Joshua's Holiday.

Joshua sat in the grass. He was happy. He was so happy he closed his eyes and started to sing. The more he sang the happier he became and then something happened that never happened before. When Joshua opened his eyes he was sitting on top of his father's head.

Joshua could see everything his father could see. He watched his dad eat breakfast. Josh said, "I'm hungry." His dad threw his banana up into the air. Joshua caught the banana in his mouth; he took three big bites and the banana was gone.

Then Joshua's dad stood up. Joshua stood on his dad's head and was taller than anyone. Joshua's dad went to work and everyone looked up and said Hello to Joshua.

Joshua was so happy that he danced on his father's head. He jumped up and did a handstand. He balanced himself on one foot. He balanced himself on one hand.

Joshua wanted more space to run and then something happened -- he jumped from his father's head onto the head of the man standing next to his dad. This made the man happy. Joshua looked at the people on the street; if he ran on top of their heads he could run all the way around the block. Joshua ran and every person whose head he touched remembered what it was like to run fast and far. All the people on the street were singing: Run Joshua run.

Then Miranda jumped up and stood on her mother's head. Soon all the children were running on the heads of the adults. That day New York City had its biggest celebration: everywhere adults where singing and everywhere children where running and under all the children there where adults who loved them.

The Mayor of the city, who was also named Joshua, proclaimed that whenever children stood on the heads of adults it would be a holiday called imagination and whenever this holiday arrived children could do whatever they liked.

Stray Cats 

There is a relentless knock on my door. It's Melanie the neighbor in Apartment 4F. She talks without pause. She has been attacked. Wounded. I try to get the details; she is almost hysterical. I fear if I interrupt her she may burst. My cat was in the hall. The cat attacked her. Melanie says she has been scratched. She shows me a small almost circular scabbed-over abrasion approximately the size of a pencil eraser head.

I ask, "When did this happen."

She says, "Just now."

I take a long pause. I say, "Melanie do you realize that Ashley has been declawed."

She leans forward her voice deepens. "Just keep it in your apartment."

Later that week I received an official call from Melanie, who is president of our co-op board. Our annual shareholder meeting is usually postponed for several months because it is so difficult to get everyone together. Melanie has been able to get an emergency meeting together in a few days.

When I arrive at the meeting almost all the neighbors are there. Melanie introduces the purpose of the meeting. "The cat is a menace to the building and should be evicted." She asks Bill to testify.

Bill says, "I was leaving my apartment and Ashley was in the hallway when I opened my door she was staring right at me. It was as if she was saying, Get back inside." Several neighbors nod in agreement.

Melanie gives her impression of the cat: like an animal in the wild ready to pounce like you see on a nature show.

Connie tells of the two times she saw Ashley in the hail.

Linda is sitting quietly, her hand bandaged.

Amy is also very quiet.

They call for a vote.

Bill, Melanie, and Connie vote to evict the cat.

Linda, Amy, and I vote to allow her to stay. Everyone acknowledges that the doctors who rent office space in the building would not vote to evict Ashley and so it is over.

I promise to keep Ashley in the apartment at all times.

Linda and Amy where prepared to vote to evict Ashley until a few hours before the meeting when Amy's cat scratched Linda. Amy's and Linda's cats have claws and the cats occasionally sneak out into the hallways. Linda's swollen hand forced them to acknowledge that my declawed cat was not the real threat.

Melanie's behavior reminded me of the crazy ladies that lived in the neighborhood where I grew up. A crazy lady would talk until she worked herself into a trance. Then she would find someone to intimidate. She would put the evil eye on them and go into a rage.

When I was a child after I experienced this bizarre behavior I wondered if the stories of people being possessed by demons were true. I wonder what possessed Melanie. Melanie looks nothing like the crazy ladies from my neighborhood. She is a thin red headed well-dressed southern woman in her late thirties.

I am in my late twenties.

Fortunately I had a friend who helped me. His name is Streeter. Two months before Melanie's "the cat attacked me" story Streeter was hospitalized due to a car accident. When they released him, he was homeless. I invited him to live with me.

Streeter is a rugged, muscular, black man with a deep raspy voice. He could menace a person or make them laugh. For the past eight years he was living in the subway tunnels.

One day Streeter said, "We always go to your house. You never asked to see where I live." We went to the tunnels. We walked to the end of the subway platform, descended a flight of steps, and entered a realm of rats, stagnant water, red dust, and the sound of trains clamoring in the distance. It is a place where demons are easily imagined. I was standing in a ditch below the tracks. The tracks were pitched and curved. The speeding train seemed enormous as it leaned toward me. I looked inside and saw ghostly flickering images of frozen people.

We kept walking until we arrived at a concrete bunker. This was Streeter's home. It was filled with fat electrical cables. There where wooden pallets on the floor to keep him above the water. We sat down and Streeter told me about life in the tunnel. He called it living in the dark. He said there are rats as big as rabbits. Sometimes they would step on the third rail and get hit with several thousand volts of electricity. It would fry them and shoot their bodies up into the air.

He told me that after living in the bunker for several years he got lonely. He met a homeless woman and invited her to come and live with him. Streeter told her not to bring food into the tunnel. Food brings rats. If you spit, rats will come. One day he comes home and he smells chicken. The woman was up on a crate screaming.

Streeter says, "What are you screaming for? They're your rats. You're feeding them."

She got mad at him. A few weeks later he comes home and there she is with the police and they're cleaning his place out. Streeter walked away and thought, "I'm a man who found happiness in a sewer and then I met a woman."

Of course Streeter was the crazy black cat that Melanie and my neighbors were trying to evict. They couldn't directly protest my having Streeter as a roommate. He rarely saw my neighbors and was always a considerate guest. Also, I was with Streeter twenty-four seven. We ate together, took dance class together. I went to clubs in the village to perform and Streeter accompanied me. I did this because living in a co-op on the Upper West Side was culture shock for Streeter and Streeter was culture shock for my neighbors.

Once and only once Streeter and I passed Melanie on the staircase. Streeter was kind to her. I remember the shock and anger in Melanie's face; it was the same anger I saw when she talked about Ashley the cat. I also saw the grace and dignity that Streeter had when confronted with Melanie. Streeter's dignity stayed with me. Every time I saw Melanie I offered her whatever kindness I felt she could accept.

All the time I knew him I never saw him hesitate to help someone if he thought he could. He was homeless and he had drug demons. But he was a good friend. He kept the demons to himself.

Streeter lived with me until his leg was healed. I was painting and sculpting during Streeter's convalescence. Several times I told him to pick up a brush and push some paint around a canvas. He said he couldn't draw worth a damn. Finally he made a painting for me. He painted a picture of a rat and a roach on top of the Brooklyn Bridge fighting each other for control of the city. After that he made paintings of African masks, landscapes, and portraits. Streeter paints all the time now and sells his paintings for several hundred dollars each. He is living in his own apartment in Brooklyn.

Streeter and I have a good friendship. We have learned from each other. Whenever I am having a rough time I remember what Streeter said, "They're your demons, stop feeding them."

Rudy Van Daele is an acrobat. He writes: "'Joshua's Holiday' was inspired by the children in the acrobatics classes that I teach. 'Stray Cats' is a true story, although the names have been changed. Both stories were completed in the writing and spirituality workshop at the West Park Presbyterian Church, New York City."