Poor Cecil.
She isn't taking any of this chaos well.
In the aftermath of yesterday's terrifying outing into the world via the bulkhead, she is grumpier than ever.
"If you're planning to sit on the couch," Chris tells me upon my return from the grocery store, "just be careful because Cecil is there."
I look at the pile of blankets on the couch. Seeing no Cecil anywhere I look at Chris again.
"Oh, she's in there," says Chris with a little grin. "Just lift up the blue blanket."
I gently lift the blue blanket to reveal one slitted blue cat eye looking angrily up at me. Cecil is burrowed deep into the pile of blankets. Sleeping. And when not sleeping...sulking.
She is not pleased at my intrusion. "Meh!! Meh!!" she croaks.
I return the blue blanket back to the position in which I found it leaving Cecil to her sulk and siesta.
She remains in her blanket cocoon for the remainder of the afternoon.
I check on her once more.
"Meh! Meh!"
Poor thing.
Her life really sucks right now.
Pushkin
ReplyDeleteThe old cat sleeps
in the newly arrived sun. One more spring
has come his way
dropping a solar bath
on failing kidneys, old cat bones.
I check for the rise and fall of breath.
Once he stalked hares
across the yard, tracked down
chicken hearts with split-lentil eyes.
Fearless, disinterested, a poseur, a demideity.
He and the dog are strangers still
after years of eating side by side.
I remember times of wailing
into my couch, alone
and utterly baffled by life,
when suddenly a cat
would be sitting on my head.
Last week I pulled him snarling
from under a chair in Dr. Bacon's office,
held him while she examined his dull coat,
felt his ribs. Pressed where it hurt.
Eight pounds of fur and bone and mad as hell
but "He's certainly less anxious in your lap,"
she murmured, astonishing me.
I had no idea. Old cat, old friend,
have I reached some place inside,
added to your life
as you have to mine?
by Marjorie Kowalski Cole
from Inside, Outside, Morningside
Ester Republic Press, 2009