The Red Suitcase (Denver to Grand Junction)
The night was long and I was unable to stretch out with Joyce curled up in the seat next to me. Finally I fell asleep, though my feet and legs were cramped and my shoulder was against the cold wall of the train. I was restless and that’s when my dream woman reappeared and my thoughts poured out in verse.
Though you are more fair than my fondest dreams,
You have captured my heart, it seems,
Not because of your raven hair with glossy sheen,
Nor is it your lithe suppleness, trim and lean,
Perhaps your hypnotic dark eyes could hold me still,
And I could search their depths until I had my fill,
But not for long,

At that moment my verse was interrupted. Joyce had stretched out against me, her body seeking warmth. It had been many nights since I had appreciated a woman’s warmth and smell and as Joyce settled against me I relaxed and enjoyed the moment, or all the moments I had until dawn.
Joyce awoke at the third intercom call for breakfast. She stretched, looked at me and smiled happily, and gave me a hug. “I want you to come visit me sometime,” she said. “I have a guest room you can stay in, or you can share my bed.”
Her eyes fixed on my face, waiting for my reaction, anticipating a “yes” answer.
“I’ll have to see what’s happening at my house. Then, I’ll talk about visiting you.”
It was not the answer she wanted. She turned away, her eyes teary. After a moment she faced me again. “Just don’t forget me. Give me a call and tell me what’s going on in your life. Write to me. Write about me. Keep in touch. I still have a few hours left on this train. Let’s enjoy some time together.”
We ate breakfast in the dining car and then went to the observation car. The car was already filling up. One person gestured to her friends excitedly as she explained the city that was coming up. She urged her friends to get in position for sightseeing. We overheard her conversation and moved to the observation windows. We waited in anticipation and crowded against the windows, trying to get a better view of the scene. Before us, stretching across the horizon, were scores of houses, large buildings, and green fields.
“The city you see is Denver, the mile high city,” a voice announced over the intercom. Denver is one of the prettiest cities in the U.S.,” he said proudly. After a few seconds the voice continued, “I am a little prejudiced. This is where I live when I’m not working.”
As we surveyed the landscape, the train snaked its way down from the mountain and to the outskirts of Denver. The train slowed to a stop. Some passengers got off while newcomers boarded and settled in. I returned to my assigned seat. Sean was waiting.
“O.K., Mr. Professor. I want to know your secret with women. They talk to you, ask you questions, come and sit beside you, and invite you to come home with them. What’s your secret? I try really hard to attract women and I haven’t been very successful. So, what’s up?”
How could I tell Sean that I was not so good with women myself? In fact, I was a loser in regards to love and women. I had lost in the past and I might be going home to emptiness. What made him think I had my act together?
“Sean,” I said. “You have to let women talk to you. Ask them questions. Don’t give any solutions to problems. Women want to work out their own answers. If you bluntly give out any answers you won’t be appreciated. Just go with the flow and listen. Be honest when you tell them something, but not too curt. Women take the scenic route when talking, while men take shortcuts to the answers. For women the journey is more important than the goal. With men, it’s just the opposite. Now, if you’re thoroughly confused, I’ve explained it properly.”
Sean looked at me puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
“You weren’t wired to understand women. So just relax and enjoy. Having two ways of looking at things just makes the world more interesting.”
“Just relax and enjoy,” he muttered over and over. “That sounds too simple. I’ll think about what you said.” He reached out and shook my hand. “I’m getting off at the next stop. It’s been a pleasure talking to you.”
This was a different Sean than the one I had witnessed earlier. Maybe some things were beginning to click. “Sean, take care of your uncle. Good luck on finding him.”
Sean picked up his suitcase and moved to the staircase. He hesitated, then turned and waved. He went downstairs where he could wait by the door. When the train stopped, he stepped down. I saw him walk briskly up the sidewalk until he was out of sight.
Joyce came and sat beside me again. She snuggled up beside me. “I get off at Grand Junction,” she whispered. “If you want to see me, just call.” She gave me a slip of paper. It contained her name, address, and two phone numbers. I put it in my pocket. “You’ll be the first one I call if I need someone.”
At Grand Junction the train stopped for ten minutes and we both got off. I walked her into the station. She called a taxi and waited. I boarded the train again without looking back. Life was too complicated right now to add another person. Another time, another place, the story might have gone a different direction. But this time there was no romance for me. I needed to return and try to patch things up.
Joyce had inspired me to write. I got out my journal and began.
If You Want Love I’ll Give You Love
Come to me and I’ll give you warmth,
If you want love, I’ll give you love,
I’ll meet your needs and leave you waiting for me,
But if you ask me to stay I will not answer,
For to answer would be to lie,
Come rest by my side for awhile,
I’ll give you warmth and I’ll give you love,
But my smile will be a fleeting smile,
I cannot tie my heart down, for it’s wild and free,
I have escaped the hunter’s snare and pulled her dart from my side,
I will not be wounded again,
But I will give you of my love, all that I can give,
And I will give you of my warmth,
But do not ask me to stay,
For my heart is a restless heart and I must not stop for long,
I will press your soft flesh next to mine,
And drink deeply of your eyes,
I will caress your check and listen to your sighs,
I will share your intimate moments,
Your thoughts will be my thoughts,
My heart, my love, I will give to you, but only for awhile,
I will not have my heart wrapped in strings,
Nor will I be trapped again,
But I will give you warmth,
And if you want love I’ll give you love.

