He reconnoitered with intent on harrying her tail, but enough was enough in Blanketland, which was fast becoming the Pile of Random Ideas. Sorta covers. A garage sale pile of linens. I grabbed him with two hands to redirect his plan, and Roscoe let loose with the worst cat fart ever. The aroma--a miasma that hung in the air like a viscid Borealis made of Ice Age pony meat--stayed, toadish and doughy, and I thrashed, thrashed blankets, black cat, pillows and remnants of wishes into a mass of agitation. WHAT was that? What on earth did that cat eat? It was time to get up and tend to cat food, which was someone's idea all along.
They all lucked out as there were no more cans of mouse loaf, so chunky tuna was decanned onto the plate, yippee yippee. Happy tails, truces, and promotions for all.
The next day while sitting at the table, I noticed Mr. Business fiddling with something on the floor; let me see what it is. He kept his head down but raised his eyebrows, as if cats have eyebrows, grabbed the thing and ran down the hallway, defiant. He made it to the water dish, dropped the treasure in and sat; I fished the item out in spite of his trying to paw my hand away while watching the water turn blue. It was a roll of small Tibetan flags that I had bought from the incense store; they now hang from the bathroom mirror drip drying, where only if he grows wings will he retrieve it.
He mouths and steals, part crow, part terrier, part trebuchet. I found one of the gongs' hard rubber mallets chewed in half; there was a missing phone cord snickered under a pillow, and lastly, the grocery list left on the counter had been delicately shredded into diminutive bits. He hides my socks, nicks earrings, steals paper money, only sometimes returns it. Twenny bucks, gone but restored 4 days later near the water dish with a stolen fabric rosebud. He has his touches. A cherry cough drop was added to the water dish, turning it vivid pink.
The next day while sitting at the table, I noticed Mr. Business fiddling with something on the floor; let me see what it is. He kept his head down but raised his eyebrows, as if cats have eyebrows, grabbed the thing and ran down the hallway, defiant. He made it to the water dish, dropped the treasure in and sat; I fished the item out in spite of his trying to paw my hand away while watching the water turn blue. It was a roll of small Tibetan flags that I had bought from the incense store; they now hang from the bathroom mirror drip drying, where only if he grows wings will he retrieve it.
He mouths and steals, part crow, part terrier, part trebuchet. I found one of the gongs' hard rubber mallets chewed in half; there was a missing phone cord snickered under a pillow, and lastly, the grocery list left on the counter had been delicately shredded into diminutive bits. He hides my socks, nicks earrings, steals paper money, only sometimes returns it. Twenny bucks, gone but restored 4 days later near the water dish with a stolen fabric rosebud. He has his touches. A cherry cough drop was added to the water dish, turning it vivid pink.
I moved the couch in anticipation of the incoming television; Roscoe was helping, curious, everything he does is a first time for him as he is still a baby at 7 months, 2 weeks old and a solid 12 pounds. The couch is now against a wall, forming a cat conduit behind it.
My friend took off his shoes, putting them in the hall while we visited. When it was time to go, he went to retrieve his footwear; I heard him say, "There's only one shoe." What? "There's only one shoe, it must have been the cat..." Oh good lord. A bit of a scurry happened before he found it behind the couch amid a pile of cat toys, no denying that it was Crazy Guggenheim at work. Roscoe would drag home a two-door car if I let him outside.
It's been awhile since relating this story, for Roscoe is now 15 pounds and living up to his namesake in size, Mr. Roscoe Arbuckle. The feathered thing on the end of a fishing pole contraption stirred sabertooth instincts, causing great leaps and once caught, growls of possession. I couldn't figure what the hissing was about, but finally sensed that he held the line responsible for taking his prey away, and thus hated that string with the intensity of a drunk swinging at the air. He had hissed before, but the snarls set me back a little. Ooo, nize keddy. Mama gunna tell you a story if you it up the tuna fitch and brink her the dollah off the table you stole. Nu?
