Tuesday, August 4, 2015


Various disasters greeted me when I came downstairs this morning.

Guinness (the cat) had opened the cupboard under the sink and knocked over the wastebasket, which in turn had knocked over the ‘Comet’, which in turn had spilled onto the rug. In the dining area, flowers had been pulled from the table arrangement. Three leaves had been vomited onto three different areas of the carpet.

Why do I put up with this?

Over the now nearly 13 years that I have had Guinness and Herbie I’ve recorded various vignettes about my cats – the broken living room lamp, the shredded toilet paper, the cat vomit, the toppled Christmas tree.

Why do I put up with them?

… because they put up with me.

When they aren’t sleeping, they supervise me. When I’m working at my computer, they lie in the drawer by the keyboard or on the pillow at the corner of the desk.

Their antics make me laugh. Their postures make me smile. They seem to know when I need comfort and they cuddle and purr until I feel better. We have routines that make all three of us feel better. Ways to play and ways to snuggle.

I found something I wrote a while ago.

     Petting purring cats is
     the closest
     humans come
     to symbiosis.

     I wouldn’t pet a cactus
     even if it purred.

It’s still true.

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