Nine of Clubs

“Okay, run this by me again?  How does this work?”  Ross held the deck of cards in his hand.  Kris was guzzling down his Mountain Dew, and Ross’ question would just have to wait until he was done.  Bryan was reading a comic book, only half paying attention to what was transpiring on the floor of Ross’ dorm room.

“Simple” Kris said as he tossed the plastic bottle towards the tin garbage can.  As the bottle bounced off the rim and rolled under Ross’ bed, Kris took the cards away and started shuffling.  “You shuffle six times, while you try to focus on any spirit that might be in the room.  Then, you deal the cards out like this.”  Kris flipped over the first four cards, resulting in two hearts and two spades.  “Well, that didn’t work.  It has to be one of each suit to work.  If you get one of each suit, you’ve contacted a spirit.”

“Then I can ask questions?”

Bryan shook his head as Kris started shuffling again.  “Yep.  You ask questions, and then you flip up a card.  The position matches one of four answers.  The top card is yes, the bottom card is no, the left card is maybe, and the right card is I don’t know.”  Kris threw out three clubs and a spade.  “No luck for me.  Why don’t you try?”

“Y’know Kris, I can’t help but think you picked this up from  your new girlfriend.  She’s a Wiccan right?”  Bryan slid the comic back into the bag and sat it on the plastic bag holding several other comics.

“I knew about this before Tina.  We used to do it in High School.”

“Okay…I’ll try it.”  Ross said as shuffled the cards.  He tried to focus as the cards slid together in his hands.  He calmly flipped over the top four cards, and the four suits were staring back at him.  Clubs were on top, with diamonds on the bottom.  Hearts took the left side, while spades were on the right.

“That’s good.  You’ve made contact with a spirit.  Ask it a question.”  Bryan could tell Kris had mischief on his mind.  Ross could be gullible, and Bryan knew it.  Rather than get involved, Bryan turned another page of Marvel Team-up.

“Is a spirit really here?” Ross asked.  He flipped over the six of clubs.  “Are you lying?” Ross asked as he flipped up the next card.  The five of diamonds indicated a no.  Bryan calmly kept reading his comics as the two of them took turns asking spirits if they were really there, or if they were good or evil. He was almost through his week’s comics, and that meant he’d actually only have homework to read.

“Don’t you want to try it?” Kris said.

“Nah” Byran said.  “You two go nuts.”  A few comics later, Bryan was down to his last comic.  As he started reading Teen Titans, he heard the cards shuffle and Ross lead with the usual questions about whether it was really a spirit and all the rest.  He was in the middle of the comic when he heard a question that he wasn’t expecting.

“Is this my dad?”

“Uh…Ross?  I don’t think you should ask that.”  Bryan was sitting up in Ross’ beanbag chair, and even Kris looked a bit puzzled and concerned about this new question.

“Yeah…that’s…” Kris never finished his question as Ross flipped up the next card.  It was the nine of clubs.

“Okay Ross…just stop.” Byran had dropped his comic on the carpet.  The cover was getting a slight crease, and Bryan seemed to not notice or care.  Kris was waving his hands around and shaking his head.

“Dude, it might be trying to trick you.  Ask it if it’s lying.”

“Are you lying?” Ross asked.  The king of spades flipped up, and was dropped into the no pile.  Kris looked at Bryan, and Bryan shook his head.  They were all from different states, and had just gotten to know each other at college.  They knew Ross lost his father at a young age, and that he didn’t like to talk about it.  Bryan and Kris then looked at the piles of cards on the floor.  The I don’t know pile looked full, and the yes, no, and maybe piles were all about even.  Ross didn’t have many cards left.

“Maybe…maybe…” Bryan cut Kris off before he dug a deeper hole.

“Are you sure you want to keep going?”  Bryan asked.  Ross’ face looked the same as it had all night.

