Edgar

Edgar was a cat, but not your average, middle-class, American-suburbia cat. He had style, imagination, personality. If Ed had been a human being instead of a 4-legged feline, he would have been an artist, a practical joker, a freethinker, an activist, maybe even a revolutionary. He would have been Pablo Picasso, Groucho Marx, Ben Franklin, Robin Williams, Che Guivarra, Han Solo.

Edgar entered my life cradled in the arms of my youngest son, Michael. A stray who needed a home. Although already having one cat, and not wanting another, I finally conceded to a trial period. Michael was ecstatic and christened the tiny, coal-black kitten in honor of Edgar Allen Poe. It was Halloween and somehow seemed appropriate.

Ed must have known he was on probation for he was a model pet, quiet and well-mannered, who was meticulous in his grooming, keeping his fur soft, clean and luxurious. At night he curled up beside Michael as though guarding him against anything that might intrude on his sleep.

I was at the end of a miserable marriage, the family was in turmoil, and Michael was in a fragile emotional state. Edgar seemed to sense this, and firmly attached himself to Michael, waiting for his return from school, napping in his lap, at his side whatever Michael was doing. My soon-to-be ex-husband was outraged at having another cat and convinced I had allowed Edgar into the house just to torment him, (not a bad idea...wish I had thought of that), but the cuddly furball was for Michael. The salve he desperately needed during those troubled times. The two quickly became inseparable.

Only after his trial period was over, and he was securely entrenched as a member of the family did he allowed his true personality to emerge. For Edgar was creative, mischievous, incorrigible. He was the inquisitive, inexhaustible 2-year-old who never grew up. One of his favorite games was to hide in doorways or behind furniture, then leap out and attack any unsuspecting victim who happened by. He would make a lightening strike, claws at the ready, and then quickly retreat. A true student of guerilla warfare.

Edgar loved fingers and toes. While lying in bed, on the couch, or relaxing in a comfortable chair, I would hang my foot or hand over the edge, but Ed quickly put an end to that habit, for dangling digits were an irresistible urge for him to sharpen his hunting and attacking skills. Broad daylight or middle of the night, it made no difference. Edgar seemed to somehow sense when there was an attack to be made, and he never missed.

And he didn't stop with human victims. For years I had decorated our Christmas tree with birds, white doves, red cardinals. None of our other cats ever even gave them an inquisitive glance. Not so with Ed. For him, they were a new prey, taunting him from the branches, for he would stalk across the room, and then suddenly launch himself into a flying leap...directly at the offending bird, often taking the entire tree crashing to the floor. No amount of scolding had any effect. The attacks continued.

The doves were eventually relegated to the box of used ornaments, the more bedraggled ones to the trash, but even that didn't stop Edgar's attacks. There was always something on the tree that needed an attack, a few well-placed swats, or some sample chewing. Our tree soon looked like it belonged in Charlie Brown's Christmas.

He found unique, imaginative uses for a bowl of nuts placed innocently on the table. As the nuts disappeared, I thought the kids were snacking on something nutritious. They denied it. I finally solved the puzzle of the missing nuts when I caught Ed gleefully playing hockey with one. When he lost it, either under the refrigerator or some other unreachable space, he carefully crept back up onto the table to retrieve his next puck. When he finished with his game, he took to stashing the nut in the toe of my shoe for future use. He trained me well. Always check your shoes before putting them on.

My sons nicknamed Ed 'the black beast,' attaching to him all sorts of devious, mischievous and mystical powers. Some maybe true, some not.

Disdaining water in a bowl, he instead insisted on drinking directly from a running faucet, often apparently enduring all day while no one was home to do his bidding, waiting impatiently at the door to lead us down the hall and to the sink so he could quench his thirst.

He was also apparently quite sensitive to extreme temperatures, choosing to nap on top of my gas stove in the winter, with its pilot light to warm him. On hot summer days, he liked the smooth coolness of the porcelain bathtub. Was Ed just extra sensitive, smart enough to figure out he could have some control over his environment, or maybe both.

Sensitive not only to temperatures, but his environment as well, Ed came frantically scratching at the door one spring day, demanding to come in, then racing down the hall to hide under the bed. Curious, I thought. The other cats seemed unconcerned. Minutes later, however, the tornado siren blared its warning for the rest of us to take cover. Edgar already knew.

When Michael left for college in search of his future, sans cat, I packed up my belongings, the cats, and headed for the mountains to do the same. I moved into a small apartment in Ouray to begin my new adventure.

However, I had unwittingly moved into what may have been the most toxic building in town. Our lives were about to become a living nightmare.

