Feet up, shoes off, chair reclined, listening to the stairwell reverberate with calls to higher beings and wailing melodies whose feelings have not yet been invented, nor words aligned with rooms that are tossed. English? No chance. Patwah? Perhaps. The calf now creased heavily by the end of the desk, pale without a tinge of troublesome yellow-trappings that went out with the rumbling thunder and the char of the descending kings-now left with an edging frame, as vindicative as the earth feebly stroked for bellying parallel to the escaping idols on the smelted raft-rolling tablets, munition grafted, callouses soft. The drop-off, a cliff and a gorge below tunneling through a watershed of burnt up banana peels and lush green plants that rise and fall with each flexion of the foot, ashes burrowing into the heel asking the finger muraled diamonds to follow where the hatchet cleared shrubs fill the mind with extra air, musky fumes spinning spears taught. At the bottom of the stairs, sobs overtake the science of dawdling. A curt drumroll and a fuzzy bassline, we have acetized guests… the seat returns upright- modernity buys silence with a cough. Time to back up all files…socks skating upon the wooden floor….an elevator rings the tambourine, culturally, no bad, makes no worse, assessment is collision curvature…another request of chunky beams -cathedral lights of the slamming steel door- in the boorish parking lot, the engineer feeling the creative panic. Thru elevated glass…a handshake dives low, the beat of the oars worships wide of the intruder’s fence…

July 21, 2012

So Ted has been back for less than an hour and I am already wishing he had extended his stay or at least gotten detained by airport security. I personally would have opted for the latter. An over zealous TSA worker with a few rubber gloves would have given Ted the wonderful experience of what its like to visit the vet.  Speaking of the vet, I feel like I am in the waiting room. The uneasy feeling of wondering what is coming next has been transplanted into the middle of my living room. The peace and quiet of having the entire house to myself has now been replaced by the roar of the television. And the joys of reclining on the comfy couch have been greatly restricted. As I write this I am currently holed up in the bathroom. Apparently, Ted thought it important to throw himself a welcome home party….how lame. Who throws themselves a welcome home party? First of all, Its not like Ted was coming home from a semester at school or eight years in the federal penitentery….although that’s where he belongs after leaving me at the mercy of those nutty neighbors. Nope,  Ted was only gone for three days. Second, isn’t it the responsibility of your friends to throw you the party? I realize that Ted doesn’t have many close associations, but surely someone could have stepped up and invited him over if it was so damn important. At least I would have had a few more hours to relax. Instead I am doing my best to keep out of sight, as Ted and and a bunch of idiots watch football. I know I am only a simple housecat, but I have yet to understand why humans are always yelling at the TV during sporting events. AFter all it is only a game. Try watching National Geographic some time. That channel invites emotion. It still bothers me that despite all of my loud meows and ___warnings,  those  African antelopes  continue to wander right into the jaws of a waiting lion. I know that these giant cats  are distant relatives, but I cannot help rooting for the underdog. But at least the action desert is  quick and the outcome is definiteve. I think human sports could take a page from the animal kingdom. All those stoppages for commercials and injuries is just too much. Could you imagine if someone tried interrupting a lion attacking his prey to get in a few words about an advertising sponsor? Or if a doctor came out to stop the aggression so that he could attend to a sprained ankle or a sore whisker? Nope, would never happen. Maybe that’s what they need to do with human sports. Everytime there is a stoppage or an injury send out a lion to liven up things or too take care of the weak. You know what they say. Survival of the fittest. I know it will probably never happen. For one thing, the players union would never go for it….unless it got them bigger contracts. And then you would have to compensate the animals. We may eat carbage or smell each others butts, but that doesn’t mean we are stupid. We realize the importance of currency and all the wonderful treats that it can buy. I guess that type of fun isn’t quite ready for prime time. But it may very well have a place in my living room, because as we speak it appears that one of Ted’s friends just cut his hand trying to open a beer.  I guess better sneak into position for my big debut.   Watch out Tom Brady, you are next!