Two women came quickly from the next car. “Help us,” they said to me. “We’re being followed by a strange boy. He won’t leave us alone.”
A young teenager stepped into our car. He headed towards the women. I stood up and faced him. “Stop right where you are. Leave these women alone.” He considered me for a moment and then posed. By posing, I meant he stopped where he was and flexed, much like the god, Mercury. He must have thought his pose would distract me for he tried it several times. Each time though, I would step closer while he would back away. Finally he conceded and left.
“Thank you so much. He’s been bothering us for hours and we couldn’t get rid of him.” They sat down in the empty seat in front of me. “We’ll wait here for a few minutes. Maybe he’ll go away.”
Across the aisle Rhonda was stirring, slowly awakening from a deep sleep. She appeared to be talking to someone but I could see no one near her. “I’ll do it,” she said, “if you’ll leave me alone for awhile.”

Luckily, my barn is off from the road and I don’t yet have a problem with people dumping cats.  But over the years there have been a few stray cats who have made appearances.  Most moved on rather quickly.  John would always say, “Don’t feed them.”

I complied to some extent.  I figure a weary soul deserves a meal, but I didn’t make it a habit to feed the strays.  Back when Stray Grey first showed up, I would occasionally put out dry food for our cats in the barn or garage.  This practice was halted when I found a young opossum in the garage!!!!

Stray Grey decided to stay.  At first he was but a fleeting grey tabby shadow and would disappear whenever he saw you.

Stray Grey- exit stage right

Eventually, he lingered longer.  Over time he became my faithful barn helper.  He’d follow several feet behind me and talk to me with his deep gravely voice.

I’d never had a cat pick me.  Stray Grey’s interaction with people seemed to be quite limited… he obviously was not somebody’s pet.  He kept his distance and he didn’t trust humans.

I so looked forward to seeing my tabby friend.  We had a bond…. separated by a few feet… but a bond nonetheless.

If you got too close, he’d hiss and show his teeth.  He looked so fierce.  But he never ever tried to bite.

Stray Grey- looking fierce

Stray Grey- "Too close!"

He loved to sleep in the garage on the cat bed.  It was always such a treat to see him there.

Stray Grey on "his" bed

It became clear that he had picked Leaky Creek to be his home and me to be his human.  John didn’t protest and I think he looked forward to seeing him.  Stray Grey didn’t live long enough to grow to trust John.  John wasn’t bothered by it.

I have a rule with the strays, I have to be able to touch them before they earn their name.  Stray Grey let me touch him on a few occasions, but he never welcomed my touch.  Poor cat would cringe and on the rare occasion where I stroked his coat, he saw no pleasure in it.

I decided not to violate our trust and backed off.  I dreamed of the day when we’d cross the hurdle and Stray Grey would sit in my lap or come to me for attention.  Sadly, that day remains in my dreams… I hope that up in Heaven he’s met up with John and is getting his pets.

But, Stray Grey earned his name.  I always liked the name Toby for an animal.  So, he became Toby.  I think John thought that Toby was a dumb name.  He continued to call him Stray Grey.

Then came the horrible day when I opened the door to go feed and there was Toby sitting in the garage waiting for me and there was blood everywhere.  I was shocked.  It’s hard to evaluate injuries on an animal that you can’t handle.  My assumption was that he’d been in a fight.  It looked like his testicles had been shredded.

