Cat Got Your Keyboard
Shhh ... he's asleep on the cat tree next to me. I have just a moment to type you this note.
Sorry I've been so silent as of late. The past couple weeks have been all about learning to live with the new cat.
Man, what bliss I once had. I used to come home, do what I want, sit where I want, type when I want. Now, it's is the cat fed? Does the cat have water? The cat wants to be petted. Does the cat need exercise/to be played with. It's like having a fucking kid! It's like being in a fucking relationship! All I want is to sit down, have a beer, and get the work and play done on my computer that I have/want to do.
This cat, Fezzig, is not like my old cat. Boy, she was great. She didn't like to play. She was very much a loner. She came when she wanted attention and then grew tired of attention and left. She found her niches in my small apartments and hung there. She was very low maintenance. Fezzig is a visitor from Hell. He is more a "cat-like" cat. He is the perfect mirror of my imperfect soul.
He is, like me, the total hedonist. I do believe that, given the chance, he would be petted forever. For the past couple of weeks I have felt swallowed in his seemingly endless appetite for pleasure -- petting, play, pay attention to me. And when he has slept, he has needed to sleep near me or on me.
And he is quite clever, very smart. He loves "The bird" - an ingenious cat toy that has a tuft of feathers connected to a flexible rod by a sting. Whirl the through the air and the feathers twirl in a propellor motion making an appealing "flapping sound." Flick them about and suddenly it's like you're fly fishing for cat with your pseudo-bird bait. So the cat loves this but is under no illusions about it's nature. When I flick the feathers into a corner, the cat knows that keeping an eye on the string and tracing it to its source gives him the prize. Better than that, the cat watches where I put "The Bird" when I tire (I always tire first) of the play. And the cat will go and dig out "The bird" and bring it to me to make it work. The laser pointer troubles him. 'Cause he can figure out that I'm behind the seductively darting dot, but he can't understand how. Plus, the dot is ultimately unsatisfying to him. It moves and darts and jumps and flies around ("Hey, that's cool.") but in the end when the pounce, the leap, the bat comes, there's nothing to grab onto. There's not satisfying grab, no body in the mouth to carry back to me. He wrestles with ghosts, and the activity unsettles him, as such activities must.
See? See! Even here, it's all about the cat! Do I write about my preparations for Othello? No, I do not. Do I write about the classes that I'm teaching this semester that need so much work? No, I do not. Do I write about the voice work I'm doing with Mont Pelior? No, I do not. It's the cat, the cat, the cat!
... the cat, who has quite accurately identified as his chief rival for my affections, the computer keyboard. The level of sophisticated passive aggression exhibited from him in the interminable fight for the prime real estate directly under my eyes and my hands is eerie to behold.
Sorry I've been so silent as of late. The past couple weeks have been all about learning to live with the new cat.
Man, what bliss I once had. I used to come home, do what I want, sit where I want, type when I want. Now, it's is the cat fed? Does the cat have water? The cat wants to be petted. Does the cat need exercise/to be played with. It's like having a fucking kid! It's like being in a fucking relationship! All I want is to sit down, have a beer, and get the work and play done on my computer that I have/want to do.
This cat, Fezzig, is not like my old cat. Boy, she was great. She didn't like to play. She was very much a loner. She came when she wanted attention and then grew tired of attention and left. She found her niches in my small apartments and hung there. She was very low maintenance. Fezzig is a visitor from Hell. He is more a "cat-like" cat. He is the perfect mirror of my imperfect soul.
He is, like me, the total hedonist. I do believe that, given the chance, he would be petted forever. For the past couple of weeks I have felt swallowed in his seemingly endless appetite for pleasure -- petting, play, pay attention to me. And when he has slept, he has needed to sleep near me or on me.
And he is quite clever, very smart. He loves "The bird" - an ingenious cat toy that has a tuft of feathers connected to a flexible rod by a sting. Whirl the through the air and the feathers twirl in a propellor motion making an appealing "flapping sound." Flick them about and suddenly it's like you're fly fishing for cat with your pseudo-bird bait. So the cat loves this but is under no illusions about it's nature. When I flick the feathers into a corner, the cat knows that keeping an eye on the string and tracing it to its source gives him the prize. Better than that, the cat watches where I put "The Bird" when I tire (I always tire first) of the play. And the cat will go and dig out "The bird" and bring it to me to make it work. The laser pointer troubles him. 'Cause he can figure out that I'm behind the seductively darting dot, but he can't understand how. Plus, the dot is ultimately unsatisfying to him. It moves and darts and jumps and flies around ("Hey, that's cool.") but in the end when the pounce, the leap, the bat comes, there's nothing to grab onto. There's not satisfying grab, no body in the mouth to carry back to me. He wrestles with ghosts, and the activity unsettles him, as such activities must.
See? See! Even here, it's all about the cat! Do I write about my preparations for Othello? No, I do not. Do I write about the classes that I'm teaching this semester that need so much work? No, I do not. Do I write about the voice work I'm doing with Mont Pelior? No, I do not. It's the cat, the cat, the cat!
... the cat, who has quite accurately identified as his chief rival for my affections, the computer keyboard. The level of sophisticated passive aggression exhibited from him in the interminable fight for the prime real estate directly under my eyes and my hands is eerie to behold.
posted by - caj at 1:36 AM
1 Comments:
I would like to point out that someone with thumbs must've brought the cat toys home.... ;-)
xonif
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