Sunday, July 15, 2012

A Cat Named Shorts

Not much for cats, me. I think cats are beautiful and useful animals. But I prefer dogs. Cats are companionable, I suppose, but apparently there's something in my psyche that requires the, well, neediness within a dog's nature, their pack nature. How that gibes with my relative preference for being alone, I dare not explore.

We have a cat. Shorts is her name. "Shorts" because her back legs and hips are white. When she was a kitten, I told my wife she looked like someone wearing Bermuda shorts after a long, long winter.

Shorts was a semi-stray, born in the garage of a neighbor to a near-wild mother. The neighbor is a softie. He captured and neutered the mother and found homes for all the kittens. We gave Shorts a home in our garage where she's supposed to work as a mouser, but since she's matured, she's decided to become a house cat. There's no complaint from me, even though Shorts doesn't much like being petted. She goes out at night and patrols the two acres, and we rarely see a mouse.

Shorts much of her time in the room where I write, sleeping nearly all day, as if she's attempting to persuade me that feline companionship is as amenable as that of dogs. Today she slept in the window, spread across an already-reviewed stack of books and a batch of music DVDs. She knocked off U2 and Robert Earl Keen before settling on Dylan's "MTV Unplugged" as a pillow. That may be something of a poor choice on her part, although Dylan does have a song entitled "Cat's in the Well."
The cat's in the well and leaves are starting to fall 
The cat's in the well and leaves are starting to fall 
Goodnight my love may lord have mercy on us all.
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