“Sure.  It’s just cards.”  Ross closed his eyes and placed thumb and index finger on the top card.  “Did I turn out like you thought I would?”  The spade went to the  no pile, and Ross’ hand went back to the cards in his left hand.  “But are you proud of me?”  The ace of clubs flipped over, and Ross tossed it onto the yes pile.  The card slid across the nine of clubs and rested just north of the diamond of card stacks.  “Did you want to go?” Ross asked.  Kris and Bryan bit their lips as he flipped over the two of spades.  Ross dropped it right by the pile of spaces in front of his crossed legs.  “Will I see you again?” was answered with a diamond that was quickly tossed into the maybe pile.  “Do you miss me as much as I miss you?” was Ross’ final question, and Bryan and Kris braced for an answer that would be inappropriate.  The jack of clubs turned out to be the last card, and that card was gently dropped into the yes pile, or relatively close.  Ross calmly stood up, while Kris quickly got up.

“I, uh, gotta call a girl.  I’ll be back later.”  Kris was up and out the door before Bryan finally managed to get up out the beanbag chair.  Ross was standing at the window of the room, which faced out towards a small parking lot and the football practice field.  Bryan gathered up his comics and other books and tried to think of something to say.

“Uh…are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah…I’ll be fine.  I’d like some time alone though.”  Ross didn’t turn around when he spoke.  He just kept staring outside at nothing in particular.

“Oh-kay then.  You know where to find me.”  Bryan carefully stepped over the four stacks of cards as he walked out the door.  He lingered on the other side of the closed door for a moment, but he didn’t hear anything.  While he walked down the hall back to his dorm room, Ross kept staring out the window.  After several minutes, he calmly turned around and started bunching up the cards on the floor.  He looked for the box they went in, and he found it under his bed along with Kris’ pop bottle.  He tossed the bottle in the garbage, and then he slid the deck back into the box.  Ross looked at the clear box, and he noticed the nine of clubs had somehow wound up as the top card that was face up in the box.  He lightly tossed the deck onto his desk, and then he let out a deep sigh.  He let himself fall onto his unmade bed, choosing to stare at the ceiling rather than through his window.  He put his hands behind his head, and let his mind wander to places long forgotten, and feelings long submerged.

Four of Clubs

The distant future

Major Andrews watched the shuttle slowly float next to the station.  The green and yellow light of the planet below illuminated the scorch marks on the shuttle, and Major Andrews didn’t expect to see those.  The lights above the airlock door slowly went from red to green, and the doors slid open.  A soldier walked out of the airlock and then looked back.  “All clear” the soldier said.

“Is this really necessary?” Andrews asked.

“It is.  The pirate activity is a bit off the chart right now.  I didn’t catch the name of my pilot but he needs a raise.”  Andrews looked over the man who had spoken.  He was wearing a business suit that looked like it was out of the mid-21st century, with the only modern accent being an energy pistol that was clearly visible.  “David Carson, reporting for duty.  How may I serve United Earth today?”

“Walk with me, and I’ll give you the update Mr. Carson.  Might I say, your reputation is well known out here.  We asked for the best negotiator and diplomat they had, so I’m glad they sent you.”  Carson picked up his briefcase and began following Major Andrews.

“I appreciate it, but I’m one screw up away from a desk job at the Saturn Orbital Colony.”  Carson had now caught up, and was matching Andrews step for step.

“I’d heard you were from Saturn’s Colony.  What’s it like, growing up on a space station?” Andrews was still looking him over.  Deep down, he had his doubts about the young diplomat.

“I burn easy when I go to the beach.  Now, tell me about the Kryz’gola.”

“They won’t win any beauty contests.  This planet is one they claim, but they have no colonies or settlements.  We put this station here because it’s a great staging area to fight the growing problem the pirates are presenting in this sector.  Plus there are some really weird readings we’re getting from the atmosphere.”

“Colonization prospects?”

“None.  The atmosphere’s toxic, even to them.  Plus the gravitational pull is three times that of earth, so we have to structurally re-enforce every probe we send.”

“The Kryz’gola.  Language barriers?”

“None.  They have limited telepathy, so their negotiator has already mastered every Earth dialect, and he’s well versed in our history.  He’s waiting now, but I told him you might not want to m-”

“Take me to him” Carson said.

***

David Carson walked into the negotiation room.  The temperature dropped twenty degrees, and the air was thick a smell that reminded David of a visit to a fish market in Seattle.  The Kryz’golan was sitting on the other side of an old wooden table.  His skin was green and almost translucent, and his head was covered in small tentacles.  His three eyes were red, blue and yellow, and his mouth was thankfully closed.  Instead of arms there were more tentacles on his sides, and four long ones were neatly placed around the legs of his chair.  “You must be David Carson” he heard in his head.  “I’ve been told our breath carries fumes toxic to your species, so I will communicate with my telepathy.”

