Friday, March 30, 2007
Okay, Now I Really, Really Did Win Something
Just last week with tongue in cheek, I posted about winning one of those infernal E-mail Yahoo-account-cloggin’ contests. I think y’all knew I was kidding, didn’t you?
Yesterday, the lady from the Montgomery Humane Society called me up to let me know I’d won first place in the “Through the Cat’s Eye” contest that they were putting on as a silent auction fundraiser. I had to ask her to repeat what she said for I hardly call my painting style “art.” It’s painting. But painting the bathroom is also painting and I don’t call that “art."
I’ve been doing a lot more painting of the bathroom kind lately, and “Butch,” as I dubbed my work, was actually completed a couple of years ago. What with getting ready to move and all, I thought he needed a home. When I saw the call for entries article in the local paper, I said, “I’m taking ‘Butch’ to the Humane Society.” And that dear gentle readers, is how I actually won 1st place at a juried art show.
Scotty and I walked onto the hallowed grounds of the Montgomery Country Club, my first and probably last time there, to attend the reception. Visions of F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald and grand parties of the Jazz Age entered my head. These icons of that decadent period met at a dance at the Montgomery Country Club while Fitzgerald was stationed at nearby Camp Sheridan. They even lived in Montgomery for a few months when they weren’t gallivanting around the world with the likes of Ernest Hemingway.
It was a pleasant evening. I collected my little check and looked at the other entries (none like my folk art) and went home with the knowledge that the old cat was good for something after all.
P.S. Butch was a real cat. Bill and I acquired him while living on 13th St. in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. We were University of Alabama college students at the time, and Butch became a part of us that we couldn't or wouldn't let go of even though there was no real reason to keep him around. He was too ornery to foist off onto someone else, even a cat lady.
He'd jump out and scratch Bill and hide under the bed when Bill chased him with a broom. When little Jeff tried to pet Butch, Butch gave him a scar that he still sports on his face. Butch wasn't a lap cat, didn't catch mice, ate and pooped like cats do and for the life of me, I can't imagine why we kept him around. He was too mean to die and lived until he was 19 years old. I'm convinced he's in the equivalent of where bad people go. Well, if you are sentimental, maybe all cats do go to heaven. But he had an attitude. "You pull my tail, kid, I'm gonna get you." Maybe that's why we tolerated each other.