The self-adulating damsel who twirls harsh love and silky destruction on the edge of a tulip’s wings. How does the boy scoped of unvaccinated triggers protect himself from the infestation of happiness- packing pimpled wool into star struck wounds-itchy barbs -needling the body count with a tepid lurch and annulled retreat? I imagined that was the flexing pressure of the notebook, lungs tightened, penciled shavings coloring freckles to cancer, scribbling with so much fervor that five thousand miles away the elephants circled to protect the young. What had she done now? We could all relate to the emotional graffiti, just ask the man yelling at the parking meter while the woman pushing the stroller fails to appease her small, yellow dog. I suppose commitance was purported to be torture for those who partook and for those who confused zipper mesh as punishment from the big blue sky. I caught myself editing the brainwaves as the number two slowed and the waitresses flipped tables-back and forth they went- orange peel mist and pressed cloths, subservience dotted with a flower’s patterned pleat. Peering downwind, pupils slithering between passing trollies and resting complaints, elligible assignment born of pleas expelled through the propulsion of a belled sac -poisoned milk and stinging straps-a birthright of emotions sawed off in a musty shed and smothered under crumbs from a collapsable, pounded cake. I put my coffee down, not because morning is inevitably disarmed, but to see if lifted hands would attract a pool of wayward grounds and warming, gooey cream. To the poor soul who surely had no ideas as influential as mine, if we both lived under clear water, we would be as trivial as the arm that reaches for what the head warns to keep away. But if thick dirt was our home, no shoveled discovery was ever unjoyfully received. Pebbles ricocheting off the grass, perfume pirouetting at its aromatic peak. A lowering sun was unquenched mitigation between loose lingerie and weeds that scream. There was little that could still be solved beyond a trailing horn and voyeuristic routine. The next customer’s voice peels skin inside my cheeks… covered in lust from alienation, the boy erases the stroller…dopamine steals traffic from the street….

July 19, 2012

Last night as I was reflecting….. in the litter box of course…..on the sumptuous meal that I had just devoured, there was a sudden ruckus at the front door. Before I knew what happened, there were three unruly kids running through the house. It seems that neighbor brat….as he will be now known as, had decided to invite his two younger brothers over to my house for what can only be described as a freak show. There was a 5-year-old jumping up and down on Ted’s bed, a two-year-old throwing whatever was not tied down against the wall and of course there was my nemesis burping the alphabet. With Ted gone, it was up to me to defend the house.  Since I was a kitten, I had always dreamed about being in a Rambo movie. Of course I knew that I was way too small and weak to go head to head against an entire army.   But given the right situation, I knew that I could kick some serious ass, and against this group of invaders, I liked my chances.

 Taking a page from my movie star mentor, I decided that I would employ a sneak attack from around the couch and under the coffee table. Unfortunately, I am not nearly as crafty as Sylvester Stallone (although I am much more talented and better looking), because as soon as I emerged into the open I was spotted. Damn… .thwarted before I could deliver  an ankle bite or even a shin scratch. I was hoping that the 5-year-old and the 2-year-old, or as I prefer to call them, Dumb and Dumber would dispose of me in a quick and relatively humane manner. My mistake. Like Rambo, I was famcing a devious adversary with little sense of right and wrong. While there were no bamboo cages or electric shocks, I  was  faced with a much more horryifying situation. Placed on the kitchen table, my legs were pulled and prodded for what seemed like hours by all three boys.  After finshing my examination, the 5-year-old thought it would be fun to play fighter pilot.  Apparently, he felt that the red stapler and the tape dispenser that were sitting on the table would make excellent dive bombers, and that my belly bore a striking resmblance to an aircraft carrier. Like clockwork, one would take off and one would land. A quick service announcement: remember the words Jake and Osbourne, because if in 20 years you are boarding a plane and you see a pilot with this name…run! Get off the plane, out of the airport and if possible out of the city. For starters, Jake has no idea what the term soft landing means, nor does he realize that a plane needs wheels to land on a runway. There were a couple of times he landed the stapler so hard, that I though it was going to pass right through me and out my back. I guess it’s a good thing that I watch the Rock Hard Abs dvd on a daily basis. Because my muscular physique (with a slight assist from the 10 lbs of food that was siting in my stomach) was the only thing that saved me from being turned completely inside out.  Even more alarming was the fact that Jake deemed it important for both planes to “meet” in the sky. Sometimes to exchange pleasantries and other times to play aerial demolitionderby. Either way, this game ususally ended with both planes making an violent crash landing on my runway.  Speaking of violent, I was slowly beginning to reconsider my anti-aggression stance towards children. I know that cats are supposed to be the ideal pet because of their temperment, but this was really pushing it. Maybe if I took a small chunk out of the 5-year-old’s arm, I would be doing the entire cat population a huge favor. Word would get out about my horrible act, sending shockwaves throughout the pet owning community. No longer would cats be recommended for families with small…and in my opinion…dangeorus children. The only suitable alternative would be to ship us to homes that would be idiot…I mean….kid free. There would be no more fur pulling, whisker chewing or eyeball poking.  The only things we would have to worry about are when do we eat and should I take another nap?

 For the second time today I was drooling and it wasn’t because of the Spam. I had lined up Jake for what was sure to be a painful and “unfortunate” mishap.

