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Friday, September 30, 2016

Feeding Time

(For politics, please scroll down)

Our tortie Amber at feeding time this morning:


A fresh bag of dry food was just opened, and Amber, a foodie, could hardly wait to get her share.

15 comments:

  1. It looks like your friend Amber must be a Democrat.

    Don't you feel bad for having nursed this viper on your bosom?

    };^)>

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Ambie is NOT a Democrat. She's an Independent.

      Ambie grew up without having the privilege of being a trustfundista. Poor thing! She had so many "homes" before she finally got here to her forever home.

      Delete
    2. Well, that's a relief!

      She couldn't have landed in a better place, bless her.

      Delete
  2. _________ BLACK CAT _________

    A ghost, though invisible, still is like a place
    your sight can knock on, echoing; but here
    within this thick black pelt, your strongest gaze
    will be absorbed and utterly disappear:

    just as a raving madman, when nothing else
    can ease him, charges into his dark night
    howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels
    the rage being taken in and pacified.

    She seems to hide all looks that have ever fallen
    into her, so that, like an audience,
    she can look them over, menacing and sullen,
    and curl to sleep with them. But all at once

    as if awakened, she turns her face to yours;
    and with a shock, you see yourself, tiny,
    inside the golden amber of her eyeballs
    suspended, like a prehistoric fly.


    ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

    ReplyDelete
  3. __ THE POEM CAT __

    Sometimes the poem
    doesn't want to come;
    it hides from the poet
    like a playful cat
    who has run
    under the house
    & lurks among slugs,
    roots, spiders' eyes,
    ledge so long out of the sun
    that it is dank
    with the breath of the Troll King.

    Sometimes the poem
    darts away
    like a coy lover
    who is afraid of being possessed,
    of feeling too much,
    of losing his essential
    loneliness-which he calls
    freedom.

    Sometimes the poem
    can't requite
    the poet's passion.

    The poem is a dance
    between poet & poem,
    but sometimes the poem
    just won't dance
    and lurks on the sidelines
    tapping its feet-
    iambs, trochees-
    out of step with the music
    of your mariachi band.

    If the poem won't come,
    I say: sneak up on it.
    Pretend you don't care.
    Sit in your chair
    reading Shakespeare, Neruda,
    immortal Emily
    and let yourself flow
    into their music.

    Go to the kitchen
    and start peeling onions
    for homemade sugo.

    Before you know it,
    the poem will be crying
    as your ripe tomatoes
    bubble away
    with inspiration.

    When the whole house is filled
    with the tender tomato aroma,
    start kneading the pasta.

    As you rock
    over the damp sensuous dough,
    making it bend to your will,
    as you make love to this manna
    of flour and water,
    the poem will get hungry
    and come
    just like a cat
    coming home
    when you least
    expect her.



    ~ Erica Jong (1942 - )

    ReplyDelete
  4. _______ TO A CAT _______

    Mirrors are not more silent
    nor the creeping dawn more secretive;
    in the moonlight, you are that panther
    we catch sight of from afar.

    By the inexplicable workings of a divine law,
    we look for you in vain;
    More remote, even, than the Ganges or the setting sun,
    yours is the solitude, yours the secret.

    Your haunch allows the lingering
    caress of my hand.
    You have accepted,
    since that long forgotten past,
    the love of the distrustful hand.

    You belong to another time.
    You are lord
    of a place bounded like a dream.


    ~ William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

    ReplyDelete
  5. __________ TO AMBER _________

    Who could resist those eyes, pussycat?
    Trusting, demanding, eager, beseeching.
    We do not know precisely why we find you irresistible.
    After all, what do you really do to earn your daily portion?
    Keep the mice at bay? Well, maybe, but that's not why
    We love you. It's something about your aura of independence
    Even though we know how vulnerable you really are.
    We'd hate to see your self-esteem damaged.
    If anyone hurt or betrayed you, it would certainly damage us.
    You just know you are important ––
    And we can't help but respond accordingly.
    And besides, you have about you an aura of mystery,
    And enchantment that makes you uniquely beautiful.
    We can never be sure whether you were put on earth
    –––– for our benefit,
    ________or the other way 'round, can we?


    ~ FreeThinke, October 1, 2016, 7:47 AM

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. A poem for Amber! I love it, FT!

      Thank you so much.

      BTW, when we named her, she had amber-colored eyes. Now, not so much.

      PS: Amber prefers to be called "Ambie" (with the accent on the last syllable). And Cameo likes to be called "Cammie" or "Cam-Cam." Cammie hates the n-word (the word "no"). Cats!

      Delete
  6. And I just got "Blues"...her name was "Blue," but it was too 'pick up truck and red bandana" for me...so, since I LOVE the Blues, she's BLUES now....big blue eyes out of a dark brown Siamese face..she is HEAVENLY.
    She was the cat taken in by my friend who'd have been 98 next week....she got her last year...she'd been telling me I should get a pet after Mr. Z died and I kept saying NO all these 7 years...finally, when she passed almost 2 months ago, I took Blues....and I'm so happy I did...She's an AMAZING little girl!
    And Nancy got her way! Z has a cat!

    Your Amber is adorable, and I KNOW that look!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Z!
      How old is your kitty?

      And, most important, do you have a photo of her?

      Delete
    2. Hi, the vet thinks she's about four and I can't get a picture that captures her beauty, but I'm TRYING! Those blue eyes are killer but don't really translate to film somehow... Will send one to you ASAP. Thanks xxx

      Delete
    3. What great news, Z! I'm so glad for you –– and for the kitty named Blues.

      I remember your telling me years ago, when I suggested you might want to get another cat or two after Marcello and Musetta passed away, that you couldn't possibly have ANOTHER cat, you only wanted Musetta and Marcello back, which was, of course, impossible.

      At any rate, I'm glad you've changed your mind. Cats are like little angels, they bring so much charm and good cheer into our lives.

      I don't know what I'd do without my two. Great company both of them, even though they are not very fond of each other.

      "There's always something," as Granny used to say in Downton Abbey. I'm going to go on missing that show for a long time.

      Delete
  7. I'd love to have a Scottish fold. What beautiful cats. Or those massive Maine coon cats.

    BZ

    ReplyDelete

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