Walking the neighborhoods through side streets and back alleys in the ‘60’s, I loved the monotony of my childhood . Through the rustic windows of the past I regularly saw sandstone carved from coral and ifit wood backgrounds as other children peered out from beneath the old chairs at their feet. I could not imagine where my parents were in that Volkswagen car and at some women’s prayer group somewhere. My dress tattered from the brush so worried me knowing the Rinso Blue at home was locked in the pantry and could not wash it before my angry parents saw it. “Love Potion #9” was all I could hear ringing in my ears and knowing what a naughty girl I’ve been. Maybe my parents could remember what good grades I’ve been having — straight A’s — since entering the first grade. I had a dream the other night that the gate to my house closed and locked and all the bedroom doors shut and that I wouldn't ever get home.
I prayed the Prayer to St. Michael the Archangel to protect me every night before I sleep.
Maria: “Jesus, please have mercy on a troubled world! My cat won’t respond ‘cause I refuse to give him anything. He wants more and more…But all I know is ‘no’ right now!”
Ghost: “I’ll let him know, Maria, please don’t worry. Cats are finicky eaters. They need exactly what they need and no more; unlike human beings who think and know. He’ll be okay.”
Mara: “Please don’t kill him, God!”
Ghost: “I’ll let him know in his special cat language and I'll take him to the Vet and fix him up. He should be alright by the time you awake in the morning”
by JESUS CHAMELEON, fr. The Marianas, Guam, U.S.A.
