“I wouldn’t be surprised if poetry – poetry in the broadest sense, in the sense of a world filled with metaphor, rhyme, and recurring patterns, shapes, and designs – is how the world works. The world isn’t logical; it’s a song.” ~ David Byrne
Monday morning. Frigid air, twinkling stars. Good coffee. Status quo in this home. I’ve had a few run-ins with the cat; power game stuff. So far I have managed to negotiate to my own satisfaction, which means it ain’t over. Cats are beyond stubborn. I am merely stubborn in the matter. I’m out-gunned. No worries. She’s a sweetie for the most part. Animals are on my mind today, likely because of yesterday’s post. I felt trepidation in posting that, for reasons I won’t share here. But I committed. It felt right. It got me to thinking of how devoted we become to some animals, and it doesn’t always make sense. At the shelter I was always drawn to the hard cases, I think because my father instilled in me a love for the plight of the underdog. It makes sense to me after all these years. It’s not a competition, it is rising up against difficult odds. Or odd difficulties. There were numerous hard cases, but the one who held top honors in the mix was a cat named Dizzy, a Siamese tabby mix. Dizzy was aptly named, but only in advance of our discovery of his issues. He’d been named when still a young kitten. No one could have known. As he grew a little older . . . well, one day he was suddenly falling over, several times. Some kind of neurological condition had obviously kicked in. Whatever it was it made him always favor moving to the left. Because of his not having yet achieved coordination through normal growth the condition seemed serious. But he grew into it fairly quickly. Dizzy became hyperactive, always moving, until he flopped over to sleep, and then right back at it upon awakening. And he was as sweet and loving as they come. And very very talkative! He was eventually adopted by one of our caregivers. She reports that he is still a fine, loving cat. And a handful! Some say that we are drawn to certain animals to learn what only they can teach us. This is above and beyond the simple unconditional love that comes as standard issue. For me, Dizzy was a Trickster. His behavior in captivity was so overwhelming that, through my own laughter, he taught me to slow down, to listen to my heart, to accept the mystery of being, and to laugh as much as possible on the way, in wonder at what seems to be absurd. I related to him in that I too have neurological issues. I laughed a lot in his presence. I never heard him laugh, but I suspect that he laughed a lot as well, and I simply did not understand what I was hearing. Or was it seeing? Clowns are quite often silent as they perform.
I have no plans for the day, and no obligations. I feel a deep need to get back to work on one of my large, more formal writing projects, and if I don’t get sidetracked by an attack of the niggling twits I likely will jump in and do some work. The niggling twits are an insidious force that, I hope, is idiosyncratic for me. I get barraged by a sudden contempt for details while they swirl around in my mind, mocking. Worst case scenario, I get stupid trying to rectify the situation. And for some strange reason it gets me to wondering how my own behavior might get in the way of someone else’s sincere efforts. I can’t explain that last piece. But it does apply to me. I get in my own way.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.