Gusto
From the comfy, dim living room, familiar, ever-changing sounds of the television. All the national parades being over with, and the football games starting (or about to start). All the pageantry and relaxation. All the sounds of chatter. The males (all otters) in there, on the couch and chairs.
The femmes were in the kitchen.
"No, dear, I'll do that. You needn't dirty your paws."
Ketchy looked up, her short, angular ears swiveling, her muzzle giving an honest smile. "Honestly, it doesn't bother me," she told Denali's mother. "They're just potatoes. I cook all the time," she assured.
"Pretty little thing like you shouldn't be peeling potatoes," was all the older, female otter said. Her rudder tail hanging low behind her, almost brushing the floor.
"She's right, you know," said Rhine, the wife of one of Denali's brothers. Which brother, though ... not Danube, no. Orinoco. Yeah ... funny, though, all them being named after rivers. Save for Denali. Named for a mountain, instead. Ketchy wondered if that had any significant meaning to it, or if Denali's mother had simply picked the names she most liked the sound of. Probably the latter.
Anyway, it was probably otter tradition. Naming babies after bodies of water.
Ketchy flushed. "I don't mind," she repeated, her whiskers twitching. Her nose sniffing (incessantly). A potato peeler in one paw, and a potato (naturally) in the other. And she resumed her task. Little movements of the paw. And the little, silver tool wiping the skins off with a 'slip-slip-slip' sound. The discarded, curling pieces of skin going into the basin of the sink. The kitchen full of foods. Hence her overly-overly active nose. Her nose was always overly active, though. But, oh, yes, the foods! Not all of them prepared, not all of them cooked, but ... all of them placed about the room, anyway, WAITING to be prepared. Waiting to be cooked.
Waiting to be eaten.
It was Thanksgiving Day.
And all the trees were mostly bare, now, and the colors were all earthy, and the sky was somewhat greyish. Like a cadet blue. The cloud cover was keeping the full brunt of any sunlight away.
"I got that peeler there," Denali's mother said, "over at the Marsh there in Logansport. I like the Marsh. You like the Marsh?"
"I like the Marsh," Rhine said. "I don't get what's so great about the Kroger. Everyone loves the Kroger." A shake of the head.
Ketchy nodded (agreeing with them both). Peeling. 'Slip-slip-slip.'
"Goin' out of business," Denali's mother continued. "The Marsh, I mean."
"I know," the squirrel said, joining the conversation. "Some Florida company bought them ... mm ... never trusted Florida."
"Smart girl," the otter said, nodding. "Mm. You're right not to. Place is a pseudo-tropical tourist trap. I never trust peninsulas."
"If Florida's so bad," Rhine said, "how come everyone goes down there?"
"Cause 'everyone' has no common sense. 'Everyone' doesn't know what's good for 'em."
Ketchy smiled to herself, biting her lip (so as not to giggle). Her bushy, squirrel tail hung behind her in the air. She'd taken extra care with shampooing it this morning, before she and Denali had left home. A squirrel's tail was a squirrel's pride. And she wanted it looking at its very best. To impress her husband's family.
But, to be honest, they didn't give off any signs that they much noticed. Rodents would've noticed. But ... they're not rodents, Ketchy. They're otters. They don't care how dolled up your tail is.
"One of my favorite pastimes is watching the Colts dismantle those Jacksonville Jaguars. I get a kick out of that," the older otter continued.
A bigger smile from the squirrel. "I can't argue with that. I'm all about the Colts, football-wise."
"Shame, though. About Indiana-owned grocery stores. Now, everything's bein' bought out. Generic, national chains. Mm. Now, granted, maybe their prices were a bit higher than a few other places, but it was quality food. And they did stuff for the communities. And the state."
"Yeah ... "
"Don't know where I'll shop now. They say they're gonna keep 'em open. Just with new management. But I don't know."
"Well, they put all the food in the Wal-Mart, now. You can get everything at the Wal-Mart," Rhine injected.
"You can, but do you want to?" the older otter said.
"Sometimes, you don't really have a choice."
"Well ... you're right. You may be right. But it's always so crowded in there. Can't breathe."
"Well, Sheridan has a grocery," Ketchy added. "But it's really small, and not a huge selection. Most furs don't shop there. They go to Westfield or Lebanon ... like, ten miles away, then, for the grocery. Ten miles from everything, really." Peel, peel. 'Slip, slip, slip.' "But I actually kind of like it that way," Ketchy admitted. "Being in the middle of nowhere. Honestly, I love nature, and the wide-open spaces, and ... evidence of God's glory in every gaze." A sigh. "I'd rather be breathing in the middle of nowhere than suffocating in the middle of somewhere."
