My cat Nardo would wait until I was covered up and almost asleep before reaching out slowly and poking me in the nose.
He’s gone now, and I miss him.
For the first few days, I’d hear him jumping up on the bed, or I’d think he was about to poke me in the nose.
Nope. Just a ghost.
When I broke my arm and took very strong opiate-based painkillers, I had vivid dreams, and I hoped I’d dream him.
Nope again.
But last night, our cat Bruwyn poked me in the nose. And that’ll have to do for now.
Tag: cats
Stripey
Every day, a silver tabby jumps over our fence and walks up to our sliding glass door to ask for treats.
We call him “Stripey” and he’s really loud. He gets louder when we’re close to him.
Our two cats don’t mind that he comes to visit. They give him a wide berth as he eats from his pile of treats.
When he’s done, he usually wanders back to wherever he hangs out.
But right now, he’s laying outside the door, eyes half-closed.
Watching me watch him.
I won’t try to pet him, though. I’ll just let him sit peacefully.
in dreams
i’ve been taking vicodin for the pain in my broken elbow.
it causes intense dreams.
i’ve dreamed of dinosaurs and volcanoes and wars with laser guns.
and i’ve seen ghosts of so many friends long passed.
but not my boy, who died in february.
why can’t i dream of him, poking me in the nose with his paw as i try to sleep?
does he not want to see me again? why won’t he come back when i need him?
i put his yellow mouse under my pillow
just one dream.
i don’t even need to wake up from it.
Puss In Boots
I never understood the story Puss In Boots.
I’ve never seen a cat walking around in boots.
However, I’ve owned a cat that pissed on my boots.
Maybe whoever wrote Puss In Boots had a cat that pissed on their boots, and they rubbed the cat’s nose in the pissed-on boots until the idea came to them for a Puss In Boots.
Probably not.
When my cat pissed on my boots, I came up with the idea for a boot rack in my closet, and closing the closet so the cat couldn’t get in there to piss on them again.
Guest
It rarely gets cold during Winter in Houston, but it’s cold enough on some mornings for a jacket and gloves.
I was walking to the bus stop when I felt an odd tickle in my left sleeve.
Was my elbow acting up in the cold?
No. It was a crawling sensation along my arm.
So, I took off my glove, pulled my arm out of the jacket, and there was a mouse in my hand.
I put it on the ground to let it scamper off.
Clever thing. It waited until it was far from our cats to reveal itself.
Bed Bath and Be A Good Worker Bee
I started a new job recently. It is in an office building next to a Bed Bath and Beyond.
Despite the high prices, we get a lot of coupons for them in the mail.
This means I can pick up decorations and stuff for my new desk while getting things for home.
However, I need to be careful that I don’t mix them up.
Although I’m sure some of my coworkers could use some time with a loofah and lavender body wash, and I’m certain the cats would really like to have another desk lamp to knock over and break.
A Time
Ecclesiastes 3 tells us that there is a time for everything.
To die.
To weep.
To mourn.
Every time I look at the shelf I put your box of ashes on, these are the only three I can remember.
So, I put down the empty bottle of vodka, pick up a Bible, and read it to remind myself that there are other times.
To laugh.
To mend.
To heal.
And for a moment, I smile.
Then, a twenty-dollar bill falls out.
I put down the Bible, pick up the twenty, and think:
Oh good. I can get more vodka now.
Ribbon
I didn’t watch any of the Olympics on TV.
Not even the women’s beach volleyball.
However, a friend of mine at NBC is scoring me a tape of all the Ribbon Gymnatics footage.
No, I’m not interested in that shit either, Those chicks wear a lot more than the volleyball chicks, and they’re usually only thirteen or fourteen.
It’s for my cats.
They love to play and jump at with twirling ribbons, so I’m going to leave the tape running while I go to work.
Forget what the Russian judge says. To the cats, every performance is a perfect ten.
The Cats Love
I wake up early for work. My wife wakes up late.
By the time she gets home from work, I’m either asleep or falling asleep.
We rarely see each other during the week.
The cats love this arrangement. It means they have someone around almost all of the time to beg for treats.
We don’t, but until we win the lottery or get jobs with better schedules, it’s how things are.
I go to sleep, hugging a pillow, and when my wife wakes me up, I hand it to her.
It smells like both of us.
The cats love it.
Scale
I keep the bathroom scale under the sink.
It’s one of those expensive scales that measures body fat and blood pressure and all that stuff. Tracks your progress on the Internet, too.
Well, every so often, my littlest cat likes to walk into the bathroom, pull down the hanging towels, and she then stands on the scale.
Ten pounds.
“Who’s a happy little kitty?” I ask her.
She arches her back, ears twitching, and blinks happily at me.
Meanwhile, the scale talks to Weight Watchers, and at the end of the week, my chart is a wacky series of spikes.