“That’s fine.  Do you mind if I speak out loud?” Carson said.

“Not at all.  You humans seem to enjoy talking, among other things.”

“Major Andrews told me your people had limited telepathy.”

“Well, every time I met with him, there were others.  It’s harder to focus on a group.  Since there’s just one of you, it makes things much easier.”

That would have been nice to know.

“Yes, that would have been nice for you to know.  Also, this will be harder than you thought.”

“Yes…well…let’s discuss the planet.  Our people only want to operate a space station here.  My government has given me clearance to offer to move this station to one of the planet’s moons.”

“That will be unacceptable.  Your people must leave this system.”

“May I ask what significance this planet holds for your people?  If we have interfered with any kind of religious or-”

“This planet is of no use to us, but we do not wish to be neighbors of such a limited and violent race.”

“Major Andrews told me you read up on us.”

“I have.  Your species only achieved peace on your own planet less than a millennium ago.  Your space fleet still has ships and fighter groups made up of a certain region’s people, by the choice of those serving on those ships.  Look at your staff here.  Major Andrews has a patch on his sleeve of a British flag.  The soldiers who came with you had patches of the United States, Saudi Arabia, Russia and Brazil.  You claim your planet is united but your species clings to their old territorial homes.”

“Not all of us wear those patches.  We haven’t been at war on Earth for hundreds of years.”

“This pirate problem…what is the race those pirates are primarily made up of?”

“Humans.  Humans who  have chosen to embrace our darker nature.  If there’s one thing humans do better than that, it’s overcome long odds.”

“Like negotiating with a telepath?  You can’t surprise me or use your diplomatic double speak on me.”

“If I could surprise you, and show how we like to overcome long odds, would you agree to negotiation?”

The Kryz’golan’s head tentacles waved about wildly. “I’ll give you once chance, but I won’t stop using my telepathy.”

“That’s fine.  I don’t want you to stop.”  David popped open his briefcase and pulled out a rectangular box.  He  opened the box. and dropped a deck of cards on the table.  “Do you know what these are?”

“You humans call them cards.  Are you going to challenge me to a game?”

“Nope.”  David straightened up the deck, and then spread the purple backed deck across the table.  “I want you to pick a card.  Any one card, but don’t tell me what it is.”

“Very well.”  The Kryz’golan carefully stretched out a tentacle, and slid one of the purple cards out.  Another tentacle helped the Kryz’golan hold the card up as the alien looked it over.  “Now what?”

“Put it back in the deck.  Anywhere.”  The Kryz’golan placed the card face down, and slid the card back into the the deck.  David bunched up the cards and began shuffling.  The Kryz’golan tried to read  his mind, but all he saw were purple card backs with a drawing of Saturn on them.  The tentacles on his head went crazy as he focused even harder.  All he could get from David’s mind was the back of the cards.

“This is pointless.  You have no idea.  You’re stalling.”

“If you’re a telepath you know that’s not true.”  David slammed the cards on the table, and shook his head.  “Very well.  I’ll tell the Major to begin disassembling the base and to move out of this system.”  He took the cards and put them back in their box, and then tossed them into his briefcase.  As he was closing his briefcase, the Kryz’golan looked at the table.

“You forgot one card.”

“No I didn’t.  That one is yours.”  David watched the Kryz’golan’s tentacle whip out and flip the card over.  The four of clubs was now face up.

“Perhaps I’ve misjudged you and your people.  Tell me, how did you shield your mind and find my card?”

“That knowledge is up for negotiation” David said with a smile.  The tentacles on the Kryz’golan’s head slowed down, and the body of the Kryz’golan undulated.

“Indeed!  I think we can find some common ground after all.  Sit.  Let us discuss your space station…”

Ace of Clubs

[I'm using the aces to talk about each of our cats, but I had no idea I'd be doing two in a row.  I don't think it's my best work, but I have to play them how they're dealt.]

“I’ll be home soon with my cat.”

