the doggy got a walkie
and the dishes were a bore
because the sun was shining
and it could not be ignored
then later in the evening
I headed for the door
to visit with that kitty
As I was saying to Sof last night, it’s really not D3 I come to visit anymore, it’s really her. I mean, certainly, D3 has an awesome album collection, and last night was no exception, and quite frankly outdid himself when he pulled out the ol’Prinester. I swooned over my ribs and rice.
They had a Hi-Fi phono
Boy, did they let it blast
Seven hundred little records
All rock, rhythm and jazz
But when the sun went down
The rapid tempo of the music fell
“C’est la vie,” -Say the old folks
It goes to show that you never can tell
You Never Can Tell by John Prine
After having my own two, Gizmo & Shoe, for all those years, and now with a dog, I have to say I miss my kitty cats. Cats curl up on your lap, wind around your legs when you get up to go pee, then saunter off somewhere to sleep for the rest of the day, or go out hunting the snark as in Sof’s case.
Dogs come bouncing into your writing space, whining for one thing or another, just as that elusive thought, idea, spark, word, whatever, comes into view, and POOF, it disappears with the next little jiggle of their head in your periphery, and the louder woof as the last went ignored.
Gawd help me if I didn’t have a dog I, seriously, I’d be a complete shut-in. She gets me out the door into the glorious sunshine.
Yet Sof, I do love her mystery. Her inscrutable gaze, as she looks into my eyes as I asked whether or not she’d ever caught a rabbit, but she just purred louder.
He told me she wandered into his life at least 15 years ago, feral and pregnant, and I guess all but one kitten lived. So she’d had it a bit rough. But they took her in, that is to say, D3’s girlfriend did. And then a few years later she disappeared for a year, and then she re-appeared, so they took her to the feral cat program and, again, pregnant with another litter, and after the wee ones were weaned they had her fixed.
So there she was last night, it’s been I guess 6 months now since his girlfriend died, and there Sof was, situated between the two of us, right up at the table with us in her own chair. This kitty cat knows she’s a part of the action, and she sat there the whole night purring away and gently reaching out her little paw whenever she needed a pat.
Had a wonderful conversation, her and I, whenever D3 disappeared to tend the BBQ. As the weather had been so mild and sunny that BBQ ribs seemed natural, and apparently were on sale, so we dined and listen to some more John Prine. The company and conversation was a much-needed respite from my work, home, work of the last few days. Plus I suppose I needed a little purr power.
When I was a young girl well, I had me a cowboy
He weren’t much to look at, just free rambling man
But that was a long time and no matter how I try
The years just flow by like a broken down dam.
Angel From Montgomery
Sof and I could never be as I am but a good friend of her man, nothing more. She, as I’ve told him, she is his familiar, and she adores him. Although, I suspect the tuna and sardines have something to do with it. I told him he’s creating a furry little monster, but he just smiles and does her bidding, good little servant to her Majesty as he is. She has him wrapped around her little paw and he’s oblivious.
Good on her. Yes, she is good where she is, happy, and I can visit. Cat by proxy. Although I wish that proxy extended to catching my resident mouse, alas D3 said no, refused my proposal for a switch-a-roo for a few days.
So all and all I think she liked the John Prine. Yet, really, how can you ever really know the musical tastes of a feral cat? Heck, she might prefer jazz, she’s chill enough for jazz.
She really gives nothing away, and that is her charm.
I was walking down the road, man
Just looking at my shoes
When God sent me an angel
Just to chase away my blues
Everything Is Cool
dp :: INSCRUTABLE