A Difference in Time and Place

Twenty-five years ago I would’ve considered what happened last Friday just a case of bad timing. A runner or jogger was struck by a car, and the driver was allegedly intoxicated at the time of this accident. 

Twenty-five years ago I was also an alcoholic who thought it had to have been the other person’s fault. That she ran out into the street causing this poor driver to lose control, swerve into a tree and hit the runner to avoid hitting her directly. And, that he had to flee the scene to get his thoughts gathered. 

Now that I’m over twenty years sober, I’m seeing everything differently now. Now I’m seeing this as much a case of making horrible choices and poor judgements. This seventeen-year-old boy, who either stole the alcohol or had an older person buy it for him, knew full well the consequences that would result. 

The accident itself was early Friday morning at 5:30. The victim was a well-known person in the Spokane community with ties to numerous local clubs and agencies, including CFO for CHAS health a local co-op that serves the needy, homeless and ALICE residents in Spokane. 

I’ll let my own readers draw their own conclusions on whether this was more than a mere hit and run involving an underaged drinker and a woman jogging in a quiet residential neighborhood.  

Tommy’s First Month: A New Beginning in His Forever Home

The Joys, Surprises, and Small Victories of Welcoming Tommy 

There’s a special kind of anticipation that fills a house in the days leading up to welcoming a new family member. For us, that excitement was palpable as we prepared for Tommy’s arrival with deep, curious eyes and a tail that seemed to wag with hope itself. After months of waiting, paperwork, and countless dreams of what life would soon become, Tommy finally came home. Now, reflecting on his first month, I’m overwhelmed by the transformation we’ve witnessed, both in Tommy and in ourselves. 

Day 1: The First Welcome

 As I mentioned  through the point of view of my parrot, Elsa, Tommy was a bountiful ball of energy and curiosity. He had to check everything out. One month later, he’s still checking everything out.  

Upon reading online about cats in this age range—six, now seven months old—we’re talking about an animal in its adolescent stage of development. He is quite playful, and desires much attention from me and Elsa, who I believe would rather I’d gotten a bird for her to befriend than another cat. 

Week 2

Three weeks ago we visited the vet to get him a variety of medicines, topical ointments for ticks and fleas, and vaccine shots. I went again this past week, and he got another booster and was told he needed one more to compensate for the one given him three weeks ago. The vet assured me it would be his last one for two years. I’m sure Tommy liked that more than me, though it cost me in the pocketbook. 

Taste of the Outdoors

 The day following his shots he got his first taste of the outdoors. As for anything new, there was that moment of reluctance on his part whether he really wanted to go outside. He found some tall grass  leaves that he decided to nibble on and then just stepped out and down the steps from my trailer. He cautiously went about sniffing everything around him. He didn’t venture far though and went back inside after maybe five minutes.  

Throughout the day though, he went out again two more times, staying out just a little longer each time until I let him in for the evening. He was plenty tired and slept pretty much throughout the night. He got up occasionally to graze on his kibbles or drink water out of his dish or use the litter box. 

Yesterday I let him out before  leaving for work and he stayed pretty much underneath the trailer until I got home after four. He was definitely happy to see me, and so was Cato, my stepdaughter’s cat. He too is a tom and was remarkably close to Cosmo. He missed him dearly, which was why I got Tommy in the first place. 

At any rate, I slowly introduced the two and now are good pals who play all the time. He also likes to eat Tommy’s food. I don’t mind but I think my stepdaughter does since her concern is the different  diet Cato has in his home opposed to the kibbles I feed Tommy. 

Today, I did the same thing, letting Tommy outside when I left for work. Cato was looking over a mound that I assumed was a recently dug burrow belonging to some rather large rodent such as a gopher or Marmet. Tommy immediately beelined to where Cato was, and I went off to work. This evening when I got home they were both sitting on the steps leading inside the trailer waiting patiently to be let in. 

Idiosyncrasies

Tommy’s personality is incredibly unique. He talks all the time and expects me to answer his questions. I see what happens to what he wants or thinks he needs. For the most part he seems to want to ask me about my day. Then there are those times when he wants something: playfulness, pets and rubs, or food that I’m making for myself.  

He thinks that my sleep patterns should be like his. I generally am in bed by nine, but he has gotten his second wind by now and wants to play. Then after ten or fifteen minutes he’ll settle down.  

After my early morning potty routine, Tommy thinks it’s play time again, in which case he’ll attack my hands or feet, not meaning to bite down hard but on occasion he does, and I promptly punish him for that. 

Then at 4:30 he thinks I’ve slept long enough and it’s time for that ball of boundless energy to go running about my bed and meowing at me to get up and go to work. I’ve never experienced a cat like Tommy. Cosmo was quite laid back in comparison. 

Maybe A Solution

I go through Spokane on occasion because I still have appointments to keep. 

The other day I drove by apartments that were vacated because they were drug dens, and many people were fed up with these residences. 

