived a hard life and she deserved eternal rest. Even the solace of nothingness must have been a relief after what that poor woman lived through. That is why I know that whatever lies waiting for us beyond this world my mother is in a better place.

Stay safe, Cassi,

Richard Leland Neal

Images: a Poem

Richard Leland Neal as an idiot 16 year old

Having found this on an old floppy disk I can say that it took me back to a time in my life I hated. This is a poem I wrote back in July of 1995, high school, and the old place was a dump I wanted to stay in forever.

 In other words, these are the words of an idiot fifteen year old. I had to do some major editing because back then I was suffering from the worst depression of my life and couldn't write much. My damaged brain simply didn't have the energy to form words and so reading any of my work from that time is like looking through a fog. Well, find what meaning you will in this, I sure did. 

Images

 by Richard Leland Neal

a world of  beautiful images

a world I cannot enter

like a chorus of  life

I sit in an audience

 my peers in this cold computers

they have no soul, they have no god

no will no mind no reason

there glowing screens looking in to the world

but they stare expressionless at me

 I am one of them

I reach for an image from the cold of the crowds

 my hand is stopped

as if  by a wall that holds me back

and I strain to bridge the gap of empty solid air

as I push harder and harder

beads of sweat dot my brow

drops of  blood streak my hand

sweat flowing, blood running

stinging pain and yet I persist

muscles tens and shaking

my eyes monitor the slow progress

I finely bridge the gap and stop

the distance the trials and no reward

for I think is it worth it

to stain the image that was my goal

destroy it with my blood

and then in bold

no!

I am not worthy of their world

then a wall on either side

the two worlds of beauty and of cold resist me

but it is not even the sting

that the devils make that would drive to allow

the passage out of my frozen hell

the reason for this is so plain to me

the reason is this you see

no point, no plot,

 no common ground lies between either

In my world it seems I soar aloft and am looking down

but I'm like a worm in the ground

I am lower than low

I can't be found

Like a part of a broken puzzle

I have no match

I’m searching out a missing piece

that has ceased to exist