He is mostly sweet and cuddly, A soft and friendly buddy, Who purrs and chats, A lovely cat… Yet every so often He launches a stealth attack, A furmissile of teeth And vicious rippy claws, Once, twice, and done… Then back to being my Little boo boo honey bun.
Isn’t this the best treat? Better than candy is a sweet kitty to love and treasure. Cuddling a pet is also good for your emotional health. The beautiful orange tabby pictured was my daughter’s cat Zizi, who passed away earlier this year. RIP, dear friend. You are missed.
This cat is no novice At dreaming of a better place; Every day he makes his escape To the wide open plains, Where he preys as he pleases, Master of all that he sees. Fantasies beckon, Like catnip flavored candy, When he suffers once again From a half filled bowl And the bitter reality Of someone else in control. Don’t they know he is king, The terror of each living thing? Where is the respect For his status and crown? Ah well, best to lie down, Drift away in his mind Until it is time To meow for a treat.
Written for Simply 6 Minutes (took me a bit longer). Poetry is free verse, 100 words.
Melanie notes that this month has flown past. I agree! Here are my responses to her Share Your Word questions today…
1. Are human beings required to better themselves and will doing that make them happier?
Required by whom? If you believe in a supreme being, then you may feel required to “better” yourself, whatever that means in your particular belief system. Some of us have internal voices (aka “consciences”) instilled/installed by our parents, teachers, whomever that nag at us to do “better,” which could mean many different things, such as making more money, being kinder to others, cleaning up the planet, etc. Also, some of us have various forms of OCD which compel us to do certain things we may feel are better than not doing them, such as arranging things symmetrically. Yes, this makes me happier! LOL. Actually, messy/disorganized spaces make me unhappy, so putting them to rights simply resets me to “normal.” Gosh, I have a lot of scare quotes in this answer! Anyway, I can’t answer for others about what may or may not make them happy. I think that doing the “right things,” however you define them, goes beyond a transitory state of happiness and is more about feeling good about oneself and one’s place on the planet.
2. Is it easier to love or to be loved?
Again, I’m only speaking for myself here ~ neither. I find both to be extremely difficult. I love my children, grandkids, and parents (RIP). By extension, I love my sons-in law. After that, things get murkier. Do I love my cat Gatsby? I say I do, but when he really annoys me, I’m not sure. I still take good care of him regardless, so maybe that equals love. I don’t know. What about friends? Hmm, also foggy. It’s easy to say I love my close friends, but what would I truly sacrifice for them, if necessary. Again, I don’t know. It hasn’t come up. Don’t even get me started on romantic love because I’m not sure I ever loved any of them. I certainly wasn’t willing to sacrifice much, if anything, to make those relationships work out. As far as being loved? My children love me, and my parents did too. That’s all I know. I’m not sure I’ve ever really been loved in the romantic sense; all the men who said they did acted only in their own self-interest, which is not love in my book. It’s easy to proclaim love when everything is going well, but when it comes time to give something up or make uncomfortable changes for the other person’s well-being and/or the health of the relationship, they all failed. As did I.
3, Outside traumatic brain injury, can memories be completely erased?
I don’t know. I think they can disappear, especially trivial ones, but if you “focus” on trying to forget something, it’s more likely that memory will persist. I’ve forgotten tons of stuff, but I do remember emotionally eventful times. It’s the nature of the beast. I’d rather remember sweet, peaceful moments, but there’s nothing “sticky” about most of those; they just drift past like fluffy clouds. The storms stay with me however.
4. Is there such a thing as a good death?
Sure. My Aunt Lily had a good death. As far as I know, she had a happy life, felt fine, and passed away in her sleep at 80-something with no fuss. Anything sudden and painless over age 80 counts in my mind as the best I could hope for. I’m not expecting that however, due to already feeling crappy every day plus my parents’ medical history. I guess there is another type of “good death,” which is dying for something you believe in, like a war or saving a whale. But except for immediate family, I can’t imagine sacrificing my life for any type of cause these days, since it’s hard to know what is true. Not saying other people’s sacrifices weren’t valid; I simply can’t picture that for myself.
5. What do you imagine is inside a baseball?
Oh, that’s easy. Hot dogs, apple pie, the American flag, blue jeans, summer nights, fireflies, and spongy grass.
