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Archive | Cat Lady Matters

Are You a Cat or Are You a Ghost?

February 10, 2015 in Cat Lady Matters, Weather Matters

After three weeks of snow and ice and, for variety, ice and snow, this weather is really getting old. Permakitten Grace has such cabin fever that she now spends all her times hunting me, thereby confirming my theory that everyone needs a frenemy. Mostly she crouches in corners, ears pinned back while she studies her prey with narrowed eyes and half-hearted growls. (She’s not naturally a mean sort.) Sometimes she takes it up a notch, and manages to scare me. She’s very sneaky. This morning she poked her head out of the slightly ajar sock drawer, landed on me while I was peeing (who closes the door when they live alone?), and materialized in my boot when I bent to put it on. I’d be cross except a. her stealth technique is admirably high-caliber b. she’s cracking me up. In fact, said feline has earned herself a new name. All hail Little Miss Pop-Up Video.

A Sometimes Snag of Sola Ladyhood

January 25, 2015 in Cat Lady Matters, Quoth the Raving, Sabboytical

Says Elaine Blair in her review of Rachel Cusk’s Outline:

We come to feel an intimacy with [single lady protagonist] Faye that has nothing to do with disclosure; though we know conspicuously little about her, we share with her the experience of listening to others, and, as we do so, it becomes clear that a certain kind of conversation is missing from Faye’s days and nights. No one speaks to her in the casual shorthand of daily intimacy.

Says I: Comes with the turf, though a Turf of One’s Own is still worth it.

The Church of the Wintry Mix

January 24, 2015 in Cat Lady Matters, Church Matters, City Matters, Food Matters

Earlier tonight, I roasted a chicken and assembled a kale salad with fig vinegar, sunflower seeds, and chopped rosemary and blood oranges; I made use of the extra fridge afforded by winter (the fire escape) to cool the leftovers of that earnest-lady feast before storing them. Now, from my quiet blue rooms atop an East Williamsburg hill, I’m drinking a glass of red wine and watching the city twinkle without me. It was a frustrating few days–egos flared, including my own–and if you could see me flanked by my somber little kitty at the kitchen window, you might think I was still mulling big stuff. Really, I’m just planning all the other meals I’ll cook and freeze this weekend–meat ragu, lentil soup, chile verde, cod and potato casserole–if the storm’s as bad as they say it’s going to be. It’s gotten to the point that, when meteorologists predict snow and hale, visions of furry slippers, 19th century novels, black-and-white musicals, and long-simmering stews dance before my eyes like sugarplums. They may call such weather harrowing; I call it cozy. And from there, it’s just a hop, skip, and a jump to glamorous.

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy