Archive | Cat Lady Matters

The Autumn of Our Disconnect

Now is the time of year when cats become radiator queens. By this I mean that my permakitten Grace has utterly abandoned me for her new paramour, Radiator. “So warm, so undemanding,” I hear her purr when she doesn’t think I am listening. Even when she’s not luxuriating by Radiator’s side, I catch her sending it cat kisses–those slow blinks she once reserved for me. Despite myself, I feel rejected. I am a radiator widow. Hear me mew.

Quoth the Kitten: Not Today

My permakitten Grace and I have pretty much acclimated to the pigeons who flock on our window sill even though their ubiquity is very odd. But when she and I woke today, a crow–a large, ebony crow!–was staring at both of us. Yellow eyes gleaming, preternaturally still, it was more than a little menacing perched right there on the air-conditioner. Excuse me: Today is Thursday the 13th. These Edgar Allen Poe histrionics are a bit much.

The Church of Toiling Kittens

Every day I work and every day permakitten Grace works as well. For me this entails writing, editing, watching screeners. For Grace this entails standing guard by the window where all the pigeons in the neighborhood like to flock.

All day they stand on the air conditioner projecting from that window, and all day, with narrowed eyes and switching tail, she watches them. Some of the birds are real assholes: They coo while strutting in a circle and flapping their wings. This seems rude even to me, and it makes Gracie apoplectic. Sometimes she gets so mad that she presses her nose against the glass, growls, and flattens her ears. On those occasions the pigeons duck their heads though they rarely leave. Still, the slightest suggestion that they’re cowed satisfies Grace, and she trots back to me, ready for some head-scratching, maybe a treat. I’m no different. A chapter or essay completed and I’m ready for a new lipstick, maybe a tumbler of rye. That’s how we roll in our house: work and reward, work and reward, work and rewardI always say, the Rosman girls earn their keep.

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