Creche!

Judging by what has happened to my nativity scene, the Gospel story went like this: Lo, a white paw blotted out the heavenly host. It smote the wisemen, and thrice bopped Mary. And a brown leg upended the stable, and the leg sent the stable behind the very pillar of the earth. And the white paw struck the babe so that he sped to parts unknown. And the brown body, careless with delight, flung a flattening flang until it left one sheep as a browsing remnant. And the sheep browsed and it browsed– and there rose a great rumbling, and behind the sheep there was the very bosom of the beast. But lo! From on high! There was a voice like a trumpet! Such a voice made the beast cry! Such a voice bid the beast scatter! And the power that owned the voice returned the stable from behind the pillar; it restored the wisemen to their feet. It righted the be-bopped Mary. And it left for parts unknown, for lands said once to be held by Dread Footstool, to retrieve for us the babe.

(Originally posted August 16, 2014)

Grumpy, Old Man

The cat, poor dear, was trying to make friends with the stock pot. So he rubbed up against the stock pot, and caused it to drop from the pantry shelf. And it landed on the wood floor, and it slid its built-in colander into the cat’s legs. And then there was silence. And then there was yowling, until I hauled the cat upstairs. And now the cat is attacking everything he can detect–which isn’t much, because he has cataracts. But it’s episodes like this that might explain why I found him, the other day, sitting in the dark, listening to a recording he’d somehow un-paused of Leonard Cohen.

(Originally posted February 18, 2014)

Futility

It doesn’t matter if your cat has allergies. It doesn’t matter if he starts sneezing to the point where neither you nor he can sleep. You must not give him a bath at four in the morning. When you give him a bath at four in the morning, he will knock all the drying cookie sheets onto the tile. He will become so stringy, and he will drool with such hatred, that you’ll wonder what sort of creature his fur has been hiding all of this time. Afterwards, he will smell like a college dorm’s shower drain. And you will know this very well, because in spite of the fact that you supply him with a stifling, space-heatered room, he will settle his clammy, dampened stank onto your head, and shiver for the rest of the night. And yes, most certainly: he will sneeze.

(Originally posed April 22, 2013)