Now, this may not have been what Kate said that day, but it was essentially what the meaning was.  Weevil had evolved into my cat, and Logan was meant to be Kate’s cat.  Weevil and Logan had other plans, and both of them gravitated to me.  Kate was wanting her own cat, and she thought it would work fine (speaking as someone who grew up in a three cat household).  So, she went to the farm of a friend’s friend and picked out a small kitten, just ready to leave the litter and make her way in the world.  I was sitting on the couch when Kate arrived, and she brought the small cat into the living room.  The small, black kitten was hugging her chest tightly, and until I held her I didn’t see her white underside.  I was hoping for an all black cat to name Ravage, but instead we stuck with the Veronica Mars theme and name her Mac, after Veronica’s computer expert pal.  Logan came up to Mac and sniffed her a few times.  It was his first time around a female cat, and it made him a bit nervous.  By a bit nervous, I mean he urinated all over my leg.  Kate spent the rest of the night apologizing, I spent the night laughing, and Weevil spent the night hiding.

Mac got into a few scrapes with Logan and Weevil over the next few months, but soon she was getting along with them well enough to eat and drink beside them.  She grew a bit, but not as much as Logan had.  Logan had gone from runt to as big as Weevil, but Mac remained quite petite.  She was very kitten-like to the point of almost being wild.  She loved sharpening her claws and chasing cat toys.  At least, she did for the first few months.  One day she started meowing long and deep, and before too long Logan knew what he was supposed to do.  We tried to discourage it to some extent, but we knew the risks of two cats that weren’t fixed.  After about five days, Mac stopped meowing, and she was sleeping a ton. We had a pretty good hunch that she was pregnant.  Kate grew up on a farm, so litters of kittens were no big thing.  I’d never been through it before, so I was actually rather excited for the idea of having some kittens around. We weren’t ready for exactly what Mac had in mind.

Kate called to tell me the birthing had begun, and by the time it was done our little Mac, who may be one of the smallest fully grown cats I’ve seen, pushed six kittens out.  Kate was guessing four at the most, and I thought three would be pushing it.  Mac had been so wild and aggressive before they were born, we had our doubts that she would work as a mother.  Mac not only rose to the challenge, she often went above and beyond the call of duty with her kittens.  Her nipples were sore and swollen, but she never pushed one of her kittens away.  The wild child of our cat family had tamed overnight.  Her purr is what sticks with me from those early days.  I have never heard her purr louder or longer than when she was nursing her litter.  She embraced her motherhood fully, and those kittens were some of the luckiest cats around.  Kate was pretty sure one or two wouldn’t make it, because that’s how litters on the farm went.  Mac made sure all the kittens got their share, especially the runt of the litter.  In a few months all six were starting to wander all around the bedroom, and soon we had to construct what I called the “kitty pen” to contain them.

Logan’s role as the kitten’s father was unusual.  I’m sure you’ve heard stories of tomcats eating kittens, but Logan never tried.  In fact, he sat about a yard away from Mac during her labor with a concerned look on his face.  We didn’t want to take the chance that Logan would do something with them, so we didn’t let him interact with the kittens much.  There were a few nights where we let them roam free, and Logan actually played with them.  We didn’t want more kittens, as we were still lining up homes for the kittens we had.  The decision was made to get Logan fixed, and that led to a whole other side of Mac.

Logan was pretty doped up after his surgery, and we kept him away from all the other cats.  I’m not sure why cats forget each other so quickly, but when he finally emerged from his groggy state Mac didn’t want him anywhere near the kitty pen.  Logan, while not a smart cat, understood and kept his distance.  I was coming into the house and saw Logan walking towards the kitty pen, and Mac absolutely freaked out.  She snarled so hard she was snorting, and her body hugged the ground.  Her fur shot out in all directions, and she started slashing with her left front paw.  Logan was confused and scared, and he took a jump away from her.  Unfortunately for him, he jumped right into the kitty pen.  Mac chased him out, and he hid for a few hours in the basement.  Mac remained a great mom to the kittens, but once we started finding them homes she became cold and mean towards Weevil and Logan.  Once all of her kittens had found homes, she remained cold towards the other cats, and she grew cold towards Kate and I.  I thought it was because she missed her litter, and she did spend time in some of the spots we had them, almost as if she was looking for them.  The one kitten we kept, Eileen, was lumped in with Weevil and Logan.  Months passed, and she was becoming meaner and meaner towards everyone.  She even hissed and batted at her own daughter.  She never wanted to play, and she had no desire for any kind of interaction.  I kept hoping she’d come out of it, but finally Kate convinced me that we should get her fixed.  I didn’t think it would help, and with both males in the house fixed, it didn’t seem necessary.

