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caws of the naysayers. It is her plans for her cache of cash and her generosity, that brings us to the current moment of discussion.

We had been through this phase before-how I thought her choice for beneficiary was a weed in the garden of life-but every one of the conversations never seemed to ever faze her. At one point, she made a point of forbidding me to broach the subject of how much her silver and pearl brooch with the gold purl and sliver of diamonds would be worth to a collector. At another, she had me post a worthless piece of costume jewelry on a custom eBay site for bidding. Apprised by an expert that the piece appraised for $4.50, she pulled it off the auction, incensed that someone would imply it was worth less than the fifteen she had paid. Boy, was she a sight then. You would have thought she had paid a fortune. She raised her fist in the air, cursed, threatened to have the entire Internet razed, cursed some more, shook her fist some more and prayed that the "eminent appraiser" become imminent prey to some cursed bad fortune.

Fortunately, that episode was the worst... except for the time with the bratwurst... but that's an excerpt for another time.

So, once more we were knee deep in the discussion, discussing the pros and cons (not her lawyers) of her decision. We were again at an impasse. Me, attempting to canvass the reasoning that painted the canvas of her mind; she quoting from rote memory the words of her lawyers. I wrote a note, a waiver for her to sign; tore it to shreds knowing she would not waver in her stance.

I turned to stare out the window, looking for a window to her thoughts. Pedals of a bicycle rode past the petals of the flowerbed outside. In the past, I had tried to peddle my logic to her, to convey my misgivings. It was time to climb the stairs of direct confrontation. Time to direct her thoughts away from this unicycle on a crash course. Secrets secrete slowly from the mind of this woman. Usually, I didn't mind, but today ...

"Now, never you mind, nephew", she said. "My mind is made up. My lawyers have assured me they have ensured that he will be insured against any possible catastrophe."

"You cannot cede your money to that seed of a demon; that... that... that cat!"

Wasted sounds. Refuse. Hands on her waist, her words refused to flow.

"What's the matter, Aunt Flo? Cat got your tongue?"

Learn more about this author, Michael Raymond.
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