"Well, as I said: smart girl. That's a smart girl. Am I right, Rhine?"
"You always are, aren't you?" Rhine said, winking.
The older otter ignored the wink. Continuing, to Ketchy, "Now, you don't be gettin' any 'city' ideas on me. I've had enough of that. One of your husband's brothers, Danube, he lives in a big city. He says it's great."
"Yeah? He's not here, is he?"
"No. No. He's out West, in Minneapolis. St. Paul, actually, but he likes to say Minneapolis. It sounds better. He claims it has a more 'desirable postal code'."
"Ah."
"He claims I shouldn't be so concerned. That it's the 'Land of the Ten-Thousand Lakes.' Says there's 'enough water for any otter.' Well, I don't know about that. I really don't. 'Lakes, I say? Lakes? I didn't know they built cities in the middle of lakes!' And he says, 'Ma, you're exaggerating. The city's not all that bad.' And I say, 'For a rural river otter, it damn well is. Just don't be turning into a yuppie on me. Don't drive SUV's and start liking that coffee place that breeds like rabbits.' Mm. At least he's not living in suburbia. I thank God for that."
Ketchy giggle-squeaked a tiny bit. "Mm." And she put the potato she'd peeled on the counter. And put the peeler down, reaching for a knife. "Well, you've no need to worry about me and Denali leaving the countryside." She began slicing the potato. "We've got our sanity."
"That's good. But, mind, I wouldn't be averse to you living a little closer to us. A little farther north."
"Yeah ... well ... "
"I didn't say I wanted you to move, child. I said I wouldn't be averse to it. I do care for my family, you know."
"I know."
"Still, you're only an hour away. Not so bad."
"No." The squirrel put the potato slices in a pot of cool water. And picked up the peeler, as well as another potato. And began more peeling. They were going to make mashed potatoes, of course.
"Well, you got me and Orinoco, don't you?" Rhine said. "We live two miles down the road, Pearl. We're here all the time."
"I do. I certainly do have you, too, and I'm thankful for that. I'm just saying, the more the merrier."
"I'm merry. I'm the most merry fur I know," Rhine said. "Everybody tells me so." And she giggled at her own humor. "Mm." And her bright, blue eyes looked around. Rhine was a pretty otter. It was easy to see why Orinoco had fallen for her. She had beautiful, rich-brown fur, and a very shapely rudder-tail, and she was always in a bright, caring mood.
"And I know you and Denali, you can't, uh ... well, you can't 'bear fruit'," Denali's mother said, standing, now, beside Ketchy, the newest of her daughter-in-laws. And she let out a breath. "But I still want grandchildren."
"Oh, Pearl, don't start on that," Rhine said, to her mother-in-law. "She reads me this act all the time, Ketchy. Don't let her guilt-trip you."
"I'm guilt-trippin' no-fur. I'm just ... hinting at what needs to be done."
Another giggle-squeak from Ketchy. Louder, this time.. Denali's mother was very straightforward. She spoke her mind. And had a lot of opinions. But, sharing most of them, Ketchy found little to be bothered by.
"So, I'm not sayin' this to pressure you ... I'm just sayin' it. Just so you know."
"Well, uh, I want them, too. Children, I mean. I ... I gotta do it artificially," the squirrel said. Peel, peel. 'Slip, slip, slip.' "It's kind of expensive ... I don't know. It's just not something I wanna get into right now."
"No mind, dear. No mind. Makes no difference to me."
"Well ... "
"I was just wondering ... "
"We haven't really discussed it."
"Haven't you?" The middle-aged otter brought a pot from the sink to the stove.
A sigh. "Well ... we have. Denali and I discuss everything. It's just ... not yet," the squirrel said. "I mean, we're not ready to do it yet. A few more years. Then we'll be ready. I mean, we don't have the money to raise a child, or ... the experience."
"Mm." His mother nodded. "No one who has children rightly does." A pause. "Well, I can't say I blame you, ultimately. Despite my want of grandchildren. Most responsible furs, the ones who don't get themselves knocked up early, are havin' kids at later ages these days, anyway. At least you got a head on your shoulders. But back in the day, a few decades back, you know, we had them earlier. I had Denali when I was twenty. I was married at nineteen."
"Yeah ... I kind of envy that," the squirrel said. "That you started so young. You had more time. More time with your love. More time to plan. More time ahead of you. I got a few years less to go on ... "
"More time, maybe," the otter said. "But more maturity? Maybe not."
"Well, I don't feel like the most mature creature in the world." Peel, peel. 'Slip, slip, slip.'
