This week is Fringe Week. The London Fringe Theatre Festival continues until Monday night, and your faithful narrator has, once again, loaded herself up with so many volunteer commitments at the festival, that she has hardly any time to actually see shows. I must be nuts.

I have been fortunate enough to be asked to be a Venue Manager, a position of some responsibility (and not a little authority) with very few perks. It’s the kind of job that is only good if you only volunteer for half the festival, as you get a pass that enables you to get into shows for free–on your “off” time, that is. I never seem to have enough “off” time. This year, out of the 11 days, I volunteered for eight. It’s still a lot of commitment, but it meant I would get three whole days off to see shows and enjoy myself. Unfortunately, the festival increased by two venues, but didn’t increase by very many volunteers. So, being the kind-hearted and dedicated volunteer (read: sucker) that I am, I signed up for two more shifts as a Box Office person–a position that has NO perks. I now effectively have NO days off.

With Esso far away, it’s meant a degree of freedom where the Fringe is concerned that I was never able to enjoy before. It’s currently 1 a.m., and I have just gotten back from Club Fringe, where all the organizers, performers and volunteers hang out after the shows. I’ve never been able to go to Club Fringe before this year, because Esso’s former job required him to be out of bed by 6 a.m. Since I don’t have a driver’s license, and we lived in Outer Slubovia, it was either get an expensive cab ride home, have Esso stay up to pick me up, or just not go. Last year, Esso took his vacation at this time, but I took a summer course at the university, which meant *I* had to be up early-ish, and had studied for class. Brutal.

Unfortunately, this year, it appears all the “cool kids” seem to be shunning Club Fringe. Last night, a bunch of them stayed for an hour and then buggered off to some other club; tonight, KARAOKE NIGHT, they didn’t even make an appearance. It was sad. They must have known I was coming. LOL.

“And don’t let anybody make you think that God chose America as his divine, Messianic force to be a sort of policeman of the whole world. God has a way of standing before the nations with judgment, and it seems that I can hear God saying to America, “you are too arrogant, and if you don’t change your ways, I will rise up and break the backbone of your power and I’ll place it in the hands of a nation that doesn’t even know my name. Be still and KNOW I’m God.”

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., 1967, in a speech against the war in VietNam.

I made the mistake of babysitting for one of my cousins. Oh, the boys were well-behaved, and we had fun; the littlest guy took to me like crazyglue, something his parents worried about. No, why it was a mistake is that said cousin seems to want me around all the damn time now.

I like her, her husband is interesting, and I love their boys, but I don’t want to get much closer than I have been. See, this girl has a habit of taking what you say out of context and regurgitating it, spinning it in such a way as to be a shit disturber. You have to take everything she says about family members with a pound (not a grain) of salt. At one time, she had my sisters at each other’s throats, twisting what they had shared with her about each other into malicious, evil non-truths. It wasn’t until they sat down and hashed everything out that they realized what she had been doing.

I know she is lonely. I know that she has fewer friends than even I do (that’s saying something), and the nasty part of me wonders why she’s surprised by that fact. I used to avoid her, preferring the company of her brother, who I often refer to as “MY I****.” He and I were especially close, but she and I were like oil and water, both preferring to do our own thing, and happy not to have to bug each other too much. As time has gone along, I am still extraordinarily fond of I, even though we hardly see or talk to each other. She, on the other hand, I see more often than I would like.

Oh, and it would be nice if I could leave the house for a half hour without someone phoning me. sigh.

Willy is with Esso and Mo at the new condo right now.

I went back to the house this afternoon, and I could tell right away that Finchy’s wife had had just about enough of my (and Willy’s) presence. I was determined to get William out. He heard my voice, and started to yowl. I borrowed a can opener and then shoved some tuna through the slats. Again, Willy ate from my hand. I tried to get him to follow a trail of tuna to the humane trap we had set, but he was having NONE of that.

When Angel arrived, she asked me why I hadn’t had Finchy remove those boards again so I could get him. I didn’t tell her the real reason: I didn’t want to impose on Finchy and his wife anymore. However, Finchy came out and removed the boards again when Angel asked.