The consequence? More homelessness than ever. The issues about the war on drugs now has turned into  a housing crisis. I’d like to offer a solution though I am sure I will get many people opposed to this. 

This issue is in trying to rid our city of the bad apples we ended up punishing those who were mostly innocent who were unfortunately enough to be living at the wrong place. I knew this was going to happen. It happened in other cities too, such as Seattle and Portland, Oregon. 

It is no fault of those tenants who were evicted because their neighbors chose to be addicts. Rather than punish everyone, the authorities should have just kicked those bad elements out and not have to punish the innocents. 

Anyway, the solution is to reopen those closed up apartments, as well as those unused office space on multi-level businesses in the main city center and have available rooms and apartments for these homeless people. 

Now, there would have to be policies in placed such as being employed, clean and sober, and no active crime records on their applications. 

Building new apartments just aren’t cutting it when it’s apparent they will be outpriced for the homeless and even those who live in housing now because of what these developers expect to charge these future tenants. 

I pay over two thousand dollars a month for my mortgage. I can just imagine what these property management companies are expecting from future tenants who most likely will have to take home at least high five-figure income to afford to live in these places. 

In my proposal the housing would have to be subsidized through FHA, VA, and SNAP. Of course now that the present administration is in control, it’s unlikely any of this is going to happen anytime soon. 

Granted this country has always had the issues of homelessness and poverty. We always had people who were drug dependent, flaunted the law or were unrepentant criminals with no redeeming values that lives among us.  

It makes no sense for any property management company, let alone a city to punish all just to make some point that they are helping to fight the war on drugs. It’s a lose lose proposition. 

Unfortunate News

I think this all started, I think by a man who shot a horse. Then it has seemingly spiraled out of control from there. 

Sunday was probably the worst, though there have been other incidents too. The incident of a father killing his three young daughters, comes to mind. Then two weeks ago on Fathers’ Day. There a motorcyclist was ran into by a man who also tried car jacking another car and shot an Idaho man who had a permit to carry a firearm. 

Now this incident has no rhyme or reason. Three firefighters, who responded to an intentionally started brush fire were shot, two of them died on scene, and third fighting for his life. 

It’s not uncommon in this area to see something like this in a year’s time. What has blown my mind, probably most everyone else too, was that all four-incidents occurred within weeks of each other.  

My objection was how inhumane people seemingly have gotten lately: killing three young girls, shooting a horse, going on a road rage rampage, and ambushing first responders. It seems if there is a motive involved is that these men all have some mental defect that may or may not present itself once the truth is revealed.  

The horse shooting incident has me especially worried because most future serial killers begin their journey killing family pets and goes on from there. So the future of our area may well be predicted in the next ten or fifteen years from now. 

Yes, I wish that we lived in an idyllic world of peace, harmony, and love, but unfortunately that’s an ideal that may well be outside the realm of reality. God bless the victims.

More About Assumptions

The other day I got a handful of mail from my son-in-law Nicolas. Two that caught my eye were from a couple of groups I wasn’t aware of even existed. So, I read them and promptly threw both into the trash.  

Apparently after I gift a bequest on behalf of Uncle Hal who passed away last January to the VFW, I was thrown into this mailing list. I guess their thinking being that I too was a Conservative of like mind as my uncle was. That couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Both were pro Trump pitches that asked my opinion and to sign some petition on another praising his agenda to ban DEI and mass deport all brown-skinned illegal aliens taking away white American jobs. 

If they knew the real Jerry Schellhammer, they wouldn’t have bothered wasting postage and copy paper for me. The result would have been the same; round file. I was both insulted and offended by the language that was blatantly racist in its intent. 

I considered writing them a friendly, or not so friendly letter back detailing my wokeness, my liberal bias, my belief in treating everyone fairly as I would like to be treated. These direct marketing PACs or whatever they claimed to be should have done some research on me first, bought and read A Man’s Passion, This Life: My Life After My Stroke, and my other books and short stories and blogs, and realized I’m not what they assumed I was. 

Backward Running Clock, Revisited

Tock…Tick…Tock…Tick… 

The dream returned but different. The dream where Momma doesn’t care if I look into the sun anymore. Momma is but a distant memory.  She blew her mind out in a crash; didn’t wake up to avoid the collision. 

I walked into a car and fell into a dream and looked at the hazy sky. I walked along a cloud that rained upon the people below. They melted. 

Why do you suppose that is? I asked myself as I drove to my sister’s place in Oregon, far, far away from here. But where is it here? Does anybody know? Does anybody care? I looked into the rain. The sun took a day off. 

I saw my sister visiting Mother. They were having tea and scones gossiping about me and Dad. They pretended not to notice me. “Oh, I know all too well about his games,” she told her. They laughed. “Oh, there you are,” My sister said. “It’s time to go camping. Do you have your license?” 

