CoffeeTea: Bigelow’s Earl Grey, pre-packed (New pot is purchased; will use tomorrow)
I was lying down in a hot shower thinking about your cats. You had two. I assume you still have them. In my head, I wrote this poem:
Two lump sums
Additive of: day-naps; kitchen scurries; fur balls.
One of you is a great gray fumble, kept to profound lounging, nighttime meowing
At your own shadow, his/her shadow
You chase your tail sometimes, but mostly you’re chasing sleep.
One of you is a slim speckled princess, white gloves on all your hands hiding paws that got declawed.
A safe tragedy
You’d surely use them.
I reckon I’m stuck with
The tick-bite memory
Of lounging in your daytimes
Or napping through our bedtimes
And that one hot day in summer
Where we sat on bathroom floors picking at each other’s
I toweled off. I looked in the mirror. I’m getting older. Cats age faster. A long, lazy day dreaming of things I won’t see again.
Currently Reading: Autumn, Ali Smith
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“Holding this soft, small living creature in my lap this way, though, and seeing how it slept with complete trust in me, I felt a warm rush in my chest. I put my hand on the cat’s chest and felt his heart beating. The pulse was faint and fast, but his heart, like mine, was ticking off the time allotted to his small body with all the restless earnestness of my own.” – Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle