Kitty cat confidential
May. 18th, 2006 03:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pjthompsonQuote of the day:
"Sell your certainty and purchase your bewilderment."
—Jelaluddin Rumi
But I already seem to have a bumper crop of bewilderment these days. The market's surely depressed.
Cat story of the day:
Undie reminds me a great deal of another cat I used to know, one who owned me. Winnie sloughed off the mortal coil two years before Undie was born, so I've wondered for some time now ifI'm being haunted by the same cat her spirit may have recycled into this infinitely lovelier and superior body. (Undie made me write that last bit.)
Miss Winifred wasn't a Princess, per se, but she did write an etiquette column for the City Cat Daily. The column, Fascinating Felininity, ran with the motto, Stop acting like you live in a barn and chase mice for a living: the sophisticated cat's life in the city. She was fond of organdy dresses, white gloves, and pillbox hats with veils--long after such things had gone out fashion. Winnie was sort of her own fashion trend, if you know what I mean.
Things weren't always such a model of decorum in Winnie's life, however. The hillbilly family she was born into included marriage between siblings, so it's no wonder she chose to disassociate herself from the barn cats. She did have physical legacies of this inbreeding, however. The front of her looked like a long-haired grey tabby, while her back and tail were bright orange. (In fact, the first vet I took her to thought I'd dyed her back end and was not at all pleased with me.) Her eyes had a lovely violet cast (which meant her vision wasn't as acute as one might wish), and she was deaf to sounds in a lower register. You could walk across gravel towards her and if Winnie had her back to you, she'd never hear you. She also had a little crook at the end of her tail (you couldn't see it, only feel it) which the vet said was a sign of the inbreeding. And she was one of the smallest adult cats I ever knew. Despite all this, and her organdy dresses, she was also the toughest cat I've ever known. I've seen her take on a German shepherd and a Lab, respectively, who accidentally walked into her yard. And because of the deafness, she yelled louder than one would think possible for such a tiny cat, particularly if you walked over gravel and touched her when she didn't know you were there.
Is it any wonder, given that traumatic upbringing, that she became a writer?
At any rate, she got fed up with the Tobacco Road Syndrome at some point and showed up on my doorstep. "You will be pleased," she announced, "to become my human server and facilitator."
As in everything else, Winnie was spotlessly correct.
"Sell your certainty and purchase your bewilderment."
—Jelaluddin Rumi
But I already seem to have a bumper crop of bewilderment these days. The market's surely depressed.
Cat story of the day:
Undie reminds me a great deal of another cat I used to know, one who owned me. Winnie sloughed off the mortal coil two years before Undie was born, so I've wondered for some time now if
Miss Winifred wasn't a Princess, per se, but she did write an etiquette column for the City Cat Daily. The column, Fascinating Felininity, ran with the motto, Stop acting like you live in a barn and chase mice for a living: the sophisticated cat's life in the city. She was fond of organdy dresses, white gloves, and pillbox hats with veils--long after such things had gone out fashion. Winnie was sort of her own fashion trend, if you know what I mean.
Things weren't always such a model of decorum in Winnie's life, however. The hillbilly family she was born into included marriage between siblings, so it's no wonder she chose to disassociate herself from the barn cats. She did have physical legacies of this inbreeding, however. The front of her looked like a long-haired grey tabby, while her back and tail were bright orange. (In fact, the first vet I took her to thought I'd dyed her back end and was not at all pleased with me.) Her eyes had a lovely violet cast (which meant her vision wasn't as acute as one might wish), and she was deaf to sounds in a lower register. You could walk across gravel towards her and if Winnie had her back to you, she'd never hear you. She also had a little crook at the end of her tail (you couldn't see it, only feel it) which the vet said was a sign of the inbreeding. And she was one of the smallest adult cats I ever knew. Despite all this, and her organdy dresses, she was also the toughest cat I've ever known. I've seen her take on a German shepherd and a Lab, respectively, who accidentally walked into her yard. And because of the deafness, she yelled louder than one would think possible for such a tiny cat, particularly if you walked over gravel and touched her when she didn't know you were there.
Is it any wonder, given that traumatic upbringing, that she became a writer?
At any rate, she got fed up with the Tobacco Road Syndrome at some point and showed up on my doorstep. "You will be pleased," she announced, "to become my human server and facilitator."
As in everything else, Winnie was spotlessly correct.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-18 07:43 pm (UTC)Seriously, brought a lump to my throat and threatened my eyes with tears. Lucky thing I'm such a cold-hearted bitch.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-19 11:47 am (UTC)Ensconced on a comfy cushion on the branch of a celestial tree.
Lucky thing I'm such a cold-hearted bitch.
Everyone says that, especially when it comes to kitties. (massive wink)