ThingsPondered

A story of a bachelor’s induction into cat fatherhood

Sammy’s mother had already chosen me.  Mysterious-looking in her tabby raiment, she was an alley gal who suddenly appeared at the door of the restaurant I lived above.  After she figured out how to get into my third floor rooms, the staff decided she was mine.  I named her Fritzie, after the cook.

Fortunately, I had advisors on the ways of the domestic feline, for I had never owned a cat.  As a team, we set her up with a basket for a bed, food, and toilet accommodations.  Fritzie was a sweet girl who quietly enriched my life with her presence.  Cautious presence, that is.  Apparently, she must have been mistreated by people and was wary of me approaching her.  Yet, she was the one who selected my life and, all in all, she seemed to be thriving.

Thriving, indeed.  Fritzie was swelling.  The first educated guess was – God no – worms.  A vet was able to examine her and happily eliminate that possibility.  Concurrently, the reason for Fritzie’s changes revealed itself.  She was on the nest.  Or the litter box.  In other words, my little vixen was pregnant.

At the appointed time, the litter was delivered.   As the kittens grew, they started to move around and do those “kitten things:” chasing each other, practicing their leaps.  I had no plans to keep any of the kittens, but…there was one little fellow, Sammy, attired with white boots.  I found that appealing and also comfortingly reminiscent of family legends regarding my grandfather’s cat, “Boots.”

Once, as I sat watching TV with a plastic tumbler of water at my side, Sammy leaped up and grasped the cup.  Mind you, the proportions were as comical as you or me trying to embrace the bulbous reservoir of a water tower.  Of course, he couldn’t really get a claw-hold. As I steadied the wobbling tumbler, slightly lifting it from the table in the process, Sam steadily and slowly slid down and off – just like a cartoon kitty – falling all the way to the floor.  Unfazed, he gleefully bounded off to his next adventure (and into my heart.)

A few days later, Fritzie’s brood romped about my apartment.  Now fully weaned, they used a cut- down cardboard shipping box for their quarters.  Because its sides were about eight inches high, gaining entry to the box provided a playful challenge for the kittens.  One of Sammy’s siblings took a running start and, like a high jumper, made her attempt.  She got her front paws over the sides of the cardboard barrier, intent on pulling herself up and over.  Sammy, with all the wild abandon and joy of a successful linebacker, rushed and sacked her.  They both toppled outside the box, delightedly wrestling and chortling.

The deal was clinched.  Sammy stays.

For these heartwarming recollections, many thanks go to Pete Souders, former owner of Ortlieb’s Jazzhaus in Northern Liberties for two glorious decades.

During the wonderful gathering of jazz musicians to the March Mecca in Berks County (also known as Berks Jazz Fest), one of the regularly scheduled concerts is by an armed forces jazz band.  This year it was the Army Jazz Ambassadors, one of the four performing units of the United States Army Field Band.  This tight group of twenty musicians and four roadies pitched an intense, high energy concert.

Professionalism?  Technical competence? They’ve got it. For example, if the score contained alternate double-dotted eighth notes with thirty-second rests, believe me, with this band you would hear the space between each sounded note.  Also, their interpretive and expressive skills are evident, although sometimes a little too controlled.

Each member of the ensemble is headliner proficiency, so all solos are a real treat to hear.  The drummer is worthy of special mention – often leading off a number, he is a perpetual energy machine and great fun to watch.  Also fun to watch were some of the more emotionally expressive band members, with their feet briskly tapping and their faces beaming their delight in the music being made.  

The program covered a variety of the jazz genres and eras, from “I’ll Be Seeing You” to a jazz treatment of “Rainy Days and Mondays.”   I must confess that my favorites for the program were both Mary Lou Williams tunes: “Big Jim Blues” and “Rosa Mae.”

The band’s music director/MC  mentioned their website which includes links for legal downloads to some of the night’s tunes and many others.  I also appreciate its links to the other military service concert bands.  It’s worth checking at www.armyfieldband.com. 

If this band rolls into your area, they’ll provide a stimulating night out.

I had trouble understanding how a Berks Jazz Fest 2009 event belonged at a national historic site of an iron-making community which operated from 1771 to 1883.     I mean, there wasn’t even ragtime as these early citizens of the republic went about their daily lives.  They were the contra dance people, not the swing dancers.

However, all was explained after the Exeter Community Band (an under-rated gem of a group) wowed the crowd with its first few numbers.  Park Superintendent Edie Shean-Hammond informed the band and the audience that the Hopewell Furnace National Historic Site property was purchased by the federal government to become a “Recreation Demonstration Area” through the Work Projects Administration (WPA).  Restoration work was performed by the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC), so those men definitely would have been living at the time that jazz selections similar to those being performed by the Exeter Community Band were popular.  In addition, Ms. Shean-Hammond stated, World War II servicemen (more jazz listeners) worked on the site.  Therefore, she felt very confident that the spirits of those men were present and appreciative of the music.

Therefore, jazz does belong at Hopewell Furnace.  Perhaps it is not germane to the iron plantation days, but it is a part of the total story of this historic American site.