29 March, 2011

Cat Tales

...pusscat's read all the papers/ seen the movie and knows/ all the streets lead to somewhere/ and the pavement's gold....

Cat stories, to balance the knitting. Or maybe not.

We have the reverse of 'stuff on my cat' at our house. Clear surfaces? Check. Sunny windowsills? Check. Cozy comforter-covered beds? Check. Empty laps? Check.

Where's the cat?

On our stuff.

Given the choice between counter and computer, table and a pile of papers, chair to himself or one with a stack of magazines, bet you can guess which he'll choose.

We've finally learned to leave the copy/scan/fax machine in the OFF position, because of the CopyCat in our house. We had way, way too many furbutt photocopies. Who am I kidding? One is too many.


It's just before Easter, 2009. Hawk pulls into the Dana lot, where he leaves the BigTruck.

"Boy am I glad to see you!" says one of the truck-industry-support-folk. "You're an animal lover, right? C'mere, I wanna show you something."

Hawk is wary, but co-operative.

"We call him Trouble, but he's a loverboy, really. You gotta meet him."

He puts a skinny black kitten into my husband's arms. Hawk holds the cat face-up, and rubs his chest and tummy.

The kitten blinks yellow lamplight eyes and begins to purr.

A girl in the office had noticed an abandoned cat hanging around her home, and had put out food for it. Her mother had a fit, declaring that they already had one cat to feed, and that was enough. The girl captured the cat and brought it to the truckyard where, presumably, it survived on scraps leftover from lunches. But the Easter holiday was coming, and no one would be at the yard. And then there were the large actual feral cats. The truckyard folk feared for Trouble's life.

Hawk listens, and glances down at the cat in question. It has fallen asleep.

The first notice I have of an addition to our household is my husband's voice telling the kids (outside in the yard, playing on an unseasonably sunny day) that he has a friend he wants them to meet.

"But you have to be careful- he gets scared by loud noises."

Oh, great. He's brought home some drunk homeless guy.

"And he needs a bath. But I think you'll like him."

Okay, so now I'm prepared for a near-starving black dog. But it's this tiny tuxedoed cat wrapped in a dirty towel. Hawk engages in the aforementioned bathing activity.

Cat emerges clean, notably calm, and after an energetic rub with a towel, purring. And he has one more surprise for us.

This cat has extra toes.

Extra toes!

(Adam Ant; Puss 'N Boots)

28 March, 2011

Monday List

...one, two, three, four/ can I have a little more?/ five six seven-eight-nine-ten I love you....

1. Walk
2. Laugh
3. Compare hairstyles
4. Sweep
5. Complain about gas
6. Pour water
7. Wait patiently
8. Wonder what's causing the big fuss
9. Mimic expressions
10. Relax
11. Keep doing something well past the time you're tired of doing it
12. Employ a lint brush
13. Accept unconditional adoration

(Beatles; All Together Now)

21 March, 2011

Faceblogging? Lame.

...it's a thousand pages, give or take a few/ I'll be writing more in a week or two/ I can make it longer if you like the style/ I can change it round and I want to be a paperback writer....

The boom and patter of thunder and rain fail to resonate enough to dispel mental clouds, and the literal ones hang 'round past lunch. Sunshine, however sporadic, is welcome and cheering.

I haven't drowned myself in the bathtub yet. It's March, always a risky month.

I've stayed out of the tub, actually, just in case. Showers are somehow less satisfying. When I sleep, it's in the bed. I'm trying for 3 hour chunks: no more than 2 days a week of 3 hour sleeps, at least 2 days of 6 hour sleeps, and an attempt at 1 day of 9 hours.

They don't have to be all in a row, though. That may be cheating, but I don't think so. Three hours on the sofa accidentally followed by an hour of snack-n-surf, followed by three hours on purpose in the bed is, I believe, if my math is correct, (English Major- You Do The Math is not my T-shirt, but should be), is six hours. Requirement met.

I'm sorry to report (sorry to have to report) that my writing has been like spring rain: spitty and insignificant. Some of my recent entries- specifically, the haiku- have been posted as my FB status. Yes, poems, but, really? Haiku? And haiku FB status? Yes. It is lame. However, to my credit, I have been posting haiku status since the beginning of October, which was officially "Haiku FB Status Month", and have not returned to "wonders what's for dinner" since then.

The entire previous paragraph is absurd and will not withstand the test of time. It doesn't qualify as literature, humor or helpful information, and I would implore you to not read it except that it is already too late. I will try to redeem myself with the remainder of this entry.

This next, I fear, may but slightly mitigate (see that split infinitive there? I have the most famous split infinitive in the English language emblazoned on my license plate. Some of you will know what I mean) the weak and annoying nature of the material that has preceded it, or perhaps even contribute to it. The next following bit, though, may at least serve as illustration that one never knows what serves to knock one upside the head with the Muse-bat.

Mich: The birds are singing this morning! I want to go give them little scarves and hats.
Februarrry 5 roundabouts 6:57 in the mornin' · Arr!; Kimby J-S an' 7 other mateys be admirin' this. ·

I'm sure Cyb can help you out with that...she's a knitting genius.
Februarrry 5 roundabouts 8:23 in the mornin' ·

Oh, sure. I'm some Disney character, knitting tiny hats and scarves, to set upon Mich's windowsill, while she's slaving over a teakettle. The little birds fly up to the sill, selecting knitwear of their favorite colors (ignoring my malevolent glow), while Mich pantomimes a warning to them. Then she pours my tea.
Februarrry 5 roundabouts 8:38 in the mornin' ·

Like I said, genius
Februarrry 5 roundabouts 9:16 in the mornin'

OMG, I really saw that in my head! Can I wear Aurora's dress??
Februarrry 5 roundabouts 9:48 in the mornin'

See what I mean?

But this next bit:

Once Upon An Ever After…

I'm knitting tiny hats and scarves
to set upon your windowsill
while you slave over a teakettle.
The little birds, oblivious to my
malevolent glow, fly up to the sill
selecting knitwear of their favorite colors.
You pantomime frantic warnings to them.
They do not understand.
And now you pour my tea.

Cybele Pomeroy, 5 February 2011

pro ear much like
min large head a dusky flapping
ent so large flag flag flag
pro it's a very large waving waving
boscis large large waving with
head no breeze
sharp tusk
not much
neck but
drum for a foot THAT
SO MUCH broom
FOOD a tiny
NO ONE tail
CAN KEEP for a
other sits on
foot a bright
boom colored bucket
boom for a funny trick -8 March 2011

There are serious formatting problems with the above, which I am not clever enough to solve. Those of you who are clever with the wordprocessing tools associated with Blogger/Google might give me helpful tidbits in the 'comments' section. Anyone who is still reading at all has my congratulations and admiration.

That was done as a demonstration for Fuzzy, who is taking a literature/writing class. It isn't much, just quick-n-dirty, but it came out better than I had expected(when the formatting worked).She was appropriately unimpressed.

(Fuzzy is twelve. People are astounded. When she was thirteen but looked three, people were impressed. When she was fifteen but looked nine, people were frightened. Now that she is twelve but looks eighteen, people are astounded. And nervous. This is a correct reaction. Fluffy is now old enough to drive. He isn't, yet, but he's old enough. Yes. Be amazed. Time... it's tricksy.)

This next, I wrote as a response to a rant about Creationists who want "Intelligent Design" taught in schools as science. I don't know if what I said is true, but I liked it.
Cave-dwellers will name their demons and deities, hoping to thereby tame them. It is perhaps a measure of human optimism, this attempt to control the uncontrollable.

You may quote me if you wish.

(The Beatles; Paperback Writer)