letting the sleeping dogs lie
2003-09-29 @ 9:26 a.m.
I haven’t been updating. It’s terrible. I have felt that everyday life shouldn’t upstage the drama that occurred over the past few weeks. As if it could. But ahhhh- the lack of drama, the sweet sweet lack of drama, SHOULD be able to upstage its evil twin. It really really should. But that would be like asking your favorite restrained and lovely scent- say vanilla, a wonderful thing to live with offering pleasure, simplicity, even comfort to all to compete with the smell of the fresh cat shit in the litter box. The cat shit pulls your focus. Not in anyway pleasant or alluring, but in that –excuse me while I take care of this RIGHT NOW way.
At least, there used to be that kind of immediacy required for dealing with the litter box. Not so much anymore now that litter boxes have covers and kitty litter that somehow really does absorb all odors. The cat also ran away. No cat certainly puts the whole distracting pull of attention right out of the picture.
And that’s a pretty satisfying metaphor for my life.
Of course, I am actually planning on getting a kitten for the girls. I live in an attic apartment, and since the lower floors have pets, every winter no matter what I do cleaning-wise and traps-wise, I will have mice. So even though I am not a cat person really, and especially since I gave birth have absolutely no patience for pets at all anymore, we’ll get a kitten. Bob Cat didn’t run away because he was unhappy. He just was used to going outside whenever he wanted. We didn’t want to let him out being he was new to us and the neighborhood and would threaten all the neighbors’ cats with his independence and the fact he still had balls. And so he bolted out and never came back. Him not being fixed was not my choice, it was the laziness of Bob’s former family who hated his meowing and responded to it by feeding him constantly. He was a disgruntled cat who was not very interested in family life by the time he found our company. He would have made an excellent barn cat.
I like cats like that, cats who are feral nightlife-lovin’ killing machines. Cats who sleep all day in the barn and only stroll up for a nibble o’ kibble to cleanse their palate after a delightful array of rodentry and fowl on the menu. I admire cats like that. Stray cats. Visitors who aren’t ever really there. But I will try a house cat this time. A nice girl kitty that just wants sleep and worship. That I can probably offer her. That, and all the mice she can eat.
So the whole last half of this entry was really about actual cats and kittens and wasn't only supposed to be symbolic. But it is strangely symbolic.