I quit sleeping, developed nausea, arthritic inflammation, exhaustion, headaches, short-term memory loss, mental confusion. And I was not alone. Edgar also became sick, with arthritis so debilitating he needed help getting up and down from the faucets, wrenching nausea so bad he often couldn't keep food down. He became listless with dry, unkempt, dull fur. I thought my friend was just days from death. Did he also suffer from the excruciating headaches and exhaustion? He couldn't tell me, but I think the possibility is very high that he did, so many of our other symptoms were the same.

But what was the cause of our terrible sickness? It had to be something in that apartment. Edgar rarely went outside. With the help of a friend, Gary Duncan, and Smart Shelter Network, we began searching for answers, and we did indeed find a horror story. Electrical current was being passed through the water line buried in the floor, running not only the entire length of my apartment, but extending out into the street as well, and then running for several blocks. (Ouray is built on volcanic rock which might account for this. However, we have since discovered high radiation emanating from streets in other cities and towns as well. Power companies are now sending wireless communication signals down power lines, and buried water and gas lines. Any safety regulations that might have existed are being either dismantled or ignored).

There was enough electrical current being passed down my water line to light the entire building along with a huge magnetic field far, far in excess of anything close to being considered 'safe.' No wonder Ed was so seriously affected for he lived just inches away from this deadly, debilitating, cancer-causing, magnetic radiation.

The power company, when notified of the net current loss, seemed greatly concerned and immediately sent a technician out to investigate. Unfortunately, he checked only their own equipment, not the state of things in the building or the street. Letters to the State Electrical Inspector went unanswered.

When I notified the landlord of the problem, (Erin Eddy, a local Realtor), his concerned, responsible reaction, was to threaten me with an eviction notice. He had purchased the building just a few years before from the previous owner who had to sell due to divorce proceedings. In purchasing the building, Eddy's only concern was to hold it for a few years, and then resell in search of the almighty dollar. His last concern was for the health and safety of his tenants.

I was also directly across the street from the new wireless communication tower. I discovered later the devastating health effects caused by this high-frequency, digital, microwave radiation that was being broadcast directly into my home, 24 hours a day.

Finally, desperate and barely alive, the cats and I abandoned our home and fled in search of safe places where these killing fields were not.

And find those safe places we did. Out in remote locations, in the mountains and canyons,living in my car and tent, where this radiation did not reach. After a few weeks, I slowly began to recover, and so did Edgar. Much to my amazement and delight, Ed began to regain his energy. Within a few months, his fur had regained its softness and luster, his arthritis had rescinded, and he was once again the energetic, mischievous, lovable friend I thought I had lost.

Edgar lived for another 3 years in good health. How many more could he have had if not shortened by the nightmare of those years spent under constant bombardment of electromagnetic and wireless radiation.

But Edgar's story isn't finished. Why was he so seriously effected and my other cats not? One was apparently not effected at all while the other developed an itching, flaking skin condition, a condition frequently linked with exposure to electromagnetic radiation.

Two brothers eventually bought my apartment building. Being technical engineers for the local radio station, they had some knowledge of electromagnetic fields, and I made sure they had full knowledge of its environmental and health problems, even loaning them meters so they could see the level of radiation for themselves. They purchased the building anyway, and moved in. Now one of them has developed symptoms of electromagnetic sensitivity. Just like Edgar, he has nausea, muscle and joint pain, sleeplessness, and exhaustion. His medical doctors, of course, can find nothing wrong with him, finally reaching the diagnosis of Ciliac Dirorder, which is just another name, along with Fibromyalgia, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, and a host of others, for Electro-Magnetic Hypersensitivity.

Science has now proven that the frequencies used by the wireless industry are the very same as those used by cells in our bodies to communicate the processes for life, the very language of DNA. There is no living thing that is not effected by this artificial radiation, be it bird, human, bee, deer, or cat. The epidemic cases of cancers, brain tumors, leukemia, high blood pressure, heart attacks, etc., is proof of that. Why some are so much more devastated is still a mystery.

In the now over 10 years since this story began, electromagnetic bombardment from cell phones and towers, wi-fi, smart meters, chem trails, and signals sent over power lines has multiplied a hundred-fold. And right along with that...the incidences of cancers, brain tumors, ADHD, Alzheimer's, Autism, and a host of other so-called 'modern' diseases have increased exponentially.

I still live the nomadic life I began with Edgar. (you can read more in Saga of the Chinook) Seeking out remote, isolated places where I can live pain-free from electromagnetic and radio frequency radiation. There is nothing wrong with us. It's the environment which is sick.

Edgar, disdaining the boring and sedate life of 'Kitty Heaven," instead took refuge with the Little People. Read the 'Texts of Aaron' to learn more of his continuing mischievous, imaginative, revolutionary exploits.

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