The Babushka could not fret over her dead cat for long. She decided to continue on her walk... solo. It was probably all for the better that the crazy naked man ran off with Putzina. Feline Stew- although a famous tradition back in the old country- always gave Svetlana indigestion.
At the thought of food, the old woman's gelatinous stomach began to rumble. Ox tail soup from the local Jamaican restaurant, "Jamaican Me Crazy", would be an adequate replacement for Feline Stew! Svetlana licked her lips and wobbled off to the spicy, raggae-filled haven.
Svetlana pushed past a small flock of pigeons feeding off of the rancid Chinese food scattered across the sidewalk."Перемещение грязных птиц корма!" The Babushka cursed loudly. That was one thing Putzina had been good for. Killing pigeons.
From above, the Babushka heard a shrill caw. This was not a pigeon noise. Svetlana glanced upward, masking her eyes with her hand to block the sun. The Babushka squinted at the horizon. From a distant rooftop, she believed she could make out the shape of a boy, sitting. She blinked. Another caw, and the flock of ground-pigeons burst into the air with a storm a white poop and warbling, flapping violently past Svetlana.
Svetlana brushed a feather off of her blouse, focused her gaze once again at the horizon. The boy was gone. Babuskha really needed to lay off the meds.
As she neared the restaurant, the soothing syncopated rythms of Peter Tosh filled the Babushka's ears. Jerking open the glass doors, Svetlana entered through the sparkling bead curtains, and breathed in the tell-tale scent of jerk chicken and illegal herbal substances.
"AYY BABUSHKA, MON!" De-Angelo, Babushka's drug dealer and owner of Jamaican Me Crazy beamed at the old woman with his wide, white smile.
"Я хочу получить фаршированные," muttered Svetlana, shoving past her kind host and plopping down at the table in the center of the room.
"Alrighty then, mon. Let's get you what you need. The usual I suppose? Ay, and why you heyuh today, mon? It is a Thursday!"
Svetlana was quite the Jamaican food enthusiast and attended the restaurant every Wednesday at noon. She had sat down for a good lunch here just the day before, however today brought the need for an emergency ox-tail soup run. "Cat is dead," Babushka frowned,
"Oh mon! I will get you some Bob Marley Extra Crispy pronto, Babuska, don't you worry, mon!" De-Angelo started for the back room, but Svetlana raised her hand and stubby little fingers into the air, "No DorogAya moyA, you do not need to do this for me." She cupped her head in her hands, then once again raised her right arm to wave De-Angelo off to the kitchen again, "Just the soup. Uh-Please."
De-Angelo furrowed his brow, "Sure, whateva you need mon," he said and rushed off to the kitchen.
Babuskha dabbed at the moisture gathering around her tear ducts with a paper napkin. She lost her husband many years ago. Now she had lost her cat.
What was a lonely Babuskha in America to do now? Her only friend was De-Angelo, if you could even call your drug dealer a "friend". Babushka supposed that with nothing else to live for she would have to resort to more hard-core drugs to ease the pain of solidarity. As increasingly worse predictions about Svetlana's self-destructive future began to unfold within her mind, a "bing" chimed from across the room as the smudged glass doors of De-Angelo's restaurant swung open, and a tall, dark and handsome figure emerged from behind the rasta-bead curtains.
Svetlana was immediately star-struck. Her old heart began throbbing. Who was this mysterious hunk?
The man stepped forward, head low, and simultaneously, thunder struck outside, rattling the Babuskha's glass of water that she had already spiked with her omnipresent vodka flask. The man reached forward and steadied the wobbling glass. The Babushka melted. A downpour of tumultuous rain followed.
De-Angelo re-entered the room and briskly galloped to Svetlana's table with a steaming pot of ox-tail soup. However, despite its warm and intoxicating smell, the Babushka couldn't draw her eyes away from the face of the mysterious man.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Thursday, September 2, 2010
2. Encounters with a Cat Theif
Babushka Svetlana awoke early on a Thursday morning to give her cat Putzina a walk around the block. She hitched Putzina onto her little leash with the jingly bells and led the cat out through the rotting apartment door and down the long, twisted stairwell of watershed heights.
The fat cat wobbled like a a penguin alongside the old woman, her stubby little toes patting the ground delicately with each footfall. Most neighbors stared inquisitively at Babushka Svetlana when she brought Putzina on such escapades through the city block, however Sveta did not consider it strange to walk a cat, since cat-walkings were quite common back in the old country of Ukraine.
