My cat is just about the funniest person I know.
wait a minute! you're thinking. She's supposed to be PAINTING today! What's she doing blogging?!
I know, I know. I gessoed the canvas this morning and I'm waiting for it to dry. I also washed the dishes and even scrubbed the scalded milk off the stovetop. Sigh. This productivity thing is catching.
The funny thing about blogging is that one starts to narrate one's own life as it's happening. Has anyone else out there noticed this phenomenon? I wonder if professional authors do this, too. Maybe that's how they find so much detail to put in their novels. I prefer writing poetry - really crisp, concise poetry, like e.e. cummings. If I try to write anything longer than a short story it just peters out 'cause I resolve the plot and it's over in three pages. But novels have all these great details and character thoughts and stuff. Maybe if I blog long enough all this self-narration can turn into a book. Maybe I need to carry around a tape recorder and start narrating out loud. Maybe I'm delusional thinking that anyone is interested!!
But my cat. This is not going to be part of the cats vs dogs debate. That's like comparing apples and lug nuts. Completely different entities. The best thing is to have one of each (cat and dog, not apple and lug nut) and enjoy the qualities each one brings to the table. But presently we only possess (are possessed by?) a cat. Gummi Bear, technically, although no-one ever calls her that. She speaks a tonal language anyhow, and only responds to the right tone of voice, no matter what the name is. Well, our patio door opens onto the deck, and there's a wingback chair outside the window over the kitchen sink. So as I was washing dishes and gazing at the rare sunshine and blogging in my head suddenly there pops up a calico cat face sporting a big fat dead mouse. She gets this crazy look on her face, eyes open in perfect Os, ears perked, neck stretched out, and I can see that she's meowing in a muffled way with her mouth full. She's staring into my soul and trying to mind-meld with me so that I'll open the door. So I do go to the glass patio door and she's there before me, thinking she's won. When I reach for the handle she nearly concusses herself bonking into the glass, assuming I'm letting her in. Her and her bigfatdeadbloodymouse. And then she gives me this look. You've seen it on lots of people, I'm sure. The one-eyebrow-raised "What the heck? What's your problem?" look. And I replied with the "you know perfectly well. Drop the mouse." look. So she did. But then we became engaged in this artful dance of slideopenthedooracrack and lookaroundshiftyeyedandgetreadytograbthemouseagain countered by whiskthedoorshutagain and innocentsweetypiepleaseletmein face. Eventually she got disgusted with me and started throwing the mouse up in the air and against the glass, partly so I could see the fun I was missing, and partly so I'd have to wash the window again. Snort. Again. Like I ever wash that window!
But I'm just saying. These are the kinds of extremely important tasks that occupy my existence. Who else is there to listen to the cat telepathically? Who else is preventing dead mouse invasion? All the while, multitasking to no end, writing the story of my life on the notepad of my brain.
Anyway, I think the canvas is dry. Oh boy I'm so excited I can almost taste it!
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