I didn’t even know where to turn to for treatment of a stray.  I called Doctor Foster and he said, if I could catch him and get him in here, he’d treat him.

Therein lay the problem…

For days we tried to catch him.  We did have him trapped in the garage.  John even got a live trap from the humane society and we tried to coax him in with food.  My friend, Erin, and I had a very ill fated attempt which ended up with a wild bleeding cat loose in the house.  Luckily, John was home and put his firefighter common sense to the task and we soon had him back in the garage.  Most men would have yelled and screamed.  John obviously wasn’t pleased that I’d let Toby get inside, but he handled the situation and dropped the issue.  Finally in desperation,  as Toby was getting weaker and sicker.  John suggested a snare.  He didn’t want to hurt Toby, but it was getting down to critical point.  Either we caught him and got him to the vet or he was going to die.

John fashioned the snare and we caught Toby.  Toby got loose.  John re-worked the snare and caught him again.  We loaded him into the cat carrier easily and got him to the vet.

Dr. Foster said he’d call us after he examined him.

In the previous post… I told you how compassionately Dr. Foster handled the situation.  It appeared as if Toby had been attacked by something.  It had basically ripped out his whole hind end… testicles, rectum, intestines.  The vet tech later told John that he’d never seen such injuries.

Dr. Foster offered us the opportunity to have Toby cremated.  Not thinking about it being February and concerned over the bill, I decided against it.

John always took care of things.  I’ll never forget how he insisted on overseeing his mother’s body placed in the body bag.  He wanted to make sure Ann was properly taken care of and handled properly.  He took care of the things I couldn’t handle.  He had a year earlier retrieved our other cat’s body and buried him.  John was my rock.  Being a firefighter he was used to handling things that the public never saw and he protected me from a lot of things.  I knew I could count on him when I needed him to be there.

John went and picked up Toby’s body.  I had told the vet that Toby was to come home to be buried.  Toby was a stray and he picked me and picked our farm to be his home.  We had a level of trust and an understanding and a bond.  Toby needed to come home…

Then for the irony.  After John brought Toby’s body home, I posted online that Toby had been euthanized.  I had posted trying to get suggestions on how to catch him.  Well, somebody replied that his injuries sounded like a raccoon had gotten a hold of him.

Not more than 15 minutes after reading that, I spotted some creature by the trees.  I called John.  We confirmed that it wasn’t a fox.  John went and got the gun.  Once he was sure it wasn’t a cat, he pulled the trigger.  One dead raccoon.  It had been nosing around a pile of bird feathers.

Toby died, but his death may have very well saved our barn cats’ lives.

John HATED to shoot things.  But, John was our protector.  He protected our animals and he protected his family… like any good man would do.

In this case John was glad the raccoon was dead!  I think it was the only thing that he was glad he killed.  Toby may have been my cat, but John was fond of him, too.

John went out to dig the grave only to discover that the ground was frozen solid.  John tried for a few days.  Good thing the temperature kept Toby “refrigerated.”  Finally, John went to Home Depot and rented some sort of “chisel pounder thing” and was able to dig the hole and we buried Toby.  I’ll also always remember how John decided to wrap Toby’s body in his cat bed pillow cover.  It was just so fitting.  John was always like that… he knew the right things to do at the right times.

John handled Toby’s escape into the house and his death and burial fiasco with such compassion.  Never was Toby “MY” cat.  Never was Toby a “stupid cat.”  John recognized that Toby was terrified, hurt, in pain, and afraid and he treated him with compassion.

Toby’s death devastated me- I never knew how much my buddy had taken hold of my heart.  Days later and even weeks later, I would think I’d hear his gravely voice when I went into the garage and went to feed.  I look for a cat and not see one.  I told myself that I was imagining things.  After my more recent experiences, I think maybe it wasn’t just in my head.

John was a cat lover… hopefully up there in Heaven he’s got Buttons, Salem, Spook, Kit Kat, and Stray Grey to keep him company.  And it’s Heaven, so they all get along!

Most men would have gotten angry and frustrated over trying to capture the cat and trying to bury him.  Most men would have yelled or screamed (I can’t said that some profanity didn’t come out of John’s mouth because it probably did).  Many men would have walked away.  Most men wouldn’t have done all of that for a stray cat… his wife’s stray cat on top it.  A cat that ran from him.   But… John wasn’t most men…