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a posse of cats

i posted this picture in the middle of the night, when i was supposed to be dreaming of Jake Gyllenhaal.  i thought i’d comment on the picture.

my cats are fairly typical – they believe they rule the world, and we bill-payers are mere minions enslaved to do their evil bidding.  one thing that is common among our four cats is this paper obssession.  they all love paper (do all cats?) and i bring home packing paper from work that would just be recycled.

you’d think i’m bringing home gold bars from Fort Knox.  as soon as i put it down one of the furballs is lying on the whole batch.  and then i tear it into sections, and place the new, crisp and krinkly paper in its correct places; the basket shown here, another basket (the cat’s are constantly in and out of these and sleep the day away curled up like Red Riding Hood’s treat for grannie), several half boxes the lazy creatures lounge in, and the cave of wonders.  this is an oversized Toys R Us bag that is STUFFED with paper.  our boy cat goes in here and takes a very loud, very long, very thorough bath in the midst of loud krinkly rustling.  it’s fairly hilarious.

so yeah, this is one of the cats – Doodle (our neurotic shape-shifter) trying to pay attention to something when she’s really possibly hung over

the dredded cat

My cat isn’t fat.  Ok, I mean, if you looked at her you would be like, “Wow.  Your cat is pretty fat”.  (and heavy)  But apparently it’s not her fault.

We comb her out, to reduce what we can, but she is a factory!  The hair under her caramel colored coat is fine and wispy, and there are POUNDS of it.  When I comb her, it’s like we are living in a snow globe of feline fluffiness!  This is after just a minute of combing!!

Next to a quarter for comparison purposes.

Disgusting as this picture is, she has beautiful hair.  I’m thinking a wig maker might make me rich if I brought this in!  If only I could get her to grow it longer…then I could fiddle with it and have a cat with awesome hair, like this!…

moody blues

it’s like this … i have all these ideas, and projects, and books to write…rooms to clean…stuff and more stuff.  and i get this wave of inspiration, or this brilliant flow of creativity.  and i’m motivated, not sleeping because the ideas won’t let me, and the hunger to create keeps me up all night, kooky on caffeine, or wakes me up early so that i am groggy and can hardly make it down the stairs without breaking a leg or squishing a cat.  and then it happens.  i get to the computer and it all leaks out of my brain.  all that good creativity, oozing out of my ears.  all that brilliance, spreading over my cushion as my head collapses onto the couch and my eyes force themselves shut.  it’s like this:


an endless climbing journey that i can never reach the top of.  that i want to conquer and say “look at me, i did it!”

although, the journey may be the best part of the whole damn mess of life; climbing this creative ladder may be more of what i need than a final product.

hmmm…not very Zen today, am i?  maybe i just need more coffee…


accidental happiness – cute beans

I got cute beans.

Back-story:  One of my cats – I have four – is ridiculously adorable.  I mean, they all are, of course.  One is neurotic, needy and affectionate.  One is shy, nervous and spends most of the day hiding from carpet lint.  One is adventurous, athletic and bossy.  And then there is Siris. 

            Siris is … well, adorable.  Soft little belly, big pouty eyes, dark markings on his mouth that make you wonder if he found some kitty-sized lipstick somewhere and is looking into cross-dressing.  He does have a shoe fetish.  We’ve never determined exactly what it is about this cat that makes him so adorable.  True, he is physically cuter than many a cat.  We frequently remind him that there are a score of dreadfully ugly felines out in the world because he stole all the cute.  He just says “meow”.  Is it his cute ‘fun-sized’ stature that makes him so adorable?  He’s never really sprouted into a cat size; still walks around sporting a kitten suit.  Is it this petite frame that makes him so endearing?  Or the fact that he snores when he’s asleep?  I mean, serious snoring, like your old favorite grandparent on the Lazy Boy Sunday afternoon.  Or could it be all the funny adventures Siris has gotten himself into, and we just automatically believe he is charming because of his hilarious past?  The burrito eating contest.  The spontaneous cast he made for his arm.  His random art projects.  Regardless of the reason, he is just freakishly delightful. 

            And he knows this.  In the ten years that we have had Siris, the only days he hasn’t been told he’s cute are days that we were off with family for the holidays; or traveling through Bellinzona, Italy; or landed in jail for indecent exposure in a public place.  Hey come on.  I thought there was something called Freedom of Religion?  Cult rites should be included in that, especially if they involve nudity, honey and shocked onlookers.  But back to the topic at hand; me.

            Reality is, no matter what the reason, this cat is damn cute.  It can’t be denied, ignored, or refuted.  And according to my sister, I’m cute too.

            It’s a frequent occurrence in my house, the mentioning of “cute”.  And it often is attached to me somehow.  Throughout the course of the day, I apparently do things that are funny, endearing, stupid, silly or bizarre.  I say things that are equally goofy, ridiculous or hilarious, and apparently these silly things create a feeling of affection on the end of others.  Or at least this is true with my sister because she is constantly saying how cute I am.  Forever now I’ve been responding back to this comment with “why?”  or “what did I do?”  I want to understand what thing I did that was weird or silly or particularly funny.  It’s not like I’ve done anything interesting or humorous in my eyes.  I’m just being me.  So what on earth is making her smile and shake her head?  What did I do?

            The other day – after mentioning my cuteness and appropriately being drilled as to the reason of said cuteness – my sister simply said “It’s just in your being”. 

            “My beans?”  I said, jokingly, an old family tradition of purposely mishearing someone’s comments. “I got cute beans?” 

            She smiled, shaking her head. 

            And finally it made sense to me.  I’m like my cat.  And now I no longer need to question the authority or accuracy of my sister’s statements.  Because some of us are just innately created to be wacky, weird, wonderful creatures that make others pick on you, laugh at you, and shake their head in wonder.  So why fight it?  Why question it?  I got cute beans.