Archive for October, 2004

Fuel

For myself, I am horrified should someone come upon me in such an undignified pose as toileting but they are a immodest savage, not at all phased by my (albeit professional, disinterested field-observation) gaze. Uncharacteristically exposed, they even level-eyedly meet my eyes without shame despite their awkwardness and smell. It’s a strangely taboo intimacy to see them like this, stripped as it were.

I was pondering this just today as I watched the hairless tall do their business one by one. Perhaps because of what I read of Cat feces Superfuel which hit the news:

TORTILLA FLAT, Arizona – Miss Gertrude Applebury, a life-long resident of Tortilla Flat, Arizona, and retired school teacher announced through her local paper today the potential energy stored in cat feces. “When I experimented with it a bit, I couldn’t believe how much power it contained,” said the 65-year-old spinster.”

Certainly I feel the power of this great equalizers of creatures on this great ball of the sky. Even this lovely lass I met at the doctor’s (her pussy call name, Mrs. Claws) agrees: Defecation is one of the basic signs of life that marks our animism and animalism.

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. . .

Ooooommmmm

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Poem

He is an inert block, vacuum sealed in sleep.
The point of a cat, a hiss, punctures the seal
airless dreams release skin tight confines
of his movements. The Big Cheese struggles
groggily, brings translucent sac loosely
to his knees, melts back to snores.
Cat on his pillow, mouth stretched wide
as a cobra before strike, meows:
Hey, Old Cheddar, Need Food now.

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light? tunnels? where?

Hairballerific waves may come and go but going and returning too are transient comfort of laps and positively lickable all over pettings. Lovely table edge here for me to mark as my own (but I’ll let them continue to use it too). It’s got a nice beveled edge that reciprocates my rub as a gum stimulator too.

Life is as simple as you want to make it. Just now, I’m as simple as a sunbeam, slow as faith.

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mind if I snore?

I don’t really. Rarely really. Hardly at all. Heard nothing myself. Of course I can be a deep sleeper. But I’m sure that sound came from the closet. My colleague snore. Me no, never. See the nap of my fur. Would you take a look at this earnest face and think I snore? Harumph yes. I’ll admit to that. Even give a puff now and then when I grunt after a good butt wiggle preparing for a long leap like from this table to that counter with that unidentified dish left out. Could be edible. Excuse me. Must check.

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More on Mror

While Mror is more abstract to me than to Ms. Zhou, my satisfaction is I think less low. Mror is after all autonomously feral, intersexed with the characteristics of both tom and jane. She took life in an off-paw manner, living dawn-to-dawn in a manner similar to what you hairless talls may recall of the youth-path of buddha…except that she went up the tree of enlightenment and instead of chastity formented brawls with toms and brought out 6 consecutive litters which she abandonned with a free heart to her littermate sister.

Certainly Catess Mror is a model of life lived with fevor and flavor. We all can’t be her however. And Mror blesses all cats. Perhaps someday she may event extend her special benediction to hairless talls who would come forward to receive her rite of licks.

It must be my illness that has me mulling such silly things as can not be swatted by a paw this moment. this moment is all that matter. On that note, think I’ll go pounce Ms. Zhou. Playtime!

So Mror over. Next time something more within whisker length…

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worship

I’ve been idly contemplating the different ways to worship at the temple of Mror for all she has provided. (For those of you who don’t know, that alter is the ceramic and stainless steel bowls of feeding the soul-body.)

My colleague gravitates towards a southern evangelical style with much animation and vocalization, rather pentecostal really. At any time day or night she’ll cry out her alter call. She gets heaps of comfort and excitement from her worship. Of late she has felt such insecurity (from the construction, babies, visitors and dogs,) that she has taken often to the alter, bingeing alone. It’s the focus of her life, even to the point of the worshipping and celebration being more central than the good Mror Herself. **shaking head and scratching jaw with back paw** Ah well, we each make our choices from need. We are too lazy and selfish to do things that have no reward. Even the least redeeming looking behaviors have utility or they would have ceased to be.

For myself, I am more muslim in my pursuit of meaning. My quiet controlled prostrations coming at regular intervals through the day. Mror is constantly in me as surely as the ocean breathes steadily. I feel largely without blame as God is to ultimately blame, not me. I don’t run to the alter of make a great show.

Mror and Mror still

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