As I have learned over the years, it’s best to be an early morning riser with a cat, so, at seven o’clock, I had taken Junko and Mochi out for a run. My little, black kitty-cat, Junko, enjoys our early morning walks just as much as Mochi, my speckled Australian sheepdog. And, as usual, on our way home we stop at the mailbox.
When Junko wears out, he climbs up onto my shoulders to rest. As I open the mailbox Junko swats his paw out in front of me, clips his nails onto one of the letters. I let him keep it as we jog back home; I had let Mochi run a head of us off leash. We live out in the middle of nowhere, acres of my land are nothing but miles upon miles of trees, which if you can imagine in this day and age can be a hassle to own. So, when Mochi runs off ahead I am not worried, she knows to stay on the dirt road and to avoid any wild animals, especially after she tried to make friends with a pissed off skunk.
As I was jogging back to the house, a truck pulls up next to me, I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. Like I said before, this property is a hassle to own because every few days, I get one or two visitors asking to use my land. There have been hunters, loggers and land developers on my front porch since the day I moved in. I keep thinking it would be best to just put up a sign on the main road telling people to piss off.
The man rolls down his window and sticks his head out, he looks down his nose at me and with a thick redneck-western ascent he says, “you’s the owner of this here land?”
“Yes,” I say trying to be as polite as possible.
“We is wondering if you’d be willing to let us hunt here. We’d stay far away from the house.”
I inwardly cringe, “No sir,” I grit my teeth. “I don’t allow anybody to hunt on my property, I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here.”
“Please ma’am, we’s be very careful to stay clear of your home,” this little kid from the front seat leans over smiling eagerly.
“Sorry, I allow no one to hunt, not even my uncles who complain every time they come to visit.”
“That’s a shame,” the older man says. “I thanks you for your time, ma’am.”
No sooner do I start jogging again than does the driver make a violent U-turn, kicking up dirt and rock, I was lucky to have gotten out of the way, but this was a common reaction from most of the people who ask to use my property.
By the time I get home, I’m out of breath. What I want to do is throw myself down onto the porch swing, it had to be the most comfortable furnishing I owned, and it’s where I spend half my day. The long couch is like a bowl that swallows me up in its heavenly soft pillows. First, I set Junko down on the couch, his claws snagging on my shirt not wanting to let go just yet. I lay down on the couch, sinking into the soft pillows, Junko rests on my head and Mochi who has been waiting patiently doesn’t hesitate to jump on top of me and lay down on my stomach.
“Mochi,” I say while giving him a scratch between the ears, “you’re too big to be doing this.”
I pull out the mail from the pock of my windbreaker and looking through it. Junk mail mostly, the bank trying to sell me insurance and a letter saying I had payed my taxes this year. Satisfied with it I set that aside to file away later, paper can be wasteful but it’s a legally comforting hard copy. I tug at the last letter sitting at my head, Junko’s claws still clucking at it.
“Junko, give,” I say, and Junko retracts his claws.
I rip open the letter, but there’s no letter the only thing that falls out is a key. A key with a locker number 21665. The return address is Toronto, just Toronto which lucky was the lovely city I live outside of.
I sit up and googling lock smiths on my android I find my first stop would be Sure Locks on 1045 Avenue.
Did you enjoy my ongoing story so far? Please let me know what you think by leaving a review! Thanks, Emma McMillanWrite a Review