My friend took off his shoes, putting them in the hall while we visited. When it was time to go, he went to retrieve his footwear; I heard him say, "There's only one shoe." What? "There's only one shoe, it must have been the cat..." Oh good lord. A bit of a scurry happened before he found it behind the couch amid a pile of cat toys, no denying that it was Crazy Guggenheim at work. Roscoe would drag home a two-door car if I let him outside.
It's been awhile since relating this story, for Roscoe is now 15 pounds and living up to his namesake in size, Mr. Roscoe Arbuckle. The feathered thing on the end of a fishing pole contraption stirred sabertooth instincts, causing great leaps and once caught, growls of possession. I couldn't figure what the hissing was about, but finally sensed that he held the line responsible for taking his prey away, and thus hated that string with the intensity of a drunk swinging at the air. He had hissed before, but the snarls set me back a little. Ooo, nize keddy. Mama gunna tell you a story if you it up the tuna fitch and brink her the dollah off the table you stole. Nu?
Outside the snow had started.
I don't think downtown got as much of the storm that inland areas did, the winds from the Lake usually blow falling snow towards the east. Yet it is bitter cold today, with predictions of a low pressure system set up by the Canadian Rockies, an Alberta Clipper, which will create severely frigid air to hang over the city tomorrow morning.
Last night, there was to be a spectacle around midnight, the Super Blood Wolf Moon plus a total lunar eclipse, which is enough to set off a month of New Age hooha. 'Blood' because sunlight still hits the moon a bit, but is bent towards the red spectrum by Earth's atmosphere; each month's full moon usually has a Native name, and January's is Wolf. Super because the perigee is about 16,000 miles closer than usual. Moon is simply moon. Wolf, Snow,Worm, Pink, Flower, Strawberry, Buck, Sturgeon, Harvest, Hunter's, Beaver, and Cold. There you have it, some science, some myth; a balanced almanac.
I am searching for slippers, perhaps Roscoe's cache should be investigated; right now he is speaking in tongues at the string attached to the feather toy, for tiring him out is a good thing. The day stretches on, we have gained about 25 minutes since winter solstice, and it is well appreciated. The blankets are orderly once again, layers of wool and cotton and pillows are smoothed; this bleak, hibernal night will arrive clear with the vault of heaven cloudless and open, hence providing the day's gathered heat an escape into the sky. Morning could present us with 10 to 20 below zero.
Get ready for sleeping well and warm, count your kids, cats, and dogs; find gloves, find scarves, ready the pot for morning tea, get out the thermos; all before the evening origami of folding yourself under the covers, and thank whomever you like for this blessing of night. Dream, remember; I will not forget you.
I don't think downtown got as much of the storm that inland areas did, the winds from the Lake usually blow falling snow towards the east. Yet it is bitter cold today, with predictions of a low pressure system set up by the Canadian Rockies, an Alberta Clipper, which will create severely frigid air to hang over the city tomorrow morning.
Last night, there was to be a spectacle around midnight, the Super Blood Wolf Moon plus a total lunar eclipse, which is enough to set off a month of New Age hooha. 'Blood' because sunlight still hits the moon a bit, but is bent towards the red spectrum by Earth's atmosphere; each month's full moon usually has a Native name, and January's is Wolf. Super because the perigee is about 16,000 miles closer than usual. Moon is simply moon. Wolf, Snow,Worm, Pink, Flower, Strawberry, Buck, Sturgeon, Harvest, Hunter's, Beaver, and Cold. There you have it, some science, some myth; a balanced almanac.
I am searching for slippers, perhaps Roscoe's cache should be investigated; right now he is speaking in tongues at the string attached to the feather toy, for tiring him out is a good thing. The day stretches on, we have gained about 25 minutes since winter solstice, and it is well appreciated. The blankets are orderly once again, layers of wool and cotton and pillows are smoothed; this bleak, hibernal night will arrive clear with the vault of heaven cloudless and open, hence providing the day's gathered heat an escape into the sky. Morning could present us with 10 to 20 below zero.
Get ready for sleeping well and warm, count your kids, cats, and dogs; find gloves, find scarves, ready the pot for morning tea, get out the thermos; all before the evening origami of folding yourself under the covers, and thank whomever you like for this blessing of night. Dream, remember; I will not forget you.
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