Ever get in a fight and have to sleep on the couch?
Yeah, it happens all the time to me.
But it’s not my fault. Really.
There I am, in bed, minding my own business, and a fight breaks out.
It wasn’t me. I didn’t start it.
But I get dragged into it, and the next thing I know, I’m having to sleep on the couch.
Isn’t the bed big enough?
Did I snore or cut a really bad fart?
No.
I wish the damn cats would get along and stop fighting on the bed while I’m trying to sleep.
Tag: cats
Thank goodness for the dust
Ashes in small velvet bags, lined up on a shelf.
Some candles. Other trinkets. Favorite toys.
Their last collars.
It used to be that I could walk past that shelf without reaching up, smiling, and saying “I miss you.”
From tears… to a smile… now I just walk past, barely notice as I’m vacuuming.
Dusting makes me lift each object, each treasure, wipe the dust from underneath.
This was her collar, stars and moons.
This was his catnip rainbow.
This was the candle she burnt her whiskers on.
Spray a cloth, wipe. Reflect and remember.
Thank goodness for the dust.
Fluffyboy
My cat has a boyfriend.
He’s a fluffy grey and brown seal-point.
And he’s friendly. He rubbed against my leg and let me pet him.
I said “Hi, Fluffyboy.”
And he looked up and meowed.
“Is that your name? Fluffy?”
No reaction.
“Boy?”
He meowed again.
I met his owner, and yes, his name is Boy.
And my cat goes to visit him at their place now and then.
Now, when the back door is open, Boy will come visit, have some kibble, use a litterbox, and meow once.
Myst follows him outside, and they go play in the dirt.
The Cat And The Camera
I bought a wireless microcamera the other day, and for fun, I clipped it to my cat’s collar.
It took her a while to get used to the thing, but she did.
The monitor showed her jumping the fence, watching birds, and running through the grass after lizards and frogs.
She took a turn into an old barn, and there were dozens… hundreds of cats in there.
Their mouths were moving, but I couldn’t hear anything.
One pointed to the collar.
They sniffed it, and then swarmed out the barn door.
Um… I think I’ll go out for a pizza.
Fluffy Cat
Fluffy doesn’t look as much like a cat as what a cat might cough up.
He’s all fur, and unless he’s walking around, it’s hard to tell one end from another.
We’re not too sure how he sees through all of that.
And when it’s dinner time, he waits until we’ve left the kitchen before he goes for his bowl.
We find him in the strangest places.
The sink. A punchbowl. Inside a boot.
We thought about getting Fluffy a companion, so we picked up one of those hairless cats.
They sleep curled together, Yin and Yang extremes of hair.
Mousetrapped
Long ago, I was poor.
Really poor.
Lived in a total rat-hole, infested with mice.
I guess that made it a mouse-hole instead of a rat-hole.
Anyway, because of the mice, I had to put mousetraps everywhere.
Except that I was so poor, I couldn’t afford cheese for my mousetraps.
I tore out pictures of cheese from the newspaper and put it in the traps.
The next day, I checked the trap.
There was a picture of a mouse from a newspaper in it.
I gave it to the picture of a cat I had as a pet back then.
Put To Sleep
Once, he was the youngest of our cats.
He ran circles around the others, who hissed and swatted at him with arthritic paws.
Now, he is the oldest, and it’s his turn to go to the vet.
He will be put to sleep.
No, this is not a euphemism for euthanasia.
He will be literally put to sleep.
And then flash-frozen.
Just like the others.
Deep in the salt dome under the city, the Pyramid Of Bast is being constructed, one brick at a time.
One soul at a time.
When completed, perhaps she will arise.
And all will rise.
Ears
Our first four cats never cleaned each others ears.
They didn’t bond with each other.
Then, when Nardo was alone, the last cat standing, I found Bruwyn the kitten in the rain.
He bonded with Nardo, and tried to clean his ears.
Nardo freaked out, thinking it was an attack.
When we got Myst, she and Bruwyn cleaned each others ears.
And tried to groom Nardo’s.
Over time, he let them, and then would poke his head at them while they groomed themselves.
When he died, Bruwyn and Myst cleaned his ears, a final sign of respect to their mentor.
Whisper
“He’ll tell you when it’s time,” the vet had said.
After scrubbing so many sticky sprays of vomit out of the carpet and bedsheets, I kneel down and whisper into the old cat’s ear…
“Is it time?”
He gives no response. He doesn’t look up, ears back, eyes closed tighter, and I wait…
Slowly, he struggles to his feet.
Looking up, he meows. Twice.
Tail crookedly lifted high, he stumbles to the food bowl again.
Past the bottles of carpet stain remover.
The spat-out pills hidden in half-chewed treats.
I’m exhausted, and I feel guilty for wishing he’d say:
“Now.”
Umbrella
We’re in a drought. It didn’t rain all summer.
Until now.
I can hear the thunder… the rain… the screech of tires…
Going to work will be interesting. People forget how to drive.
And other things. Like how to use an umbrella.
I looked around for mine, but couldn’t remember what it looked like.
“Honey,” I said to my wife, holding up an object. “Is this an umbrella?”
“No, that’s a cat,” she said. “Put her down. She doesn’t like being picked up. Or getting wet.”
I put the cat down, let her scamper off, and resumed my umbrella search.