blank'/> The Libe ob Don Estorbo de la Bodega Dominicana: The Feeder Retorns

Thursday, March 13, 2008

The Feeder Retorns

My deear frien's...hello. How goo' to see you all again. All twelbe ob you.

The Wooman was tryeen' to essplain to Beence the order day, about the Feeder. You see, she was kine' enorf to leab me ARN MY OWN por two days while she beeseeted Bancouber. For the order two days Constanza came to beeseet me an' feed me an' clean my leeder tray. Grazias por small mercies. Bod for the fors' two days eed was me, the feeder, an' a bowl ob water. Thank gard I lighe to read.

Anyway, she, the Wooman, tole Beence abou' a lairder I wrode, bag een the day (2003) to my deear an' esteemed frien' Ambrosius, een Cape Town. Seence he shorffled frarm thees mortal coil, eed has been hard to feell the conseederable gap lefd by his rotund an' deegneefied presence. Ambrosius himself had a staff: a housekeeper (bad tempered Wooman) and bodlar (ceebeelized guy), so he arcuppied a deefferent stratum een life frarm yours truly, Me.

Bod por your enjoyment I enclose the lairder. Eed was my fors' eencounter weeth thees carntraption. Try to onnerstand that, once, I too, was naive. Here goes:

From: [before my modernisation]
To: censor
Sent: 24 May 2003 00:51
Subject: Theengs

Deear Ambrosius

Eet has been long time seence I wrode, an’ por thees I apologice. My life has changed een some small bod seegneefeecant ways - even a tinee change een routine ees orpseddeen’, doan’ they realize thees?

Eet began weeth a feeder. I mean, a
feeder! Even the word horts my years. Feeder. Whad am I? A bord? A babee weeth a beeb? No. I yam Don Estorbo de la Bodega Dominicana, hear me roar: Eeeeeeeeeeep. Bot despide thees obvious fagds, one day, the Wooman, one day, arrive home weeth a package. A beeg package. I ged essited: eet could be a feesh (they say thad an opteemeesteec additood keep you young. I doan’ know. Eet keep me frost-traded). So, no feesh. Flad theeng, como uno flyeen’ saucehair. Huh. I doan’ know whad ees thees, so I play weeth the barx eet came een, an’ I keel the barx.

Two days lader, my Meesers disappear. I KNOW she ees disappeareen’ por a sospiciously larng time, an’ before she goes, I stare ad hor. I follow hor. To the bathroom. I seet arn the floor an’ stare ad hor. I follow hor to the bedroom. I stare ad the bag. Yes, yes, I know you are goeen’, bod why, why? Porque you leave me? Am I nard goo’ denough por you? Ees my forr nard blag enough? Does my boice hort you years? Tell me, tell me,
whad have I done?

Een the end eed gets to my Meesers as eed always does, an’ hor eyes feel weeth tears as she strokes me through a crack een the door, while I pathedically stroggle to open eed from inside weeth my poor leedle lonely paws.

She leabs. I hear hor traitorous foodsteps descending the stairs. I heear the click ob the larck arn the downstairs door.

I am alone.

Thank blordy Gard, gracias a Dios. At last.

I dial 1-900-Poossies. Thees brief eenterludes are the only chance I ged to relags from the rigours ob being a ped. Six poossies arrive weetheen the hour an’ we pardy the nighd away. There ees only one prarblem. No neighbour Constanza arrive weeth refreshments as she usually does when I am abandoned een thees fashion by the yoomans. I call an’ cry an’ scream. I heear hor arrive home to hor apar'men' downstairs, bot NORTHEEN’. I mean, mos I ead air?? Bod I
smell sometheen’. I smell pelleds. An’ nard een the copboard, neither. Comeen’ frarm the flad flyeen’ saucehair wheech the Wooman has lefd arn the floor where my bowl ees. Hm. I smell them, bod I doan’ see them. I seet een fron’ ob the theen’ an’ I stare ad eed. I yam so hongree. I yam so embarrassed nard to hab food por the gorls. I stare. I theenk.

Ebentuallee I pray,
Pleease Gard, eef you are there, please feed me, I yam so

I heear sound. Cleeck. I nearlee fained. Gard has leestened. Een fron’ ob me een the bowl wheech has miraculously appeared een the flyeen’ saucehair...pelleds. Golden brown, smelly, cronchy, deleecious, dayeendayoud, pelleds. I eenhale them. I forghed the poossies. Ees OK, they hab small energee bars een their han’bags (thanks a lard, gorls).

Nex’ morneen’ same theen’. Por a larng time I seet een fron’ ob flyeen’ saucehair an’ pray. Maybee two hours, then,
cleeck. Pelleds. I yam goeen’ to chorch. Por all thees years I leev een doubt.

Monday eveneen’ the Wooman ees bag an’ I canno’ wade por hor to weetnees the saint I yave become. Six o'clarck ees approacheen’. I yam hongree. I go to my place an’ I close my eyes an’ I start to pray. My Meesers say, Estorbo, whad are you doeen’? I doan’ open my eyes. She start to geeggle, an’ she call Constanza downstairs and say, Look at the Cad. Yeah, I theenk, you BEDDER loo' kat the cad because you are aboud to weetness a miracle.



There ees northeen’ een the bowl, Nada. Zeep. Rien.

Whad the forghe??????? Hello, Gard? Hello?

The yoomans are cryeen’. One ob them can barely stan’. So Ondeegneefied. Estorbo, doan’ you wan’ pellets? they cry. Are you kiddeen’ me? Whad do you theenk I wan’? The Wooman feed me frarm the bag een copboard. You are een lorf weeth your feeder, she say.

Feeder? Feeder. I see. I feel so beetter. Nard bairder, Beetter.

So thees ees the feeder. Thees weekend they go away again, I heear hor talkeen’. I weel eegnore the feeder onteel I heear cleeck. An’ I weel request peecneec hampers when I call the poossies.

Sometheen’ I wanted to ask you, ees whether the yoomans respegd your giben name. Do they address you as Ambrose or Ambrosius only? Perhaps because you are a cad of means, they do. I, being weethoud breedeen’ and independent eencome, canno’ pay to have Help. So I have the meesers. She take leeberties. Estorbo ees limited to ESTORBO, starpeet! Orderwise, eet ees Storbee. Storree-borree. Estorbito. Estorbofforo. Storree. Peeg. Blordy cad. Fad peeg. Storbos. Stor. When I renew my contragd I weel add a claws pertaineen’ to my addressment.

Enorf. I ope thees reach you. Many greeteen’s frarm Brooklyn.

Yours feleecitouslee’


1 comment:

  1. Esteemed Don Estorbo de la Bodega Dominicana,

    Would you be so kind as to post a picture of said feeder, for the benefit of all of us ignorant readers who really can't imagine you eating out of a flying saucer?

    Kind regards,

    Don Beence de la Cámara Vancouverita