The man came in smelling of dog. And right by the knees of smoky brick with a distinct trace of sausage. Where’s mine?
Archive for December, 2007
There is a great big taller than me pile of papers. Now that I don’t get furballs as much, I don’t know why the beans keep so many around.
How many legs must a cat walk up and down before they give her a moan and frown?How many dives must a cat be forced to make, before their head pillow goes around?How many swats will it take til they know, dark or not, it is time to get downand feed a sweet cat, the supper they forget? Is the answer of tuna now in the fridge?
A bunch of beans spilled in. They made a lot of noise. I watched from my bookshelf. One of them brought the kind of plastic bag that sometimes is fresh-baked chicken. I bolted from my spot and stuck my head in the bag to make sure if there was chicken I would get it. There wasn’t. I return to my statuary position, ready to mount any sofa-trolls who may sit for long enough for me to make myself comfortable.
I have been training the beans. Or maybe we’ll been coming to a working agreement. The male bean doesn’t feed me but he does give good lap and petting service so he’s a keeper. The female bean is the one who gives breakfast. If I try to wake her with whisker to the ear, I get hugged as if I were a pillow. This won’t do for feline dignity. I am not a piece of cotton. I think I’ll just wait until she makes some of that bean meowing. Then I’ll go bellow and bounce on her bladder.
My beans have brought me a tree. How nice is that? It doesn’t smell like tree but there are pretty balls. When they’re away tomorrow I’ll make good use of the environmental enrichment and see how many I can hide under the sofa.
The female bean with the pillow soft legs is home and I have pinned her with my purr weight to the sofa. She can’t move. She won’t move. I won’t permit it. If she threatens to move I shall jiggle my toes on her bladder and let her know I’ll make a sea of both of us.