"You seem pretty even-keel to me."
"Yeah, Ketchy, I think you're a little less insane than the rest of us. That's probably a good thing," Rhine injected, opening the oven door. Checking on the yeast rolls. To see if they'd risen yet (as they were supposed to have done). And, seeing they were fine, she took them out. Set them aside. They wouldn't bake them for another half-hour.
"Well, I know a pair of young, wedded furs that have a child. My best friend. Adelaide. She's a bat ... "
"A bat, huh? You don't see many of those in these parts."
"No," the squirrel agreed. "But she married a mouse. They have a beautiful daughter. Every time I see her, I wanna pick her up. I just ... I'd like a daughter," the squirrel said, sighing dreamily. "Mm. And they seem fine, those two. They can handle it. But I'm not a bat, and I'm not telepathic, and I'm just ... me. A plain, simple squirrel."
"You afraid of being a bad mother?" Rhine asked.
"I don't know. I'm just afraid of ... finding out that I don't wanna be one. Or what if something goes wrong? What if I AM a bad mother, and what if something happens to the baby, and ... " The squirrel trailed. And continued with, "But to create a new life. To help ... do that, and to have a family, and to pass everything on, and to leave something behind. I just ... and that kind of love. I just ... it would be an easier decision for me, honestly," the squirrel admitted, "if Denali could get me pregnant. I guess the whole 'artificial' thing makes me hesitate. Like, will it really be 'ours,' and all that ... "
"Well, I think that, as soon as you'd hold that baby in your arms, all those doubts would melt away. Not to say there wouldn't be problems, but ... those kind of thoughts are natural. But it hasn't stopped everyone from doin' it," Denali's mother said. "Furs start families for reasons. That's why we're all here. Cause such-and-such furs made babies ... "
"I know. I want a family. I have reasons for wanting one. I'm just ... I feel too immature, like I said. A bit too young. A bit too ... I just need a few years," Ketchy said. "That's just me." She was finished with the potato she had. Had started on another. A little pile of peeled, uncut potatoes sitting on the counter. "Denali doesn't press the issue."
"Well, I didn't mean to bring up a difficult point," Pearl said.
"No, it's okay," Ketchy assured, genuinely. "Really. It's just ... I don't know." A sigh. "I really wish I could have HIS child, is all," she said again. And she bit her lip. The fact was bothering her more than she'd let on. Had been bothering her. Would always, maybe, bother her. As spiritual as she was. She wanted a child that had EACH of them, him and her, and ... but that wasn't any way to think. A baby was a baby. And Pearl was right. A baby by artificial insemination or by adoption would be the same as a natural-bred baby as soon as it was in her arms. All the love would rain down, and you'd never think of the differences again ...
... but that would be then.
This was now. Before-paw. And, for her own reasons, the squirrel just couldn't shake it. But that hadn't stopped her from marrying Denali, and it didn't stop her from loving him. She loved him more than anyone, and this wasn't an issue that presented any form of turbulence, no.
It was just ... there.
"Inter-species marriages are difficult," Pearl said quietly. "Throughout time, they have been. That's never gonna change. That's why most furs mate inside their own species. But," she added, "all the ones I've seen, like yours and my son's ... they end up being some of the strongest ones, I think. You got your love. Any differences or setbacks will be ironed out by that, if they haven't already."
Ketchy smiled warmly. And nodded quietly. "Thanks ... "
"You don't worry about it, dear. I didn't mean to bring it up ... "
"It's okay. I said it was. I just ... as I said, I'm not ready to deal with it. No pressure, right?"
"No, you still got, what, twenty years of fertility in you," Pearl said, nudging the squirrel. "At least, right?"
A giggle-squeak. "I guess ... "
"Now, that's not to say," Pearl confided, in a winking, whispering way, "that once you're past fertility ... you can't do what fertile furs do." Another obvious wink. "Me and my husband are still goin' strong. If you know what I mean."
"I think she does. And I'm sure she doesn't wanna be hearing that, Pearl," Rhine injected, giggling, taking the fish out of the refrigerator, where they'd been put the night before (to thaw out from the freezer).
"I'm just telling her that furs can get good mileage all the way through. Furs think it's all about youth. Youth gets all the attention. You can DO things when you move past youth, believe me. And do them better, even. Heck, the energy I got, I don't see myself slowing down 'til my fur's way past grey."
Ketchy just giggle-squeaked, unable to stop. "Mm. Well ... that's good to know." She reigned herself in, smiling.
"And it is a relief. No more heats. You can breed whenever and not have to worry about whatever."
