Category: About Writing

Cat Tales, 8

That’s me looking stoic, prepared to wait it out

Some time later … my human looked at a thing she calls a calendar and had turned quite a few pages … I just knew a lot of days had passed.

In the early morning, the pernickety old woman said, “Ha, I hear the truck. I better go tell them where to park.”

Remembering the whole business in the roof that time ago, I hid.

The pernickety old woman came back inside with two men following her, both grey hairs like my human.

Neither of them took their boots off at the backdoor as is the custom. They walked in and out all through the kitchen, the living room next to it and the sunroom behind both.

The pernickety old woman darted in front of them, rolling up the rugs and getting things out of their way.

When they helped her move the refrigerator into the living room and parked it right in front of my hide-out, I’d had enough.

I scooted out of there and ran zig-zagging like a dervish-cat, circling them, then in front and then behind them. Thinking that if I could trip them over, they’d pick themselves up and go away.

The men just laughed and continued with their flicking measuring devices, pens and notebooks.

You’re surprised? I said they were grey hairs!

My human scooped me up and tucked me under her arm. She slid open a cabinet in the sunroom, took the drawer out completely, and put me in that cave.

“Stay there,” she said. “You out of their way and them out of your face.”

This is me looking taken aback. Did my human just tidy me out of the way?

Lego Robot

My new not-yet-totally-complete robot posing against the experimental terra-forming.

The robot is from the Dreamzz series, set 71454. He’s called Z-Blob but I will be thinking up a name appropriate to the role he’ll be playing in the the ongoing storying.

The terra-forming needs over-painting in places, and a way to attach the long sides to each other that will allow changing the pieces around. Maybe.

In the story, there’s a city in the background on the other side of the mud-flats and river channel, that I’m still cogitating how to make. Paint and draw? Collage? A 2D Lego build? What do you think?

Cat Tales, 4

All that the pernickety old woman expected me to live on until morning …

First thing this morning the pernickety old woman called me ‘Maggy’. Huh? Well I know she meant me, no one else present. I ignored her. I am Hand-of-God.

What the pernickety old woman and I are engaging in now, I’ll call the struggle for dominance, because that’s what I am about. You thought that was a dog thing? Ever seen a cat and dog stand off?

I overheard her say to a friend that she’s getting me accustomed to being awake in the daytime, and if that wasn’t enough, she’s getting me used to spending the majority of my waking hours indoors?

Well! We’ll see about that! I lay down on the mat in front of the backdoor—where sunlight beat through the glass and warmed me wonderfully. How could I not sleep for hours?

I did. I woke in the late afternoon. We could’ve had another stand-off about me going outside except that the woman distracted me with that red feather on stick.

She twirled the stick and I jumped and leapt and rolled at the twirling feather. We had a great time but that can’t happen again. I can’t let her win me over like this.

Then she showed me where she will feed me, in the kitchen. A white ceramic bowl filled with my favourite kibbles. Water right there beside them. I felt mollified and ate far too much.

I had another sleep and when I woke, I vomited up my kibbles. What a waste! Despite that I’m feeling wobbly in the middle, the old woman scooped me up, and ran me to the laundry.

She set me on the litter tray and waited expectantly. “Go on,” she said. “Sick up the rest.”

How embarrassing. I walked back to the drinking bowl in the kitchen. I drank. Waited by the food bowl for her to refresh the kibble supply.

Grumbling at herself, she cleaned up the vomit. “No more kibbles today,” she said.

What??!!! I’m telling you I created havoc that night!

Cat Tales, 1

Hi, I’m the Hand-of-God. So called because I was born with a hand-outline, two hairs wide, on my back. But which was only my second name. At the cattery they called me Zorro.

The hand is hard to see now because I grew, and grew, and expanded and the hand expanded too, and became a blob.

Which is how the ignorant old woman now looking after me, calls it.

Hand-of-God? she says. You wish! Go on! I dare you go do something that God told you needs doing.

She obviously doesn’t know God is another name for Life, or Nature, if you’re pernickety like she is.

That night I hunted and ate all the cockroaches in the house. If that isn’t nature, what is?

What else can a Hand-of-God do locked up in an old house?