Youmans (pronounced like 'yeoman' with an 's' added) is the best-kept secret
among contemporary American writers. --John Wilson, editor, Books and Culture Marly Youmans is a novelist and poet out of sync with the times
but in tune with the ages. --First Things

Saturday, April 13, 2013

Saturday morning with cats--

Insane puffcat picture
taken by my youngest on his phone
Cats on each side of me, staring. Evidently I must wake, despite the morning concert of musical snores coming from all parts of the house. People are celebrating Saturday morning in familiar style.

The blue Persian gift-horse puffcat is contemplating the well of nothing. She is a very Zen creature, always peacefully floating in the abyss and often forgetting where the bathroom might be. The tippy-most bit of her tongue is often barely out of her mouth, giving her an addled look that is not belied by her behavior.

The beauteous and intelligent but grumpy Theodora is contemplating that I'm over the hill and yet have seen no woman as president. Why should a cat bother with such things? Like a lot of grumpy beings, she is political and sometimes bites. She tells me that H. Clinton will have Benghazi blow up in her face if she runs. She guesses a woman as president won't happen in her lifetime.

I tell her that a cat's lifetime is not all that impressive, especially if one subtracts the hours spent napping. She flicks my words away with her tail and says it won't happen in my lifetime either. I tell her that it's Saturday morning, and I don't care to think about politicians, many of whom appear to have specialized in nothing but running for office. But try telling anything to a beautiful long-haired calico with exceptional whiskers!

The brainy one. Phone picture by RBM.
She ignores me and adds that it's boy cats who spray. Tom cats, she says. She confides that they have barbs (surprise!) in unexpected places. Despite her complete, sweet virginity, she rolls over on her side, pulls in her paws and purrs, looking like a furry odalisque.

With a long, demanding stare, she reminds me that she has a pronounced penchant for Hartz Hairball Remedy Plus. Whether these wished-for pellets actually work is at yet unclear (alas), but my ongoing desire for the absence of giant hairballs faithfully leads me toward the nearest kitty snake-oil remedies.

I obey. Bottled-up eagerness and then joy comes to cat-world. And now, back to home archaeology.

2 comments:

  1. the gels help control the hair ball issue in our cats: Petromalt or Laxatone. One cat licks it right out of the tube, as if it's candy. The fussy eater has to have it smeared on his paw. Messy, but it's helped. curiously, it's the short haired guy who sheds the most/has the biggest problem. The long hair girl doesn't shed nearly as much.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I've used those but it hasn't made much difference (aside from the fact that Theodora runs away from me if she suspects.)

    The Persian doesn't groom herself and felts up into a hat on legs rather quickly, so it's really a Theodora problem.

    My prior cat was a Burmese: smart and sleek and with much less of a problem with hairballs.

    Looking at comments on this elsewhere, I am pretty clear that a large number of human beings are ruled by cats. Someone should do a study on whether tyrants have/had cats. If not, perhaps they needed cat rule. If so, perhaps we should breed more peaceability into the cat line.

    ReplyDelete

Alas, I must once again remind large numbers of Chinese salesmen and other worldwide peddlers that if they fall into the Gulf of Spam, they will be eaten by roaming Balrogs. The rest of you, lovers of grace, poetry, and horses (nod to Yeats--you do not have to be fond of horses), feel free to leave fascinating missives and curious arguments.