It helps to have a bed liberally sprinkled with serene kitties, provided that is, that you have not got one like Abbie Hoffman aboard.
We can never really know why a cat does anything. Not really. We can only imagine and, more often than not, our imaginings interpret cat behavior in human terms, which I'm sure makes us look like priceless asses to the cats.
We can never really know why a cat does anything. Not really. We can only imagine and, more often than not, our imaginings interpret cat behavior in human terms, which I'm sure makes us look like priceless asses to the cats.
Come to think of it, Sagi M'tesi, the caramel-colored target tabby, has only two expressions--one of them says, 'Please feed me,' and the other says, 'What a priceless ass you are.'
Now if Abbie Hoffman has ever resembled a specter, shimmering in and out of awareness, he achieved this resemblance in the wee hours this very morning. I could go so far as to say that he shimmered unceasingly and to the annoyance of all.
Not only did he shimmer, but adding insult to injury, if that's the term I want, he yowled. He yowled in the Chang Mai room. He yowled in the hallway. He even yowled from atop the kitchen cabinets. Only during the few minutes that he lay motionless, cuddled in my arms, did he stop the nuisance.
I rose this morning much earlier than I would have chosen but you know how it is when you realize that you are wide awake with little chance of revisiting the sweet restorer.
When I entered the dressing room, I discovered a clue to the cause of the incessant yowling. Abbie Hoffman had spent the wee hours of the morning in the closet trying on Ms. Wonder's scarves.
This explains why, despite my earnest searching, I'd failed to locate him during the yowling episodes. He'd been in the closet trying to find the perfect scarf to accessorize his custom tuxedo.
Now Ms Wonder has done herself well in the matter of neck joy. Each time one of her colleagues travels to a foreign country, and they do travel often, each country being more foreign than the next, she puts in an order for a scarf of native handicraft.
She has scarves from China and India, from Zimbabwe and South Africa, from Guatemala and Colombia. The actual number of countries represented in her closet by those colorful scarves is reminiscent of the parade of nations in the opening ceremonies of the Olympics.
The subject cat, A. Hoffman, tried on every one of the scarves, judging from the fact that all of them were lying on the floor. I deduced that he wore none of them to bed, that not a single scarf satisfied his longing.
No doubt this process was intended to be a palliative to dull a pain that gnawed at his heart, for little as anyone might suspect, he has a gnawing pain. I know this because I too have a gnawing pain of the heart and I am well acquainted with futile attempts to find something--anything--to medicate that pain.
It's a common malady. I believe that Cleopatra, Catherine of Russia, Eleanor of Aquitaine, and perhaps even Napoleon, suffered in much the same way.
Strange how we never cease to look for something in the external world to restore calm to the manic mind. Abbie tries on scarves. I write these missives in Circular Journey. Whatever works about sums it up for both of us.
When the limbic system drifts off station, the resulting altered state of mind will have you behaving in all sorts of absurd ways, like searching for a non-existent mouse or perhaps writing for a non-existent audience.
Yes, despite the evidence to the contrary, I'm certain that Abbie H. was searching for a mouse. That's the only possible explanation for his behavior in that closet.
You may wonder how I came to this conclusion. Well, as Shakespeare or someone once said, 'Elementary.' It may not have been Shakespeare but he's credited with almost everything else quotable, and I like to go with the odds.
Cats are well known to be acutely interested in qigong, performing slow ritualized movements, interspersed with bursts of rapid activity, followed by formal meditation. I did mention that earlier, didn't I? Should have. Sorry if I didn't.
Cats are also known to shun the accumulation of material possessions, such as scarves; however, and I have this on the finest authority, cats do search for mice.
I'm fairly certain that I once watched my Aunt Maggie's barn cat stalking a mouse for half a day. And on more than one occasion, a devoted cat has presented me with a gift of a mouse, even though I had expressed no interest in having one.
So I ask you, put yourself in Abbie Hoffman's boots. Your hippocampus is lying down on the job, and the happy hormones are on the decline. You feel that you could face the coming day if only you could teach a mouse a lesson or two.
You search the premises, upstairs and down, looking for the hiding place that you know must be there. Your frustration builds until you begin yowling. Yes, you do yowl and you yowl without restraint.