"Well, I don't have to worry about breeding during heat," Ketchy said. "So ... "
"Oh. Mm. That's right," Pearl said. "Sorry, dear."
"No, no ... it's fine." A smile. "It's a perk." And a wider smile, which became a grin.
"See, Rhine, she's a warm-blooded fur, alright."
"That she is."
"It's good that you've a healthy yiff-life," Pearl said. "Danube and his wife, in St. Paul, remember ... they never seem all that happy. I mean, they don't hold paws, or give each other looks, or ... you can't have romance without that. I worry about them. Furs spend too much time in lust ... and too little time in love. Romance is important. Especially in the long-haul."
"Well, Denali and I are fine," Ketchy assured, adding more potatoes to the pan of water. "Is this enough?"
Rhine came to look. "A few more, I should think."
Ketchy nodded. And then, looking to Rhine, asked, "How come you haven't had any children yet, Rhine? You're only a year older than me."
Rhine got suddenly shy. "Not from lack of trying." A pause. "I saw a fertility doctor about it. He says we're both fine," she said, referring to herself and Orinoco. "I guess we just keep missing the boat. Not that we've been actively trying. Not all that hard. But, now and then, I'll find myself in heat, and we'll ... we'll go for it. Just, it hasn't happened yet."
"It will," Pearl assured. "Pray about it. The good Lord will answer you. Not always in the way you think, and not always when you think, but you'll get some kind of answer."
"I know, Pearl. I don't doubt that."
"I think that's Danube's problem," the older otter said quietly, sadly. "He drifted away from his faith. When he went away to school. He won't admit it, but ... you can tell when someone doesn't believe anymore."
"I've always believed," Ketchy said quietly.
"And it shows, dear," Pearl said. "You really are a good daughter-in-law. I hope you know that. A good FUR."
A flush.
"You just don't gotta be nervous about being in a family of all otters. A squirrel's always welcome."
A bright, nodding smile. "Well ... I'm grateful for that."
"Pearl, this fish ... we gonna cook it yet?"
"A few minutes," the older otter said, going over to Rhine.
Ketchy peeled just a few more potatoes. "This is starting to make my wrists tired. Mm."
"I told ya not to do it," Pearl said.
"No, but it's worth it. I mean, real mashed potatoes? I'd rather have these than those boxed-up flakes."
"Can't stand boxed-up flakes."
"I know. They're always too salty."
Rhine, fetching something from one of the cupboards, said, "You don't eat fish, do you, Ketchy?"
"No, I ... I can't digest it. Only kind of meat my stomach can handle is bugs, and I'm not one to eat bugs." The squirrel made a face. And thought, with amusement, of Adelaide's stories of how, every week, she'd come up with a different scheme to slip bugs into Field's food. It made her giggle aloud. "No. No bugs."
"Well, fish is an otter delicacy. Not that us otters made the fish. We have God to thank for that. But the otter way of cooking fish," Rhine continued, trailing. "It's a shame you can't taste the stuff."
"I can smell it," Ketchy said quietly. "That's enough for me."
"A good smell, this," Pearl said, preparing the fish with Rhine.
Ketchy finished, finally, with the potatoes. "Well, uh ... I think that's a matter of opinion. Fish smell ... well, fishy."
Rhine giggled, her ears swiveling. Her rudder tail swaying.
Pearl smiled. "Smells fine to me." She sniffed her nose.
"Well, I just can't eat it, is all," Ketchy said. "But all this other food, I CAN eat, and it all looks marvelous. What's that in that pan over there?"
"Square corn," said Pearl.
"Corn casserole?" The squirrel's tail flicker-flicked. And her whiskers twitched.
"Mm-hmm. You take a can of creamed corn, and then some whole kernels, and you work 'em together, and then you bake 'em. Good stuff."
"Oh, I've had it before," Ketchy assured. "My family often has that. I'm a rodent, you know. I LOVE grains. Ooh, and breads. Wheat breads. Grains, breads, nuts ... fruits, vegetables."
"Well, we like those things, too," Rhine told her. "You don't have a monopoly on those. I'm just saying we have a healthy like for fish, is all."
"I'd noticed." Ketchy smiled, wandering to the table. Letting out a deep breath and taking a seat. And turning her head to look into the living room. She squinted, trying to see the score of the football game on the television screen.
"No, too much pepper. Don't put too much pepper on it," Pearl chided.
"I'm not!" Rhine insisted. "This is SALT."
"Well, easy on the salt, then."
