Maurice the hunter brought me a dragonfly. Dead, of course. Now how did she catch a dragonfly? Oh cats. They are so alien. So other. One minute they're laying around contemplating doing the Sunday crossword
I had a cat named Maxie once and I've probably told this story but she had a litter of kittens and when she was weaning them, she displayed the most incredible hunting/mothering skills I've ever seen. She started out by going outside and bringing in a small dead lizard and giving it to the kittens to play with. Then she would bring in a crippled lizard for them to play with. Then a lizard not crippled one bit for them to chase down and kill by themselves. This pattern progressed through small mice to squirrels to rabbits. And we lived in town. That cat was bringing in enough game to feed a human family and let me just say that having a terrified squirrel or rabbit running through the house being chased by manx kittens while their mother sits by and observes is, to say the least, disconcerting. And at the same time, impressive as hell.
What a mother! What a hunter!
But really, Maurice- I do not need a dragonfly. Nor lizards nor skinks nor frogs. Nor do I need to be woken up at four a.m. and invited to play. You may be nocturnal but I most definitely am not.
She used to be satisfied if I got up and gave her a bowl of food in the dead of night. No longer. Now she meows at the door after eating her little dish of Publix Brand Cat food and when I lurch out of bed and open up the door to let her back into our room, she refuses to come in. She sits there and cries and I have figured out that she wants me to get up and come and keep her company.
Chickens NEVER do that. They sleep all night. In their own henhouse. They do not settle on my legs and meow a sharp complaint should I try to change positions in my sleep. They do not come and kiss my face with gentle little kisses, moving on to the nipping of my eyebrows if I do not get up with them to do their bidding.
Of course they don't let me reach for them in the night if I've had a bad dream to stroke them, either, but there are trade-offs.
Dogs? I don't even want to talk about it. Since I started writing this I have had to get up forty-eight times to let either Buster or Dolly either in or out.
Need I say more?
So anyway, the day has been like that. I did mop the kitchen floor and do some laundry, made some bread to go with tonight's leftovers. And actually laid down and did some reading, almost and finally finishing Kate Atkinson's One Good Turn which I have reading since God started to shave. It's a good book, it's just that I haven't been spending dedicated time to it. I'm also listening to the second Game of Thrones as I work and walk, and to Poppy Adams' The Sister in the car. Which I am also enjoying tremendously. And let's not mention the magazines.
Dang! I need to go back to Mexico to catch up on my reading!
Okay. Mr. Moon just offered to take me on a little sunset drive in the Cutlass to go suss out cow pastures.
Sounds good to me.
Hunting and probably not gathering. He's such a dear man. And handsome as hell to boot.
He'd definitely bring me meat and diapers after I had his kittens.
And build a cradle for the babies as well.
A beautiful ride. We stopped and met this young bull. I took one look at his face, snapped his portrait, said, "Nice to meet you!" and got back in the car and we rode down the road into the sunset, the light pouring onto the hay fields and cow pastures and AME churches and woods like gold.
I am exactly where I should be. And I know it.