As I opened my mouth, I could almost hear the celebration in the feline community. But just as I was about bite down, I felt a swift smack on my butt. In all the excitement, I hadn’t noticed that the boys father was now standing behind me in the kitchen. Maybe he overheard me talking to myself, or maybe it was the sight of my teeth, but he was on to me and made it known that he did not approve of my plan. The boys took this as their cue to depart and quickly scampered home.  I was now alone with the largest human that I had ever seen. Readying for battle, I fluffed up as big as possible and cautiously inched towards my opponent. I knew that I had little chance of victory, but I was determined to go out like a soldier. I had been tortured by three mischevious children for most of the evening, the last thing that I feared was death. After what seemed like a marathon staredown,  this mountain of a man approached. He said nothing but quickly placed a small bowl of dry food at my feet.  After that he was gone. As I tried to understand what had just transpired, I realized that I had done exactly what I had set out to do. I had survived the enemy and drove him from my house. Hell I even got him to pay tasty reperations for the unalwful invasion . All this excitement had made me quite tired….so I decided to enjoy the spoils of my victory in the morning. As I drifted off to sleep…I realized that even though I’m not the strongest or the biggest I sure do have guts… And if Sylvestor Stallone ever wants to trade the jungle for the living room….than  maybe just maybe… there will be a place for me in a Rambo movie after all.

A metal table with three empty chairs, the rose designed top, carved petals and ellipses, peering into patches of weeds and fractured brick pavers, waggling crow’s feet-anxious in the spring time-working the tapping puddles underneath. Or perhaps the splay of pointed forks and jagged knifes hurled down by a present-day Zeus or an allowanced woman who did not allocute to the emptiness of being friends. The man who now hovered above was tall, with grey hair- light enough to infer the imperfect condition of lust and aftermath-the once blonde streaks of ambivalence prematurely giving way. He was lean but gym ready, well-dressed but offset by blue wrinkled flamingos and creased shorts that were olive suede. His shins and arms shared the same amount of curled hair, matted in totality as if hiding freckles smacked lips with clever contest, constants against the contessa whose rotated forearms tracked amplitudes of the cooling wind. The way he rubbed his wrists and circled behind every approaching waiter promised that luck had nothing to do with expectation. After 30 minutes of shape shifting and eyeing seats as patient daughters, I was not convinced that absence makes the heart grow fonder, or lack of purchase voided the practice of leaving a conciliatory tip……

July 17, 2012

Well the meal turned out to be delicious! Not sure if it was because of the chef’s abilities or because I was so damn hungry that I would have eaten tree bark. Of course, not everything was perfect. I think the block of cheddar cheese may have been a bit much and the Spam could have definitely used some seasoning. But then again, one would have to know what Spam is in order to make it tasty. From what I have read on the internet, I have concluded that Spam is pork and ham combined with several additives and preservatives, that not only causes intense indigestion in cats, but also allows anyone who comes in contact with it to glow in the dark. If that second part is true, then it looks like I will be a walking glow stick for the next month or so, because I didn’t exactly leave any leftovers if you know what I mean. But all in all, I think I did a good job for my first outing in the kitchen. After draining the water, I was pleased to see that the casserole was not too watery or runny. It actually held its shape quite nicely. I was all set to take credit for that until I realized that Mr. Mouse and the fishing line had become embedded in the food. Let’s be honest, it’s probably no worse than what you would find in your burger at most fast food restaurants. Besides, both the fishing pole and the mouse went above and beyond the call of duty in my hour of need. They not only stirred my food but were also the glue that held the casserole together, literally.  I may actually write the toy company a very nice letter commending them as well as a copy of my recipe. Although, I should definitely wait and see about the glowing in the dark business before I do so. As for the presentation, I was fortunate to find a few moth wings and one lizard head to serve as garnishes. It’s not exactly a lemon wedge and paisley, but under the circumstances it will do. I also remembered that it is very important to pair an appropriate beverage with one’s special dish. Since I am very sophisticat-ed (pretty clever huh?), I decided to go with a nice glass of Bumble Bee Tuna Water vintage June 2012. Im not sure if it was as good as the Starkist April 1998, but it sufficed.
The only regret that I had was that I didn’t have any ingredients to make a dessert…..beef gravy served over a spider would have been perfect. However, the amount of dinner that I prepared was more than enough to fill me up. Looking back on the entire process, I can tell you that it was well worth the effort. Sure there were times where I wondered if my meal was ever going to make it into my mouth, but I stuck with it and never gave up. And for that I am extremely proud of myself. I also proved to myself that despite being only 8.5 lbs and having a brain the size of a golf ball, that I have the apititude to learn new tricks. Oh wait, I think that’s what dogs are supposed to do. Anyway, I am very excited to see where my curiosity takes me next (there’s the cat reference I was looking for). I have discovered that there is a wealth of information out there for anyone who chooses to embrace the ability to learn. If anything, I hope that I was able to inspire everyone who read this to do something great. It doesn’t matter if you are a great big human, or four legged furball, you have it in you to acquire a new talent or improve an old skill. I hope you will take this advice to heart and challenge yourself to learn something new or do something great in the coming weeks and months. Please keep me posted on your progress, I would love to hear what path you have chosen.