cat love

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Gilbert the cat by a sunny windowWhat can our pets teach us? Compassion. Certainly patience. Generosity. And unconditional love (with cats, as long as the food arrives on time). I know, because I’ve seen it in the movies.

In our house, Gilbert the cat swings between extremes–the sweet, cuddly cat purring near my ear and the ever-rebellious teenager (If they don’t see me it’s okay, and if I don’t get caught, it’s okay).

But what can his cat shenanigans tell me about writing? Here’s the short list:

1. Eat everything

Gilbert the cat devours the world. This has been hard on his digestive tract–including those four surgeries to remove inedible items, like rubber bands and watch bands, from his intestines.

Maybe not such a good idea.

But the lesson: Embrace life–all of it. Gobble it up. All the world’s experiences are food for writing.

I confess I’m still working on this one. I’m better at scarfing food than new adventures.

2. Jump on the counter

Also known as “Do whatever you want.” It’s easier to beg forgiveness than ask for permission. Gilbert the cat has a lot of practice at this.

And in writing? Write the poems and the kinds of poems that you want to write–right now. Follow rules only when they’re working for you. Otherwise, they’re rules for someone else.

Again, for me this is a lesson in progress. After a lifetime of trying to be good and fit in and make the right shapes, I’m trying to let go and listen for what’s really inside me.

3. Chase the catnip mouse

Bat it around. Pounce! Pick it up in your teeth and carry it around a while.

Play around with your writing a while–see what it does, how fast it skitters across the kitchen floor. Take some time to experiment with it, stretch the lines, shorten them up, kill an adjective or two, find the trapdoors and go through them. Enjoy the fun. Your writing won’t get away–too far.

4. Claws help

Sharpen your tools! I’m not talking about the catty scratches that draw blood. But Gilbert the cat will curl his claws to pick up that catnip mouse.

Keep your writing tools honed–your cutting verbs and your connections for metaphors, your quickest road into the zone. Use them.

5. That square of sunlight has your name on it

Warm up to chill out. All that good time stretched out in the middle of the afternoon  helps you relax into your next best metaphor, your next knock-out poem.

I know a lot of times I think I should be working as hard as I can–but look at that cat sprawled out across the carpet! Consider it your invitation.

Where do you find writing reminders? Can you keep your cat off the kitchen counter?

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The third time is not charming

Where have I been?

I’ve been spending time with the sequestered kitty, the cone-of-shame kitty, the “I ate a watch band and had my third major surgery” kitty, the “I’m lonely” kitty, the kitty who wants to be carried around the house, the kitty who must stay in the basement bathroom shower stall (complete with little basket, litter box, and food bowls) until his stitches come out.

Sorry, no photos. But you get the picture.

Last night, a terrifically fun reading at Bookworm Exchange.

Today, crushing about a ton of Merlot grapes. I hope the rain stops before we start. And I’ll try to have pictures.

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Gilbert the cat has become obsessed with the Santa hats that he found in the basement. He carries them, worries them, and then growls a low and rumbling growl. Our festive little hunter.
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More cat love

Today’s prompt over at Poetic Asides was to write a poem about an object. Immediately, I thought of a salt shaker. (There is a shaker on the cover of my copy of Pablo Neruda’s Ode to Common Things.) But as much as I love salt, the shaker was not an evocative image for me.

Then the cat began to get restless, which means that the cat began to get into trouble. I thought about what might make him happy, and I had my image.

Mouse

It came with 11 others,
a small white mouse alone
on the kitchen floor.
For now, it has two red eyes,
two pink ears, and its own leather tail.
All of these may come off
in a day. It will fray to a wad
of soft and battered fur
and still the cat will spring
like an acrobat, body twisting, chase
this catnip prey
as if it ran by itself,
The rest of the package
stays in the drawer,
and the cat knows where that is
just as he knows I keep
extras in my pockets. He crouches,
tense, as soon as I reach my hand in
(even I just want a tissue
or a note I wrote,
even if the mouse I threw before
sits no more than six inches from him).
He is obsessed with his wealth
of mice just like this one,
and they disappear.
Somewhere in this house
is his abundance.

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