Cat Story

On the rebound, the newly single man takes on a cat. Then a kitten. Then a new girlfriend. She moves in, they move out, start a home, have a kid—and each step along the way, the cat expresses a displeasure that grows until they simply can’t bear to have her around anymore. This, says the lady running the shelter, is a story she’s heard many times before, to the point she’s reluctant to adopt her cats to single men, but can’t take his in because she’s all full up, and besides the poor old thing would miss him terribly.

A prequel to Tomorrow, I guess. Image by Craiyon.

Quean

Willow is a 19-year-old tabby. That’s 92 in people years. She is still kittenish. Her brother Badger looks like someone made a pelt out of Gordon Lightfoot. How can it be that this eight-pound bundle of claws and micturition stays so young? I think I’ve figured out her secrets:

1. Ask for what you want.
2. Don’t overeat. If you do, throw it up.
3. Don’t hide your light under a bushel: Get involved, stay involved.
4. Don’t hold your pee. Go when you need to, where you need to.

I’ll be following Willow’s life lessons. Apart from the bulimia.

Image by Angelika Betzold. Inspired by Noah Was Not a Cat Person.

Noah Was Not a Cat Person

“Berth the aardvarks on Deck C,” Noah told his son Shem. “They won’t cause trouble with the turtles.”
     He looked up at the sky. Thirty-nine days now, without let-up.
     Japheth rushed up. “Father, you still haven’t boarded the cats!”
     Irritated, Noah looked down at his manifest. Cats again.
     “They’ll make excellent mousers on the voyage,” Japheth wheedled.
     Noah sighed. No one else understood God’s plan, not even his cat-loving son.
     “Alright,” he said, suddenly inspired. “Have them board tomorrow. Later in the day . . . 11 p.m. Let’s see . . . hmmm. Yes. Put them on Deck E, between the jackals and the wolves.”

Inspired by Cat Woman. Image by James Edwin McConnell.

Cat Woman

Her falling-down house has lots of rooms with lots of doors to slam. High perches, sunny corners, and low hiding spots for the cats to explore abound—a feline playground stocked well with scurrying mice. His and her raised voices rattling old skeletons caused the tabbies to disappear for days, and now that all the closets are empty and his stuff thrown out, the cats have even more space to wander. But instead they slink back to her in the too-quiet night, two warm vibrating hearts on the couch—their paws stretched out to touch—to reassure their frail human.

Inspired by Tomorrow, I guess (which slightly appalled Nancy). Drawing by Nancy.

Tomorrow, I guess.

A fine project to tackle between Christmas and New Year’s, with the family out of town, and far too much time to fret over my approach: “I’d like to . . . I want to . . . I need to have my cat put down”
     She’s not all that old. She’s probably not sick. It’s mostly she’s driving us crazy and ruining our home. But here I’m still stuck on the fact she’ll be killed on my say-so. “An overdose of narcotics,” the receptionist tells me rather matter-of-factly, directly into the vein, by appointment only.
     “Tomorrow, I guess. But not too early.”
     “Noon?”
     “That’s fine.”

Inspired by Auld Lang Sigh. Image by Craiyon.

Auld Lang Sigh

Apparently we begin our New Year with Intentions rather than Resolutions. Intentions are lovely, cuddly wishes, and whisper aims and goals softly, “I’m going to be gentler with myself” or “I will set boundaries on my energy-bank.” Whereas NYE Resolutions of yore, with their penitential proclamations like “NO MORE BOOZE UNTIL MARCH” or “YOGA EVERY DAY!” come across as too harsh, almost judgy. So, in an attempt to be current, I’ll swipe tentatively from today’s more palatable butter board zeitgeist. Here are my 2023 Intentions: Be Kinder, Live Lighter, Work Smarter. See? Flabby and nebulous. Kinda like my post-Christmas chin.

Inspired by The New Year’s Pre-Party. Image by Valio84sl on Dreamstime.