It was easier and less noisy this time, and Willy came right to me. I put some tuna in my hand and stuck it down into the gap left by the removed boards. As I did this, I put one foot over the step into the hole near Willy. He started a bit, but he was DAMNED hungry, so with a tiny bit of coaxing, he came back to my hand. Now that I had the proper leverage, I very quickly scooped him up and put him into the waiting cat carrier and shut it tight.

Just like that.

He was light as a feather and didn’t really struggle with me. He is dehydrated, tired, and has lost A LOT of weight. Our last cat, Floyd, was chronically underweight. Lifting William seemed to be as heartbreakingly easy and familiar as lifting the Floydie dude.

Angel congratulated me, and we attempted to let Finchy’s wife know (he had gone away before I snatched the cat), but she either wouldn’t open the door, or couldn’t hear us knocking. With Willy safely ensconced in the cat carrier, Angel and I began to disassemble our kitty barricade.

I brought him to my new apartment, where I put out food and water. He decided he would rather hide under the bed. When Esso came to get him, he stayed with us for about an hour. He set the food just under the bed, where Willy gobbled it down. Eventually, I had to drag him out from under the bed and back into the carrier for the trip to the Atom Mill Town.

Three hours later, Esso phoned me to say that William was NOT hiding in the condo, but openly looking around and exploring. Why? Because within a few seconds of exiting the carrier, he saw the Mo. Willy has always liked Mo, although that sentiment is probably not reciprocated–Esso did say she has hissed at him already–and I think seeing her let him know that he’s home.

He’s home.

If it weren’t for the Animalert volunteer, who I’ll call Angel, and Finchy, this update on the Willy situation would be much less definitive, and much less positive.

Angel has been just that–an angel. Tenacious, imaginative, thoughtful, helpful and extremely generous, she and her family have: lent me a cat carrier, two humane traps, cat food, tuna, cat treats, and even a place to stay for a night. I would have been lost without them, and I know it. For his part, Finchy has been generous with his time, his attention, and his carpentry skills (more in a second). His help is even more incredible when you know that he and his wife had their first baby on July 5th–and we lost Willy on July 6th. By all rights, he should be spending every non-sleeping moment with his new son, and his very exhausted wife. However, he is helping me at our own “ground zero.”

Wednesday night, Angel picked me up and drove me to the old neighbourhood. I was about tell Finchy about another brainwave Angel had had, when she saw Willy peeking out from under our old deck. “Hey!” she exclaimed, “he’s here! Willy’s right under the deck! Willy! William!”

I couldn’t see him, but Angel had brought a flashlight. I shone it between some slats in the decking, and sure enough, there was my Willy, looking dirty, and scared. I called to him, and he looked at me. I grabbed a couple of treats, and stuck my fingers in the slat. After a few cautious minutes, he approached me, ate the treat from my fingers, and then backed off. This continued for about a half hour, but where he was had no easy access to grab him (of course not). He was there, I was there, but he wouldn’t come out to me. Willy has been able to get under Finchy’s deck from our old deck, and that is where he was hiding, going back and forth between the two.

Finchy and Angel set the trap, and put it right at the biggest entrance–where we were sure William was getting in and out. Thankfully, the new owners of the house have been doing a major renovation on the house and pulled down that disgusting brick fireplace I had hated so much. They had stacked the bricks in the backyard, so we grabbed bunches of bricks and barricaded every other possible exit from the deck. Every sizable hole was plugged with heavy bricks. We also surrounded the trap with more bricks, so that Willy could ONLY get into the trap from that exit, too. Then we waited.

And waited.

Finchy drove me over to Angel’s house a few blocks away, where I enjoyed a half-decent night’s sleep for the first time in two weeks. In the morning, Angel’s husband drove me over to the house, where I attempted to call to William, who was ensconced under Finchy’s deck. He came to me. He ate treats from my fingers, he even let me rub his ear, but he always backed away after a few seconds. Finchy thought that if we lifted a couple of boards, I’d have enough room to grab Willy when he got closer to me. So, he got out his hammer and crowbar and took off three boards. Sure enough, Willy came back to me to eat, but every time I got my hands on the scruff of his neck, he’d back away. I could never quite get a grip.

I phoned Esso to tell him to come back to London–that I would have Willy liberated and ready to go that evening. Hubris, thy name is jeopardygirl.