Now if Abbie Hoffman has ever resembled a specter, shimmering in and out of awareness, he achieved this resemblance in the wee hours this very morning. I could go so far as to say that he shimmered unceasingly and to the annoyance of all.
Not only did he shimmer, but adding insult to injury, if that's the term I want, he yowled. He yowled in the Chang Mai room. He yowled in the hallway. He even yowled from atop the kitchen cabinets. Only during the few minutes that he lay motionless, cuddled in my arms, did he stop the nuisance.
I rose this morning much earlier than I would have chosen but you know how it is when you realize that you are wide awake with little chance of revisiting the sweet restorer.
When I entered the dressing room, I discovered a clue to the cause of the incessant yowling. Abbie Hoffman had spent the wee hours of the morning in the closet trying on Ms. Wonder's scarves.
This explains why, despite my earnest searching, I'd failed to locate him during the yowling episodes. He'd been in the closet trying to find the perfect scarf to accessorize his custom tuxedo.
Now Ms Wonder has done herself well in the matter of neck joy. Each time one of her colleagues travels to a foreign country, and they do travel often, each country being more foreign than the next, she puts in an order for a scarf of native handicraft.
She has scarves from China and India, from Zimbabwe and South Africa, from Guatemala and Colombia. The actual number of countries represented in her closet by those colorful scarves is reminiscent of the parade of nations in the opening ceremonies of the Olympics.
The subject cat, A. Hoffman, tried on every one of the scarves, judging from the fact that all of them were lying on the floor. I deduced that he wore none of them to bed, that not a single scarf satisfied his longing.
No doubt this process was intended to be a palliative to dull a pain that gnawed at his heart, for little as anyone might suspect, he has a gnawing pain. I know this because I too have a gnawing pain of the heart and I am well acquainted with futile attempts to find something--anything--to medicate that pain.
It's a common malady. I believe that Cleopatra, Catherine of Russia, Eleanor of Aquitaine, and perhaps even Napoleon, suffered in much the same way.
Strange how we never cease to look for something in the external world to restore calm to the manic mind. Abbie tries on scarves. I write these missives in Circular Journey. Whatever works about sums it up for both of us.
When the limbic system drifts off station, the resulting altered state of mind will have you behaving in all sorts of absurd ways, like searching for a non-existent mouse or perhaps writing for a non-existent audience.
Yes, despite the evidence to the contrary, I'm certain that Abbie H. was searching for a mouse. That's the only possible explanation for his behavior in that closet.
You may wonder how I came to this conclusion. Well, as Shakespeare or someone once said, 'Elementary.' It may not have been Shakespeare but he's credited with almost everything else quotable, and I like to go with the odds.
Cats are well known to be acutely interested in qigong, performing slow ritualized movements, interspersed with bursts of rapid activity, followed by formal meditation. I did mention that earlier, didn't I? Should have. Sorry if I didn't.
Cats are also known to shun the accumulation of material possessions, such as scarves; however, and I have this on the finest authority, cats do search for mice.
I'm fairly certain that I once watched my Aunt Maggie's barn cat stalking a mouse for half a day. And on more than one occasion, a devoted cat has presented me with a gift of a mouse, even though I had expressed no interest in having one.
So I ask you, put yourself in Abbie Hoffman's boots. Your hippocampus is lying down on the job, and the happy hormones are on the decline. You feel that you could face the coming day if only you could teach a mouse a lesson or two.
You search the premises, upstairs and down, looking for the hiding place that you know must be there. Your frustration builds until you begin yowling. Yes, you do yowl and you yowl without restraint.
Then you enter a closet and discover a rainbow of scarves, each one looking for all the world like curtains behind which little furry invaders may hide. You see where this leads?
As I said earlier, on a long winter's night, with rain falling softly and a wispy breeze lightly rattling the window panes, there are few things more enjoyable than balmy sleep in a bed liberally sprinkled with serene kitties. Always provided that is, that you have not got one like Abbie Hoffman aboard.
As I said earlier, on a long winter's night, with rain falling softly and a wispy breeze lightly rattling the window panes, there are few things more enjoyable than balmy sleep in a bed liberally sprinkled with serene kitties. Always provided that is, that you have not got one like Abbie Hoffman aboard.