Oh this retched coat. What will I do with it? It gets in my mouth and I must say I have a hair trigger response that the carpet feels teh outcome of just now. I tried covering it over with toiletry sand but its a long kick and I think I’ll just hide out over here for now instead, maybe nibble on this papyrus instead, maybe knead a pillow of two. oh, no, I found something better. Used clothes left out. I’ll nest in that…Ah, few circles now a good long nap on the white one.

Let’s hear it for my best new buddy Irving Let me break teh news to him. He doesn’t know we’re friends yet since I have haven’t been able to jig up the connection but in time, how could we miss? Idn’t he capital Q cute?

She keeps pawing that keyboard. I want my turn to upload my homily, but it seems that despite being so close to the entry point, I’ll have to just psychically mo-blog instead. Did I not declare dibs hours ago? How did she miss it?

I try distracting her by walking across the keyboard but to no avail. I try luring her like Lassie to food even though it is full and race back and jump on her chair before she gets back. She’s just lifts me off. Sitting at her shoulder, I try tapping her arm over and over, sometimes with a relaxed paw, sometimes with claws extended just to keep things interesting.

She
keeps
typing.

Wonder what she’s up to anyway. The other is at that too.

I try leaving a trail of footprints across what he’s working on but his patience is endless to lift me off and set me aside. this could get amusing. Back adn forth, lick a hand, scratch my chin on his screen, display my ever so pretty derriere in the lovely backlighting. Try typing a bit in his document.

And I’m airlifted. I can start to see the tiniest of jaw clench now. This could get to be more fun than anything I was about to tell you about anyway. Perhaps I’ll see just how many crossings I can make…

Not me. Not in this sense at any rate.
Jack works at a train station. Or so the story goes.

Natural enough. My paws are mostly good for transportation but some are “handier” with their 5 or 6 toes. Why not.

For myself I would rather jsut enjoy this sun patch. Ah, roll. Roll. Can’t get enough R&R. If someone could just pin that sun in place…the moonlight is lovely to anticipate too.

For myself, I am horrified should someone come upon me in such an undignified pose as toileting but they are a immodest savage, not at all phased by my (albeit professional, disinterested field-observation) gaze. Uncharacteristically exposed, they even level-eyedly meet my eyes without shame despite their awkwardness and smell. It’s a strangely taboo intimacy to see them like this, stripped as it were.

I was pondering this just today as I watched the hairless tall do their business one by one. Perhaps because of what I read of Cat feces Superfuel which hit the news:

TORTILLA FLAT, Arizona – Miss Gertrude Applebury, a life-long resident of Tortilla Flat, Arizona, and retired school teacher announced through her local paper today the potential energy stored in cat feces. “When I experimented with it a bit, I couldn’t believe how much power it contained,” said the 65-year-old spinster.”

Certainly I feel the power of this great equalizers of creatures on this great ball of the sky. Even this lovely lass I met at the doctor’s (her pussy call name, Mrs. Claws) agrees: Defecation is one of the basic signs of life that marks our animism and animalism.

Ooooommmmm

He is an inert block, vacuum sealed in sleep.
The point of a cat, a hiss, punctures the seal
airless dreams release skin tight confines
of his movements. The Big Cheese struggles
groggily, brings translucent sac loosely
to his knees, melts back to snores.
Cat on his pillow, mouth stretched wide
as a cobra before strike, meows:
Hey, Old Cheddar, Need Food now.

Hairballerific waves may come and go but going and returning too are transient comfort of laps and positively lickable all over pettings. Lovely table edge here for me to mark as my own (but I’ll let them continue to use it too). It’s got a nice beveled edge that reciprocates my rub as a gum stimulator too.

Life is as simple as you want to make it. Just now, I’m as simple as a sunbeam, slow as faith.

I don’t really. Rarely really. Hardly at all. Heard nothing myself. Of course I can be a deep sleeper. But I’m sure that sound came from the closet. My colleague snore. Me no, never. See the nap of my fur. Would you take a look at this earnest face and think I snore? Harumph yes. I’ll admit to that. Even give a puff now and then when I grunt after a good butt wiggle preparing for a long leap like from this table to that counter with that unidentified dish left out. Could be edible. Excuse me. Must check.

While Mror is more abstract to me than to Ms. Zhou, my satisfaction is I think less low. Mror is after all autonomously feral, intersexed with the characteristics of both tom and jane. She took life in an off-paw manner, living dawn-to-dawn in a manner similar to what you hairless talls may recall of the youth-path of buddha…except that she went up the tree of enlightenment and instead of chastity formented brawls with toms and brought out 6 consecutive litters which she abandonned with a free heart to her littermate sister.

Certainly Catess Mror is a model of life lived with fevor and flavor. We all can’t be her however. And Mror blesses all cats. Perhaps someday she may event extend her special benediction to hairless talls who would come forward to receive her rite of licks.

It must be my illness that has me mulling such silly things as can not be swatted by a paw this moment. this moment is all that matter. On that note, think I’ll go pounce Ms. Zhou. Playtime!

So Mror over. Next time something more within whisker length…