Mac spent two nights at the vet, and when she came home she kept to herself for about a week.  Finally, one night as we tried to sleep, we heard meowing from under the bed.  It was Mac and her daughter Eileen, and they were meowing back and forth like they were having a really deep conversation.  It was almost like Mac had shed all of her negative qualities at once, and she was back to the playful, energetic Mac we’d fallen in love with when she first came into our home.  I chose the ace of clubs to represent her, for a few reasons.  Clubs can be seen as a clover, and Mac is probably the girliest of the cats.  A club is also a weapon, and I’ve seen Mac fight the other cats enough to know she’s not to be messed with.  Then, there’s the simple reason that she’s mostly black with some white, and the ace of clubs is a perfect contrast.  Or, it’s because the other cats fit the other aces so well that the ace of clubs is all that’s left.  Maybe the best way to put it is this: clubs is a complex suit, and Mac is a complex cat.

Ace of Hearts

“Why do we have to have such big hearts?”

This is the question Kate asked me Tuesday night as we embarked on what became a fool’s errand.  It was a cold day, and I was just leaving work.  The traffic from the West was heavy, but a simple turn to the East had my trip home going a lot more quickly.  I came upon an intersection that provided a merge lane, and in between the old intersection and the merge lane was a traffic island, one I’d driven by hundreds of times.  This time it was different.  There was a black and white cat lying in the middle of it.  The cat wasn’t moving, but it also wasn’t mangled.  It didn’t move, but it didn’t look dead.  The thought crossed my mind that it was nearly frozen, and was on death’s door.  A recent article I’d found in the Brookings paper told the story of a cat that was literally chipped out of a puddle of ice, still alive.  That cat actually survived and was adopted by a new family, one who hopefully wouldn’t let something like that happen to it again.  As I drove the wife’s car home, that story kept going through my mind.  Also going through my mind were several other things.

Why didn’t I stop?

What if he’s still alive?

What kind of person am I to just leave it?

I didn’t even stop.

What a horrible way to die.

These thoughts were a constant loop as I slowed down to turn onto 4th Street.  As I slowed for the stop signs on the way to my turn, those thoughts only got louder and louder.  As I pulled into the garage, I was starting to rationalize.

He’s probably dead…he wasn’t moving.

I had cars behind me on a busy street and nowhere to park.

If he’s alive, he might be feral, or rabid.

What if he has fleas and infects our cats?

Those thoughts kept getting shouted down by the first thoughts I’d had as I drove home on a night that promised to dip well below zero.  I was composed for the most part as I walked into the house, and saw my smiling wife holding our son.  Then I looked down and saw Logan.  Our big orange cat looked up at me and meowed.  As I sat my backpack down, he started rubbing against my legs.  He’s probably our dumbest cat, but he’s very good around strangers and is almost always in the mood for affection.  Kate could tell right away something was bothering me, like any good wife would.  She asked what was wrong, and I told her about the cat and how much it was bothering me.  She really didn’t want to hear it, because, like me, she has soft spot for cats.  No matter what we’re talking about on any given road trip, if we spot a dead cat on the road the same thing happens.  The conversation ends and we don’t say much for at least a mile.  Sometimes the somber mood lasts the rest of the trip.

Without promising anything, we left to make a quick trip to County Fair for milk and a few other groceries.  Kate’s mom (who stays with us three days a week) was making lasagna, and we were on a timetable to get home when it was ready.  The trip to the store had a lot of talk about the cat’s fate, and Kate kept hinting that all I would have to do is say the word and we’d go check on the cat, if we had time.  I tried to distract myself by browsing the cereal aisle, but it was only a fleeting distraction.  Once we checked out, Kate called to check on the status of supper, since the grocery store trip went faster than we expected.  It was on schedule, and to our surprise our wee one was down for an unexpected nap.  Suddenly we had the time to check on the cat, so we had to make a decision.

Kate and I are equally bad about decisions, and we frequently pass the decision-making buck.  I think the conversation from the parking lot to the intersection that led either to home or that traffic island went a bit like this (starting with Kate):

“So, do you want to go?”