After 6 hours of my sitting on the concrete step next to the deck, and trying, trying to coax him out, Finchy and I decided to put the boards back. We made sure there was fresh food and some water in the trap, and I continued to wait.

Esso arrived around 7:00 PM, and wanted to have another go at coaxing William out, but I convinced him that the cat was probably too scared to come to us, due to all the wrenching and hammering of boards, not to mention the extraction attempt we made when Angel thought she’d have enough room to get under there and drag him back (there wasn’t enough room). He drove me for something to eat, and then we drove back to my apartment, both of us feeling defeated, Esso angry with me for making him drive all the way here for nothing.

So, now we wait. Willam will have to get hungry, and his only means of food or water will be in that trap. Either that, or he’ll be too stubborn to go in and die of starvation. Before I let that happen, I’ll call Animal Care and Control, but I doubt even Willy is THAT stubborn. He’ll get hungry enough to go into the trap…I’m sure of it. It’s just a question of time.

Which Annoying B-list Celebrity Are You?
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey.

I feel so distraught and lack my usual optimism. I went to the neighbourhood at 4:30 this morning, and wandered around and around my old street, looking for and calling for William. I didn’t see him, I didn’t hear him, and suffice to say: I didn’t get him back.

I’m scared that we have lost him forever.

We did NOT get Willy back tonight. Crestfallen, Esso and I drove me back to my new apartment, where I get to move all the furniture around and unpack all the boxes myself. Luckily, I have a bit of that done as of this writing.

I plan to go back to the old neighbourhood every night around 9:00 p.m. So far, the people who bought the house have been a little more sympathetic and have encouraged us to go into the backyard with food and treats any time. So far, Willy has mostly been seen in the early morning or around 9-11 p.m.

Tomorrow afternoon, I am going to paper the neighbourhood–a flyer in each mailbox–with a picture and my phone number. With any luck, maybe someone will be able to catch him. I also have to continue to call Animal Care and Control, although, I don’t hold out much hope with them.

I want my Willy back, and I am going to get him!

We know where William is. We know where he’s been hiding, and neighbours have seen him as early as this morning. Unfortunately, he doesn’t want to come out. It doesn’t appear as if he has been eating the food that Finchy has been putting out in the trap–however, a little black kitty has been caught twice in it.

Esso and I are hoping that if we go to the neighbourhood tonight and call him, he’ll come to us. Hope springs eternal, I guess.

I had forgotten what it was like to live in a small town, and I have to admit up front: there are things that are cool here. This town is very proud of its Scottish heritage, and every Saturday night, local bagpipers lead a procession of the townsfolk up and down the main street. The pipers wear their own family tartans, or that of the town, but I have yet to see a MacLeod. The main street is picturesque and has all the charm you’d expect from a small town that hasn’t changed much in a few decades–although, being a tourist spot during the summer, there are few shops with dusty shelves and unsold merchandise (not like my small town). Every night at sundown a piper climbs to the top of the lighthouse and plays the sun to bed. It’s romantic and beautiful, this combination of music and dying sunlight. The breeze off the lake is cool, too (in both senses of the word).

What’s not cool, especially for me, a NON-driver, is how isolated we are. To wit, I am used to walking or bussing up to 40 minutes to see a movie, and having a choice of up to 4 multiplexes and 2 art house venues. Wednesday night, Esso and I drove to Owen Sound, a somewhat small city an hour away to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix at the only multi-screen theatre in the area. We arrived just in time for it to be completely sold out. So, we had to turn around and drive another hour back. I hate that.

The people here are friendly enough, but our friend BW advised us to pay attention. There are biases here that go back 30+ years to when the Nuclear plants were built in the first place. That construction brought many educated and well-paid families to the area, and many of the existing townsfolk were hard-pressed to even get janitorial jobs at the plants. This caused quite a bit of resentment that is still felt today.

We are smackdab in the middle of farm country. Now, I have nothing against farming. Farms feed cities. However, I am an urban girl. I hated being surrounded by fields and pastures growing up, and I found some of the farmers and their families a trifle unsophisticated. Call me a snob, but my attitude was based on exposure to people whose interests and aims in life were (and are) very different from my own. I have observed a few people around here who reminded me of the people I grew up around, and my jaded little head shook to think of them. Part of me can’t wait to go back to London.