“I spent my whole life trying not to be careless. Women and children can afford to be careless, but not men.”
— Don Corleone, “The Godfather.”
On the morning of Sept. 17, a day after Hurricane Lee blew feebly into Waterville, before the day began, this writer was “careless.”
It began like this.
I looked up from my breakfast table into the green, glassy eyes of an enormous black cat sitting only 8 feet away, atop my white Prius in the driveway.
It sat there motionless, as the strong winds ruffled its dark coat, while still green leaves and twigs blew around and past those eerie green eyes.
A black cat sits atop J.P. Devine’s car roof recently. Photo by J.P. Devine
Am I superstitious? Hell, yes, I’m Irish and worse, I’m black Irish, born with black hair and blacker thoughts.
We Irish entertain in the deepest part of our souls things like “never toss your hat onto your bed upon entering the house.”
And worse, I’m an ex-Catholic black Irish altar boy. But let us not venture into the omens that fly out of that faith.
So there Mr. Cat sat as the clouds of the day thickened and threatened, and all manner of foliage tumbled about it, as it sat unmoved by the dark clouds, while keeping those green eyes focused on me, my house, my face.
When a black cat crosses one’s path, I’ve been told (as you surely have), it’s an omen.
I looked it up to be sure.
“Black represents planet Saturn. This planet causes failures and delays in our tasks and ventures. It means that planet Saturn is not working favorably for him or her.”
My Saturn fan friends have not responded.
My mother believed all of that and a thousand more ancient Irish curses, and embedded them in my soul. If Mrs. Erb’s very black cat crossed Mama’s path on her way to the dentist, she would stay home with an ice pack on her cheek, with the blinds drawn.
Is it all fake, fraudulent, mythical and bull crap?
This morning, as I pulled my garbage cans in from the debris of “Lee,” I tripped and fell flat on my face in the first real fall of the year.
I lay there, covered with Lee’s debris and a tiny spot of blood on the bridge of my nose. I struggled up and stood there in the sun checking my body parts, as the words floated about me.
“This planet causes failures and delays in our tasks and ventures.”
My garbage can’s “venture” has clearly caused a failure that could have broken my still strong healthy bones.
Years ago in Hollywood, the title “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” wound up as a segment of “The Bob Newhart Show,” in which I was cast as Jack Riley’s “Mr. Carlin” double.
That segment, which wound up being another big hit that is still streaming on the reruns of Bob’s show, today reminded me of my own fabled “Cat on a hot tin Prius.”
Last night, as I went around turning out lights, I looked down the driveway. And there it was, sitting under the dim street lamp, reminding me that “men cannot be careless.”
J.P. Devine is a Waterville writer.
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