I’ve picked the wrong time of year. It’s raining almost every day and night. My coat’s a mess. I haven’t been combed in days. I keep thinking of Amber and will see if she’s at the back door. Sometimes she waits there and chats with passersby, the odd possum – you can smell them through the glass--the banditos stop by some nights. They’re cool . . . and very clean. They want to know what it’s like inside the house. They want to come in. They’re very curious and always out late. I understand their curiosity. The question always comes before the answer seems to me. If you don’t have many questions you won’t get a lot of answers. Questions can stand alone, answers— I’m not so sure. The questions seem to disappear when there are answers. Questions are the mothers of thought. . . and questions, are born out of curiosity.
I was
reading some of this stuff, mostly to check up on what Amber was into, those
incredibly dull psych books. It must be lots of work to make a simple things
sound so complex, difficult and hard to understand. You are probably surprised
to read these words. The truth is I do quite a lot of thinking. That’s one of
the great things about being a cat. You have a lot of leisure time. I don’t get
bored. I think about heavy stuff all day and night. I don’t have time for
batting balls around the room, or chasing little stuffed mice tied to a sting
in the house-woman’s hand. Amber gets into it. Chases little stuffed things,
jumps and pounces. Cute to watch, but not my bag. Will Chase For Snacks, that’s my motto. Toss something worth eating
and I’ll jump for it, or chase it or whatever floats you boat. It is agreed
that tossed snack will be obtainable within fifteen seconds . . . or is amusingly
evasive. I haven’t had a snack in
days. I miss that.
There’s a
big full moon tonight. It’s great to be out here, in the fresh air, the smells
and sounds I’ve never known before. I can go wherever I want, whenever I please. I get
along with Boots. I think it turns him on to think of me as one of his gang. As
far as I know I am his gang. Boots
knows the neighborhood; I’ll give him that, and that little doorway into his
house is brilliant. He’s got the best of both worlds. And short-hair coats are best for living of the lose.
I have one world now. I
miss the one where I could take a warm dry nap and feel safe. Boots hunts all day and night . . . .birds
and mice. Just like he said when we first met, he's a natural born killer. Boots is all around the neighborhood at night, and I was too at first . .
. then, I don’t know. I’m such a mess. I
like this freedom but I don’t like mice—at all. The food thing is not good. And
it keeps raining. I’ll go visit Amber and then let the servants find my when
the woman’s on the way out to the car. They’ll be so glad to see me. I must try
to act standoffish and will probably get a bath, but this time I don’t mind, this
time and this time only.
Damn!
The Coyote!
And he’s
seen me!
No, he’s
caught my scent but blinded for a moment as a car has turned the corner up ahead.
This is not good.
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