As Sveta and Putzina emerged from the dank cocoon of Watershed Heights, Putzina began meowing frantically. Sveta slapped the cat on the nose, cursing in Russian, and Putzina, prone to becoming dizzy because of her high blood pressure and massive belly weight, began wobbling slowly to the side, and flopped over onto the pavement, dead. (THIS IS NOT ANIMAL ABUSE!!!)
Sveta nudged the stiff cat with her big toe. "Глупый жира ужасно сука!!!!" The old woman spat into the dead cat's face, strenuously crouching over its bulbous body.
"Ah, I guess it's time to make stew then," thought the Babushka as she gathered her wits, dusted off her skirt, and began to again crouch over, this time in hopes of picking up the dead cat to cradle lovingly back up to the apartment. But as Sveta began to reach out her globular appendages to pick up the late little Putzina, the only friend she'd had for some time, an insane naked man ran past her, scooping up the dead cat in his hairy naked arms.
"FOOD!" The man howled like a wolf and dove into the fountain up the street, causing a flock of pigeons to evacuate, warbling loudly and pooping all over the ground. He looked like a neanderthal. "Несамоходные неприкрытой американских свиньи. Я новых я никогда не должны были перенесены с всех этихобезьяна!" Babushka Svetlana clenched her fists ferociously. Damn hippies.
A gaggle of policemen stormed after the man, scooting to a confused stop as they reached the fountain, only to be assaulted by a thousand flying feathers of the pigeons of Watershed Heights.
The fat cat wobbled like a a penguin alongside the old woman, her stubby little toes patting the ground delicately with each footfall. Most neighbors stared inquisitively at Babushka Svetlana when she brought Putzina on such escapades through the city block, however Sveta did not consider it strange to walk a cat, since cat-walkings were quite common back in the old country of Ukraine.
As Sveta and Putzina emerged from the dank cocoon of Watershed Heights, Putzina began meowing frantically. Sveta slapped the cat on the nose, cursing in Russian, and Putzina, prone to becoming dizzy because of her high blood pressure and massive belly weight, began wobbling slowly to the side, and flopped over onto the pavement, dead. (THIS IS NOT ANIMAL ABUSE!!!)
Sveta nudged the stiff cat with her big toe. "Глупый жира ужасно сука!!!!" The old woman spat into the dead cat's face, strenuously crouching over its bulbous body.
"Ah, I guess it's time to make stew then," thought the Babushka as she gathered her wits, dusted off her skirt, and began to again crouch over, this time in hopes of picking up the dead cat to cradle lovingly back up to the apartment. But as Sveta began to reach out her globular appendages to pick up the late little Putzina, the only friend she'd had for some time, an insane naked man ran past her, scooping up the dead cat in his hairy naked arms.
"FOOD!" The man howled like a wolf and dove into the fountain up the street, causing a flock of pigeons to evacuate, warbling loudly and pooping all over the ground. He looked like a neanderthal. "Несамоходные неприкрытой американских свиньи. Я новых я никогда не должны были перенесены с всех этихобезьяна!" Babushka Svetlana clenched her fists ferociously. Damn hippies.
A gaggle of policemen stormed after the man, scooting to a confused stop as they reached the fountain, only to be assaulted by a thousand flying feathers of the pigeons of Watershed Heights.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
1. Dark and Stormy Night
It was a dark and stormy night. Babushka Svetlana sat crouched before her window cradling her small, fat cat Putzina, whom she had brought back with her from the old country. Putzina's purring roared as loud as the thunder until lightning struck, to which Putzina responded with a shrill hiss, digging her small, fat claws into Babuska Svetlana's old thigh. Babushka Svetlana, known to her grandchildren back in Ukraine simply as Sveta, cursed harshly in Russian under her breath, slapping the cat in the face. Putzina hissed again, hopping off of the old woman and scurrying away to a dark corner of the small apartment.
Sveta sighed, suddenly missing her late husband, Eugene. She began to lose herself in a memory when she heard a shriek from across the room. Putzina had killed another rat.
Sveta sighed, suddenly missing her late husband, Eugene. She began to lose herself in a memory when she heard a shriek from across the room. Putzina had killed another rat.
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