The Philosophy of Cats

[rmthunter]

Another country: December rain in the small hours draws wandering lines down dark windows. Exile, even self-imposed, is exile nonetheless, resting on a rocky place that overlooks necessity: there’s great freedom in that.

None of us has a name of his own, save perhaps this quarrelsome tomcat who finds reason to remind me, now and again, that he is my universe – or I am his. I think he does own his name, and that makes all the difference: this love has a voice, freedom surrendered at will, which is no surrender at all.

And so rain falls making clear ribbons on dirty glass in December, while a midnight shadow demands forms as well as substance: how else is he to know, beyond a doubt, that universes can be shared? While I sit nameless, holding everything I own inside.

[theworm[$]]

beautiful

[murasaki]

Lovely.

[ms_n]

That last line is a heart-tugger of a last line.

[rmthunter]

Thanks, all. I appreciate the comments.

Now if I can just figure out what it means.

Bob

[eris esoteric]

It means your cats are getting better at that keyboard walking thing.

Seriously, it's a mood thing, a subconscious "oh, yeah" sort of piece. It doesn't need to MEAN anything.

[rmthunter]

It means Benjamin is a major pest. He's extraordinarily demanding of affection, and would be quite happy for me to spend hours at a time scratching all the good places, no matter what my priorities are.

In a word, he's a cat.

Bob