I looked at her and then I looked at Mother. She appeared young like she was in her thirties. I’m in my sixties. My sister is in her fifties. Dad isn’t in the room yet. Maybe he already left. “I left my license at my trailer,” I replied feeling foolish. 

“See what I mean,” she told Mother. “He’s always forgetful just like you used to be before that day when you weren’t with us. Now, you’re here!” 

“I’ll be back,” I promised her.  

Ding…Ding…Ding… 

My Marketing Interview for I Albert Peabody

My loyal readers, I have an interview conducted with Logan Crawford, shown live on Friday June 13, 2025. While I’m not the best participant in this question and answer forum, I’m sure you will get the gist of what the book I Albert Peabody: Confessions of a Serial Killer, is about. 

Thank you all for your support throughout my writing journey. 

Not Another One! 

Elsa here. You know the Amazon parrot master Jerry is so enamored over? Anyway, he did it again. The third time in three years he goes and gets himself a cat! A cat! C-A-T! Crazy right? 

I thought I heard a commotion last week when Master Jerry had gone out telling me that cat named Cosmo, he had a writing meeting to attend. Cosmo left too leaving me alone as the late afternoon slowly became night and darkness filled the trailer and outside. 

I thought I distinctly heard coyotes outside in the back just before Master Jerry came home. Then I heard him calling for Cosmo, numerous times but he never came. It was a bittersweet time for me. I got used to the cat and just knew deep inside something terribly tragic occurred, but Master Jerry I supposed concluded this as well. 

The following week, he arrives home and brings in a container with something inside. My worse fears were soon realized the moment he unzipped the opening and out comes a small cat; more kitten than an adult.  

“Elsa this is Ducky, Ducky this is your new home and that’s Elsa.” He introduced us but I was feeling every bit upset that he would go and do this. I thought he loved only me. Not cats! This one came bounding over to me, intent I’m certain that he wanted to attack and eat me. Fortunately for him, I was securely locked inside my cage, or he would get a taste of my wrath, by golly. 

I could see that he resembled Cosmo to a tee except for his size of course, seeing this little fellow was still a kitten. Same gray and black striped design, same yellow eyes. He tried valiantly to swat at me with his exposed nail paws, but to no avail.  

To show I wasn’t afraid, I lounged back at him with my open beak, daring him to get inside. Oh, how I wanted him inside! Master Jerry merely watched me and him—Ducky—pointing his cellphone camera thing at us and taking pictures while he laughed at us, as though this episode was humorous.  

IT’S NOT FUNNY!!! 

Eight Lives Short

The Hunting Ground 

One evening Ms. Coyote told her worthless husband, Wile E Coyote, “I’m hungry!” She was pregnant with her tenth litter, due any day now. 

“Yes dear, rabbit, quail, or…” He purposefully left it hanging for her to decide. 

“Cat, a nice, domesticated cat,” she replied, her opened jaw salivating with craving. “Your babies wants a cat to feed on. They are so tasty.” 

“Yes dear, a cat,” Wile replied and left the dank, dingy den and searched for the neighbors’ cats that abounded in this rural part of civilization. He met up with his two brothers who were also on a quest and their wives also wanted a cat for supper tonight. 

“I don’t know about you guys, but my wife is really demanding lately,” Wile commented as they snuck around barns and garages, clandestinely searching for a cat or three since it was that many of them with their wives waiting oh so patiently for them to return. 

“Yeah, but I can’t say no to Trudy,” Ralph told Wile. 

“Wilma would kill me,” Fred agreed. “No, really, she would definitely kill me, then tell our pups it’s a new type of cat.” 

The moon was hidden tonight, though clear with many stars, too many to count, not that they could, mind you as they continued their trek over acres and acres of land with houses and barns and other such buildings they noiselessly roamed. 

“Shh, up there behind that garage. See him?” Wile he stopped and caught sight of a young tom just out of kitten phase, 

“What’s he doing?” Fred whispered to his older brother. 

“Apparently he’s looking to pounce on one of those mice there in that pile of garbage the humans discarded,” Wile replied, staring at the cat crouched and apparently ready to attack a mouse chewing on some kind of food scrap the humans had no use for. 

“Watch and learn,” Ralph told his siblings as he reared back and launched his thin body in one bound toward the cat. The cat just then did the same thing not realizing the coyote was within a whisker of being devoured. 

The fact that he missed his excellent opportunity didn’t go unpunished by his brothers who joined in the attack and Wile ended up with the prize though not without the customary badges of courage that went with it. No cat he has ever taken went down without a fight. 

This one was no exception as it turned, snarled, and reared back, slashing its razor-sharp claws into Wile’s muzzle, sensitive nose, ears, and scruff, before he bit hard into the tom and rendered it dead as it gave a final gasp of breath. 

“Honey, I’m home,” Wile told his pregnant wife as he drug the cat in and displayed it to her like a trophy. 

“Oh you are good for something after all. Go ahead and wash yourself up. I’ll leave you the innards.” 

RIP Cosmo