And So Say I Says BigAssCat!

The Cat's Song

by Marge Piercy

Mine, says the cat, putting out his paw of darkness. 

My lover, my friend, my slave, my toy, says 

the cat making on your chest his gesture of drawing 

milk from his mother’s forgotten breasts. 

Let us walk in the woods, says the cat. 

I’ll teach you to read the tabloid of scents, 

to fade into shadow, wait like a trap, to hunt. 

Now I lay this plump warm mouse on your mat. 

You feed me, I try to feed you, we are friends, 

says the cat, although I am more equal than you. 

Can you leap twenty times the height of your body? 

Can you run up and down trees? Jump between roofs? 

Let us rub our bodies together and talk of touch. 

My emotions are pure as salt crystals and as hard. 

My lusts glow like my eyes. I sing to you in the mornings 

walking round and round your bed and into your face. 

Come I will teach you to dance as naturally 

as falling asleep and waking and stretching long, long. 

I speak greed with my paws and fear with my whiskers. 

Envy lashes my tail. Love speaks me entire, a word 

of fur. I will teach you to be still as an egg 

and to slip like the ghost of wind through the grass.

Because Felis catus

1.

Interior Designer

2.

Plea Bargainer

3.

Carpet Cleaner and Photo Bomber

4.

Nursing Aide

5.

Apprentice Tutor

Accidental Capture

I didn't mean to, but I photographed one of my favorite thingswhen I tried to snap BigAssCat.

I didn't see them until I downloaded the picture, and then WHAM!

Like the first time I saw them, I was gobsmacked.

I am gobsmacked every time the light is just right and the air is just still.

Dust motes.

A reminder of the plentifulness of the world's stuff, taking me back to childhood when, lying on my bed, I saw for the first time that air was not empty but full -- with tiny bits of fluff and me and everything else I see, all aswirl all the time, all composed of specks of matter and energy -- and sometimes, I see them and feel cosmic connectedness, even if only for a moment.

A Day in the Life of a Housecat

Mine start their day when mine begins. I don't know how, but they always know when I'll rise (before I do). At some point before I wake, they're both on the bed (where they have not been all night): BigAssCat on my right mid-body and Doodlebug on my left at head-level. As soon as I stir, they purr and insist on being stroked.

Then it's time for food for BAC and more cuddling for D.

After about an hour during which they check all their usual haunts for the occasional bug or odd bit of fluff on the floor, they take their morning naps.

One more brief mid-day period of activity is followed by the Long Afternoon Sleep, after which they plead for a sit by the kitchen screen door.

When I start closing up before bed, they wait on the steps. As soon as I turn on the stairway light, BAC leans in for a nose-to-nose check, then bounds upstairs, me following, and Doodle makes up the rear in one long leap from stairs to bed, where she stretches out like an apostrophe, belly up.

While BAC noshes and D cleans herself, I scoop out the litter box, after which BigAssCat bounds in (only when I lock the lid), insisting always that she'll be first.

More play, some cuddling, lights out, and they disappear.

In my next life, I'd like to be somebody's well-loved feline companion, like Tigger whose human lets him roam wherever he wants. Here he's on the kitchen island, aiming for a head butt. (And yes, he got what he wanted.)

One Broken Cat and One Happy Dog

My BigAssCat (aka Bassy) broke when a neurological event left her with a shepherd's crook tail. At first, she minded -- especially since the tail dragged along behind her. Now it seems as if she no longer notices. I do, though, and I miss its expressively alert attention.

Oscar has alertness and more, writ large. Every time I see him and his human at the lake, I am cheered by his joy. Today, he was already filthy when they encountered me, so he chased sticks into the water to get him. Immediately afterwards, though, he lolled and scratched and rolled in the sand, leaving him like this.
I call this picture "Oscar and Me."

Do you see me?

No?

I'm there.

Look him right in the eye. 

BAC's Request

She asked me 
to open the door.
I knew better.
It's cold
and windy
with wet snow.
She doesn't know snow.
Doesn't go out
doesn't even try,
content with inside
and inside things.
Like her sister
whom she sometimes
torments, sometimes
licks and cuddles.
Like cold water
swirled in a metal bowl
wide enough
to accommodate
her generous whiskers.
Like the Taj Mahal
of a litter box
big enough for her
to recline
or insist upon
entering where
her sister
the littler one
already pees.
But sometimes
she asks and
today I offered
I opened the door
to snow
and cold
and wind
and dampness.
And for a long time
she cowered;
behind the trash bin
she peeked outside
and finally took
one step, looked long,
sniffed the base plate,
then scampered
to the living room,
lay under brass lamps,
groomed and slept.
BigAssCat's over it,
the snow
and the whole
wide world
beyond her womb-house. 

Something Frightening This Way Came

BigAssCat, sleeping in the chair next to me, suddenly sprang into action at the same time I did when we heard Doodlebug scramble down the hallway, turn the corner, and fly under the dining room table. When I finally coaxed her out, she ran into the study, fur still fluffed, and hid under the futon, cowering. Perhaps three or so minutes later, tail still puffed, she managed to stand near me, alert and focused on the doorway into the hall.

I decided to investigate. 

I looked out the living room windows into the darkness. Nothing. 

I looked out onto the deck into darkness. Nothing. 

I turned on the deck lights. Nothing. 

I went to the entry, peered through the window at the little lit deer, and something appeared. On opening the door, I found tracks -- lots and lots and lots of them.

Tracks emerged from or disappeared into the yard toward the street, and into the scrubby clearing or trees toward both neighbors' houses, into the darkness alongside my own house, and straight across the length of the porch, where the scooped snow undulated in waves. 

This is most certainly where Doodlebug must have seen or heard them, as she was probably sleeping in the chair by the front porch windows.

I do not know who visited, and I do not know where they went, but I do hope two things: A/ that they did not find shelter under or in my house, and B/ that they do find a warm place for the night.

Addendum: Immediatly after pressing Publish, I looked for the cats and found both of them on the chair, their heads parting the curtains, noses pressed to the window. Looks like the little one isn't so afraid if the big one is with her.