Multiple seconds are, without a doubt, a confirmation of a cat’s lofty status and importance to the universe. The more the seconds, the higher the position. But, I digress. Back to the naming of cats.
First, is the “everyday” or common name. Whilst the second name is a particular and singular name; the third, well, only the cat himself knows this.
For the cats lodged within my abode, here be our names.
Second: Peegeemouse, Meejamousie, Dawg
Himself Knows: *************
Second: Tiggamousie, Tiggums, Tiggerlie
Himself Knows: **************
Second: Keekerwee, Uncle Keaks, Peekapee, Meekameeks
Himself Knows: *************
Second: Didapolls, Nolliepolliemon, Nolliemouse, Pollieness!
Himself Knows: His Royal Feline-niferousness of Catnip Row, Verge & Verdant Climes: Eminently Noll the First
I also believe God sends to those whose soul needs special lifting, something more. For those with empty places, lonlieness or furry loss, God sends "kitties from Heaven." I know this. My brother Tiggy and I were such kitties.
Nothing escapes me....nothing. It is always my full intent.
The tiniest fleck on the floor, the mole crawling through its grassy tunnel, the downy feather caught on the rough stem of a coneflower, a flittering, fluttering butterfly. Sight, sound, smell all come to me unfettered. I acknowledge and welcome them all.
In the world beyond the kitchen door, I gather the sights, sounds and smells to me and find pleasure in their being: the peepers cheerily clinging to trees; the chickadee scolding me for sitting too close to the bird feeder, the breeze wafting scents of catmint, earth, strange cat markings, mice and moles.
My Own takes cursory note of these same sights, sounds and smells. But she often disappoints me when her breaks to ‘be’ are shortened by a hasty return to weeding and watering. My crossed, rolling eyes, colored like a crisp autumn sky, always make her pause; but never long enough. My Own has yet to learn to stop in the manner I have perfected; and lay on the grass luxuriating in the blithe symphony that is nature.
I have my work cut out for me.
Are there not gods watching us from moon mountains
or hidden greenly in the leaves we touch,
when grass is crushed
by shoddenly-winged feet?
And are the birds not oracles:
sibling summers, springs, riding sweet
as sylphs living on air?
Then, do we not dare
look to where
the gods sit:
on ivory white thrones set deep
in an azure stone setting
and become Hellenic?
Drifting past countless Aegeans
that flux through our veins
keeping us from shore-stepping -
gracefully in a half shell with dolphin reins -
After our wombing seas;
To wonder the greater mystery
of ourselves, and of flowers,
lose their will.
Photo courtesy of D. Ruda
Gone are the humming bird and its whir. The leaves are turning red, yellow, orange, and rose blush. The air smells more interesting now.
The chipmunk works fiercely; gathering millet, sunflower seeds, apple slices and peanuts as quickly as they are put out. I know where one of his holes is – in between the violet patches. He knows I sometimes sit there with my nose inches from the opening. Still, I stare down it hopeful. Mostly, my stares elapse into catnaps.
I’ve yet to spot the wooly worm. So, I cannot say if a hard winter will follow the unraveling of fall; although, the chipmunk is certainly compelled. Perhaps he has glimpsed the dark bands of the wooly worm and the thin brownish-red stripe has filled him with purpose.
My Own has gathered up the faithfully tended cabbages, peppers, eggplants, tomatoes, onions, corn; the orchard’s pears and even the mottled apples. Herbs, catnip and flower seeds have been dried. My Own was compelled like the chipmunk; though, she too, has not seen. She believes in the Unseen and knows the unraveling of seasons is the prelude to all things.
when i heard
like the springing
a baptismal mist
and the nautilus
knew my name.
into that other sea -
From the Sea Liloquy Collection by Kareen
Copyrighted, 1979, Image, 5th edition