Ketchy smiled to herself, slightly shaking her head. She understood, now, why Denali had said that his family was 'rowdy.' She'd always noticed it, of course, but now it was really being driven home. These otters were just non-stop. And it wasn't that they had more ENERGY than Ketchy herself did. It wasn't that they had more energy than rodents (who had a tendency to be more wired than not). No, it was that the otters simply acted with so much more GUSTO. If that made any sort of sense.
"You been out to see the rivers yet, Ketchy?" Rhine asked, stepping away from the fish. Washing her paws at the sink.
The squirrel just shook her head. Still trying to make out the score of the game. Or trying to hear it over all the chatter. One or the other. And all the while, smelling food. Fish. And otters. The smell of otter-fur was very strong in here. But the squirrel was accustomed to the scent. Was obviously partial to it.
"They're very pretty. In that stark kind of, everything's-closing-in-on-winter kind of way. You should take some pictures."
"My camera's in the car. I just ... the rivers are out back, right?"
"Yeah, just out back. They run past here, and then into town. Mind you, when it rains a lot, the flood-waters start to creep toward the house here ... "
" ... but they've never touched," Pearl said. "We're far enough away from the banks. Only in 1924, and I wasn't around then. But that's what the previous owners of the house told us when we got it."
"It's a nice house," Ketchy said, dreamily. "I love old, country houses. They've got so much character. On the inside, especially, but on the outside, too. Just so cozy. And so sturdy. They stand up to anything." A pause. And a breath. "You see all those houses in subdivisions, so expensive, and a tornado comes through and rips them all to shreds. But the house me and Denali live in, it's been there a hundred years."
"They don't build 'em like they used to," Pearl agreed. "Some furs just don't care anymore." A pause. "They don't know where all their food comes from. They think they can take the land and convert it into more houses, more this, more that. Take space instead of making use of the space they already have." The otter shook her head. "That's the thing about land. Once you change it, you can't change it back. Once it stops being farmland, it's never gonna be farmland ever again ... " She trailed.
Ketchy just nodded quietly, solemnly. She knew. She'd seen it. And, after a moment of quiet, she said, "It's kind of ironic, I guess. God put us in the Garden to be its caretakers. We get ourselves kicked out. As a result, we get saddled with the bigger job of being caretakers of the whole planet. Eventually, we're gonna get kicked off here, too."
"That's a bit cynical," Rhine said. "It's Thanksgiving. Not supposed to think about such things."
"I know. I just ... I wish I could stop them," Ketchy said, seriously. "Where I grew up, and the land, and all the rural heritage. All those traditions. All those ways of life. They're all dying. All being replaced. My own heritage ... is being systematically wiped away. I just don't know." A pause. "I don't know what the countryside ever did to the cities ... to make them demolish us like they do. It might be a bit different if they had any sort of regard for what they were doing. But they don't know. They don't think ahead ... " A trail, and a sigh. And a little smile. "But you're right, Rhine. Not things to be thinking about on a day like today."
"Well, each of us is dealing with things as best we can," Pearl said. "We all got problems. Some of them are the same. Some aren't."
"Well, I do have plenty to be grateful for," Ketchy said, folding her paws in her chair. Sitting up a bit straighter. Looking to the stove, where a few pots were now being brought to bigger, better boils. "I do recognize that." Her whiskers twitched. She had her husband. Her extended family, and her parents, and her home, and her job, and her friends. And her Savior. Who had made all of this worthwhile. Who had given her the hope of salvation. Of heaven. She could live this life and not be afraid, for she knew that she would live on.
She could, through Him, be fearless.
And, with fearlessness, came peace.
And with peace ... came joy.
Despite any little worries, and despite anything, she knew how much she had. How many blessings. Opportunities. How it all came from the Lord. He made all, and He gave all. True thanksgiving meant true humility.
Meant recognizing your blessings weren't of your own doing.
Blessings, by nature, were bestowed.
Given.
And not because you deserved them. Not because they were inalienable 'rights.' No. But because you were so loved.
'Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.'
And the squirrel's eyes watered a bit, and she blinked a few times, clearing her throat. And she smiled. "The food smells great, though. I don't know if I said that already, but ... it does."
"Just wait until you see dessert," Rhine piped in. "We got cherry pie!"
And the three femme furs kept talking. While Denali and the male furs watched the games and chatted, too. In here, though, in the kitchen, they cooked. And while cooking, they spoke about the rivers, about the land. Rhine insisting that she was going to take Ketchy for a walk after lunch. To show her around. They talked of food (of course). Of their respective mates. Indulging little secrets about them that would make the males blush (had they been in earshot). They spoke of sports, of movies. Of many things.
Speaking with a gratefulness for having so many things to speak about.
A gratefulness for being able to speak.
A gratefulness.
With gusto.