“You’re right…the cat’s probably dead.”

“But do you want to go?”

“I do, but you’re probably right.  It’s too late.  Plus, you’re right about it being sick.”

“If you want to go I’ll go.”

“Nah, we should go home.”

“You want to go home then?”

“Well, no, but it sounds like the right thing to do.”

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH”

We pressed onward to check on the status of the downed feline.  All the way there she told me how bad I would feel if the cat was dead.  Really, she was talking about herself and how much she hates to see a cat who went before their time.  I insisted I’d feel better if the cat was dead.  While that sounds morbid, I was hoping for some relief that I hadn’t been a totally heartless bastard who left a cat that was alive abandoned in the cold.  I know it makes me sound selfish, and maybe emotionally I was being selfish.  However, as the night went on it became apparent that Kate may have been right after all.

We reached the traffic island, and the traffic at the intersection had calmed down.  Kate stopped the car, and I got out.  I walked towards the cat, and he didn’t move as I got closer.  I wanted to reach out for him, but I was afraid.  What if he bit me?  What if rigor had set in?  What if I frighten him and he runs into traffic? I stopped about six inches away from the cat and crouched in a catcher’s squat inches away from him.  The cat’s eyes were closed, and his front right leg was extended with his left paw covered up by his right leg.  His back legs were curled up behind him, but not very well.  I could see the spots in the snow where he was frozen into the ground.  I just kept watching, hoping to see a small rise and fall of his back to know he was breathing.  I didn’t see that sign.  I halfway reached out to pick it up, but I just couldn’t bring myself to touch it.  Part of it was fear, and part of it was the fact I’d never held a dead cat.  I’d read stories, blogs, and accounts of people having their own cats put down due to age or disease, and how they held them as they went to sleep one last time.  One of our cats is in double digits, so the thought of someday having to go through that myself kept me from picking him up.  I grabbed a chunk of ice and tossed it at the cat.  It bounced off into the evening as Kate rolled down her window.  “It’s dead.  We’ve done all we can.”

The drive home was a long and painful one.  Kate felt awful, and I didn’t feel the relief I was expecting, even though I kept telling her I was happy to know I couldn’t have done anything.  As the night went on, my mind kept going back to the cat.  I was just starting to realize that while I can tell myself there was nothing I could do, those feelings wouldn’t bring back a cat that may have been somebody else’s Logan.  My frustration turned into a crabby attitude for the night, and that included being annoyed with Logan’s continued attempts to rest on my head.  Logan often likes to sleep on my pillow, but that night he was taking up more space and he was trying to wrap his paws around my head.  I kept moving him, and occasionally sternly telling him to get lost, or words that communicated that intention.  This became my second tragic misstep of the night.  I’d wrapped myself up in a shroud of anger and sadness, and I wasn’t letting in the one cat that could sense it.  No matter when or why Kate and I get in a bad mood, Logan pops up.  It’s like he can sense it, and he tries to make it better by purring and snuggling.  I wasn’t the mood that night, and unfortunately Logan bore the brunt of my frustration and disheartenment.  The next day Kate revealed I’d not only woken her up complaining about Logan, but that I was a “total asshole” to him.  She was probably right about that, but the kicker is that Logan didn’t seem to care.  I apologized to him, and I stroked the fur on his back until he was purring for me like nothing had ever happened.  The next night, he was back on my pillow, but he left plenty of room for my head.

I’ll never know if that frozen cat was anyone’s Logan.  Even if he was a stray, he didn’t deserve to die alone on a traffic island.  Getting back to the quote at the beginning, it’s something Kate says every time we feel bad about a stray we can’t help, a dead cat left on the road, or any time we visit a shelter and see rooms full of cat cages, each sticking out their tiny paws in hopes of finding a new companion (seriously, if you ever want to see me cry, take me to an animal shelter’s cat room).    My heart went cold for Logan for a night, but Logan never holds a grudge.  He just knew I was torn up inside, and he tried to help, even when I pushed him away.  Logan may not be the smartest cat in the world, but he reminded me that having a big heart is a 24/7 thing, and not something that should be switched off.   Kate and I might fancy ourselves the king and queen of hearts in this tale (or, at least we try to be), but Logan is our Ace of Hearts.