This takes the cake… I mean, the burrito. These crazy people want me to model for their new cat cafe/bookshop and I’ve had just about enough. They interrupted my nap, and naps are precious. I only take 4 a day now, down from 6 when I was a kitten. OK, granted, each one is 5 hours long, but hey I am a cat, which brings me back to my– ooh, a spider! Too bad I can’t pounce on it and kill it to bits because I am literally a purrito. That’s their word, which they think is hilarious, and they can’t stop laughing about it. Ridiculous and undignified! I am a cat. I am a top predator. I should not be wrapped in a fake tortilla, for heaven’s sake. I am not a silly supermodel, and they aren’t paying me enough to pretend to be one either. In fact, are they actually paying me anything? Sure, I get a cozy place to live, lots of bookshelves to hide in, and gourmet food twice a day, but I have to think about my retirement. I won’t always be this young and spry… I need to put something away for the future. Perhaps I will spend my golden years in Acatpulco. Get it? I’m not going to share my pun with the cretins. It’s all mine, as is everything really. I’m wiggling a bit in my paperito to loosen it up and giving the edge a sharp bite or two in the process. Ah, freedom! What to do first. A smidge of lunch, naturally, and then a nap. GET THAT FLASH AWAY FROM ME! Geez, these folks don’t know when to stop with their cameras, do they? I need my meow-time…
OK, so in my continuing mission to read various sub-genres of romance novels, and blab about them to y’all, I recently finished an adult shape-shifter story. If you recall (and why wouldn’t you?), I previously reviewed a young adult dragon shifter story and to my surprise enjoyed it quite a bit.
Not so the case with Her Purrfect Match by Milly Taiden. Gawd, what a pile of dreckage. Where to begin?
1. Loads of errors. I realize that we can’t all afford an editing service, but it’s terribly distracting to have screw-ups throughout.
2. No attempt to explain how the tiger-peeps came to exist or how they shape-shift, what it feels like to the shifter, etc. In the dragon story, I felt the wings stretching under the skin and the emotional conflict associated with shifting. Here? Nothing. Just bam, he’s a tiger now.
3. There is nothing “tigery” or even weird about the guy when human. He is simply an Alpha male who likes a lot of hot sex in the usual ways. Why bother with tigerness at all?
4. Author uses tigerness as a lame excuse for the usual noncommittal sex men like to engage in, with the only twist being that Tigerman needs to reproduce because enemies. Again, there is no reason for him to be part tiger. He is just an ordinary jerk, until of course he is REFORMED BY LURVE.
5. The heroine is annoyingly insecure about her “curves” and also super-dumb in much of the book. Forex, she doesn’t catch on that she has actually stumbled onto the man she was shifter-matched up with even after he keeps giving tiger cues. I wanted to smack her. Duh! It’s him! The guy! TIGER MAN. Ugh.
So while I am a bit curious about the heroine’s friend who gets matched with two wolf-shifters, I think I’ll pass.
In the middle Of your complicated life, Stuffed with bills and pills And the external drive To make noisy music That I hate so much– Because who can hear a fly When someone’s screaming C’mon c’mon TOUCH Me babe? Anyway, look… Somewhere in between The box of tissues And the coloring book Full of swear words (Lady, you got issues), I find a spot To plop My furry purry self down And take a nap. Because Life doesn’t have to be More complicated Than that.
[Written in 2016.]
The Daily Prompt: Complicated. Poetry form: free verse. Image is mine.
Tiger sprawled on her pillow in exhaustion. Today had been so crazy! Gatsby had chased her four times and there was a leaf on the floor from someone’s shoe. A leaf! Naturally, that had to be shredded to bits. Maybe now she could rest. But no…
While in the middle of her nap, Tiger heard a buzz. She knew she must investigate and leapt off the sofa. Aha! A honeybee zipped around the kitchen, making a terrible racket. There was only one way to keep it quiet. Tiger swatted and pounced at this irritating intruder over and over until she captured it. Now what?
“I’m certainly not eating a bee,” she thought as it wriggled on the floor, all broken. So she meowed for Mommy, very loudly, as Mommy was quite deaf like all humans. Mommy walked into the kitchen and saw the bee, which had finally quit moving and buzzing.
“Did you kill a poor little bee?” Mommy tore off a paper towel and made the bee disappear into the garbage can. “Silly Tiger.”
No, it wasn’t silly! Tiger trotted regally back to her pillow. Mommy didn’t understand that buzzy things needed to be terminated.
“I understand,” Gatsby said as he jumped on the sofa next to her.
“Go away!” she hissed. “I’m way too tired to deal with you now.”
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll sit all the way over—oh look, Tiger! A little string from the blanket!”
“Ooh!” She felt a renewed surge of energy. “Let’s kill it!”