To Whom It May Concern

Can you stop playing with the mirror? It's going to kill you. I'm gonna wake up one morning to an eviscerated red tabby and it won't be pretty. I have no idea why you keep trying to swing off that thing. It's not like it's even in motion. Then again, with a brain the size of a chestnut, what can I hope for? Oh, I'm sorry, are you napping now, is that the plan? Tearing up and down the carpeted hall then literally climbing the walls for the last 40 minutes tuckered you out? Hey, I know- why don't you rest for a while then round about 3, 3:30 am come and bound over my head while climbing onto the shelf above my bed. Don't forget to yowl non-sensically too. That would be awesome. Just so you know, I don't get more than a 3 hour stretch of sleep at any given time. REM? Pffft, who needs it. Deep, restorative, healing sleep? Overrated. Then- and this is great, it really is- when I have to get up an hour later, punch drunk with exhaustion and puffy eyed from your assaults to my head all night, I think you should scream for no apparent reason and incessantly wind your way underfoot, regardless of where I step. And this time when you trip me and I fall headfirst in the corner of the overhang on the fan above the oven, I'll need 6 stitches over my left eye, cause hey, facial symmetry is important, right? Thanks for that, by the way. Hawt. Oh, wait- I almost forgot. When I finally choke back my toast with almond butter and a banana as I rush to get my sorry ass out the door for work on time, keep jamming your paw in my face and at my food. That's...well, I have no words. It used to be cute. Freakin eat-you-alive adorable, back in the day when you were so small and delicate and quiet. But look, the truth is Buddy, you are starting to annoy the crap outta me. Your spontaneous fits of explosive Bruce Lee chop socky moves, levitating and destroying anything remotely shreddable is wearing me down. So, I'm only gonna say this once: cool it, ok? Give a gal a break. Look, I doused the scratching post with catnip. Sprinkled some of those kitty cat crack treats across the floor. Go. Rub your face all up in that shiza and get your groove on. Then, for the love of pete, settle the fuck down. For once. Please.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Moving in Stasis

Go. Get on that plane, that train, that bus. Walk if you have to. Swim, we've got great lakes and oceans and rivers. So many bodies of water and tracts of land to get across. Find a way, they said, just get here, soon. And so Tally packed a bag with just the essentials: a blueberry corn muffin with a shmear of cream cheese, her well worn pocket stone she rubs in her left hand, a packet of mints from the drive in theatre, and two pineapple juice boxes. A clean pair of socks, some dental floss, mom's old cigarette lighter she stole off her bureau, and twenty three dollars and eighty five cents in change. That was the heaviest part of her backpack. She wondered if she was forgetting something but her mind raced with all the things at once. Will her shoes be comfortable on the long journey? Did she feed the cockatiel before she left the house? How can she get across the ocean if the boats aren't docking in the harbour anymore? What if she runs out of money? Will Joseph be
Read more

Kindness Is A Boomerang

If he can make it off the couch to the kitchen, then he'll be up and at 'em. Movement is motion and motion is energy and like a battery, he'll recharge. Feel better. Or different. Good enough. Long nights of hourly wake ups, followed by the struggle to quiet his mind. Loop, loop, looping through endless thoughts of what if and who will and I should and maybe they'll but just go to sleep. Sleep. No tech in his room, just sleep and sex. Although physical touch has been lacking. Wanting. Week seven, but who's counting.  And that's just sheltering in place. Before that, well...seasons. The sky is bright. City living with no light pollution is like life at the cottage on Lac St Joseph. There are meteors tonight, a shower or falling or maybe it's his brain playing tricks on his eyes. Looking for things  he can't possibly see. Four missed calls. Thirteen notifications. No one he's pining for so it's a wash. Is it too late to get up... too early
Read more

Good, Not Great

She hits the down button. Two hospital admin types, young women in almost stylish outfits, the ones afforded on entry level salaries, wait on a car going up. The elevator arrives, doors open, she steps on then realizes she's going up. Force of habit, she says aloud to no one in particular, pavlovian response. The two women sort of smile as they study the floor, suddenly intensely awkward and private. She gets louder as she backs out of the car. Doors close and she hovers her finger over the already illuminated down button. Right, just did that. It's quiet here, far from the madding crowd. Emerg was busy, mainly the geriatric crew. A few indigent and drunk and disorderlies draped over chairs, hanging out of gurneys, buried under sheets and gowns, moaning, rambling incoherently. It's the large-and-in-charge paramedic night: 4 teams of doughy young men stand sentinel with their wards, buried in paperwork, bored with the hurry and up wait logjam of daily deliveries.
Read more