Waving Not Drowning

Oh dear, at what point do you think it's a good idea to plant yourself directly in front of me like this while I am trying to get my work done, hmmm? You see this shiny box of emanating light? Yes, this is why I sit here, day in and day out, tapping away on this little pad of raised squares, occupying my hands in such a way that it is impossible for me to spend any time caressing you. I know, it's entirely unfair on my part but really, we've been over this a thousand times if we've been over it once; you are in my way. This is not the time or the place for you to crawl onto my lap or lay in front of the computer and extend your paws onto the keyboard while I desperately try to manoeuver my way in and around your yowling, talkative feline self. Enough with the purring already. Regardless of how cute you are, and we agree on this fact at least, this is not the time or place for copious amounts of catcentric attention. I know, I am a lousy cat mother, selfish and cruel and...

She makes him grin. He makes her smile, then a sad ache reverberates from her heart and travels out the ends of her fingertips, shooting invisible tendrils of longing across the continent reaching out to reattach themselves to the core of his being, his soul, his desire for her, as if they had never been pulled apart. Loss is a funny thing. She surfs waves of emotion trying to catch the top of the curl with precision timing so she can ride the wave in for hours, revel in what seems like days, until it dissipates into a foamy brine on the shoreline. On days she can't catch the wave or gets sucked into the undertow and crashes onto the rocks below, tossing and turning in the roiling surf, those days take forever to recover from. He's been gone for months, but never really out of her mind. The wake is half over but she lingers. It's too soon to say goodbye yet way too far past welcome home. She'll pick up a book, put on a record, stroll through the streets of Chinatown and...

Get your face outta my face- step back, you fur footed, screeching, shedmonster. Get off. Get off! Getoffgetoffgetoff! Crikey, I swear, thank god you were unbelievably cute as a kitten because right now you're making me nutty. Really? Wow, really, you're going to eat that- DROP IT! Oh, don't make me chase you- no- damn. Seriously! Ok, it's your funeral. And my $2000 vet bill- DO NOT EAT THAT! Great, there goes the day, waiting for you to puke up a four inch strand of rainbow coloured fleece. You're one in a million, short bus kitty, really, one in a bloody million. Here- here! Here you go, have some treats! That's right, come on kitty, uh huh, that's the way...ok, do not make me lift the bed frame off the floor. I will drop this, it will make a loud noise and you will bolt and we will play stupid cat and mouse- literally- up and down the length of this house for twenty minutes and today is not the day, alright? Ok? Alright? Ok? Come on, kitty- Just Drop It. ...

Damn, have you seen her walk away? Nothin' man, I mean nothin' compares to those hips sashaying away from you when she is Pissed Off. Rile that girl up, it's like a toreador taunting a bull when she storms off. Those hips, wow. Makes me wanna clamp myself onto them like a Hindu god with eight arms, entwine myself, wind myself around that ass, like lego locking into place. Build a big ol' mess of somethin' somethin right there, I tell ya. She is spectacularly fine and she knows it. Breathtakingly beautiful. Oh, she likes to pretend she's oblivious but when she gets just out of reach she stops, shoots me a look over her shoulder. I was looking back to see if you were lookin' back at me to see me lookin back at you. She gets me going then I'm stuck in third gear with no forward motion- what's a fella to do? Holy smokes, she is one fine lookin' lady; I'm an absolute mess, the beautiful letdown, the one you try to pretend you never met. So why can...

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...

Fifty five minutes for a 5 minute errand. He just would not shut up. Heather was leaning out the door, bracing it open with her foot, about as subtle as a truck, trying to leave the store. He would not stop talking- about himself, his career, his pure potential. Heather's mentally calculating how late she's running for her 1 oclock appointment, trying to manifest a way to transmogrify herself via an imaginary telelporter to get to Chelsea in time.  Just Shut Up. An hour ago she was mildly smitten. He was a doppleganger of her ex, same ginger hair, dimpled chin, light blue eyes, perfect bow shaped lips, rare on a man. After twenty minutes of monologue all resemblance evaporated. His hands were small, nail beds torn and ragged, his neck showed premature signs of aging and a distinct lack of physical activity in his life. What was she expecting from a computer IT guy, not like he rips himself away from his motherboard to bust out a quick ten miler or 5 hour ride. All she needed wa...

Hey, you remember Danny in Grade Seven? Man, I'm blanking on his last name, something with a C, I think, I dunno. I just keep thinkin about that time we all stayed late to paint that mural and Mr. Johnson told us half way through we had to white it out and start again. Poor Danny man, he just lost it. You don't remember? He started hyperventilating and stomping his feet, screaming, No! No, no, no, no, no! Threw his paintbrush on the floor, ripped off his painting coverall. Scared the crap outta the poor Grade Four kids. Mr. Johnson tried to settle him down but Danny flipped out when he touched him, started screaming this high pitched wail. I never hear anythin like it, you know? Gave me goose bumps. Then Mr. Matthews came in and tried to quiet him down and that's when Danny bit him. Right through his shirt. Punctured the skin on his forearm- we could see the blood start to seep through his white sleeve. Then all hell broke loose and Michelle and Natalie started crying, me a...