One of my cats, Roddy, the playful younger cat, had been mewing at me for the better part of half an hour. I had been trying to figure out what to write about. I was thinking about Unemployment, but couldn’t really wrap the right words around the thoughts I had. Next I thought about baseball. That would be pretty easy, I know baseball. I love baseball, but not tonight, especially after my team lost.
I could write about Mitt or sweatervest man again, but there’ll be enough time for me to write about them in the coming weeks and months to more than make up for one night, or even several nights not writing about them. Frankly I was stumped. Then Roddy came to the rescue.
“Mew” he said, emphatically. I looked at him kind of quizzically. I said “Dude, what? You OK dude?” I always call him dude, he’s…. just a dude. I extended my left hand which he rubbed with his head in an approving manner and “mew”ed again.
‘What should I write about?” “Money?” I asked. No response. “My trip to St. Patrick’s Cathedral this morning before work?” Nope. He looked at me kind of quizzically, and repeated “Mew!”
“I should write about cats?” I asked. He purred and rubbed my hand with his head again and laid down at my feet.
And here we are. Tonight’s subject: Cats.
Pic of the day: 100 views of Edo, Asakusa Ricefields and Torninomachi Festival, by Utagawa Hiroshige
I think all cats are wild. They only act tame if there’s a saucer of milk in it for them.
Anyone who considers protocol unimportant has never dealt with a cat.
When there was room on the ledge outside of the pots and boxes for a cat, the cat was there — in sunny weather — stretched at full length, asleep and blissful, with her furry belly to the sun and a paw curved over her nose. Then that house was complete, and its contentment and peace were made manifest to the world by this symbol, whose testimony is infallible. A home without a cat—and a well-fed, well-petted, and properly revered cat—may be a perfect home, perhaps, but how can it prove title?
Lat take a cat, and fostre hym wel with milk
And tendre flessh, and make his couche of silk,
And lat hym seen a mous go by the wal,
Anon he weyveth milk and flessh and al,
And every deyntee that is in that hous,
Swich appetit hath he to ete a mous.
I hope Roddy likes it, This one’s for him. Dude.
That’s it from here, America. G’night.