Category: Old Woman With No Cat
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman Teaches Poker(A Lesson in Literal Interpretations) The Old Woman lays the tools on the table: “Right,” she says,“The book said ‘Poker’is a game of fire and nerve.” The cat stares.Its expression suggeststhis may bethe stupidest momentin human history. “You poke the fire,” she explains,“and then I will poke it.We see who flinches…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat On Lavender(Or: A Feline Critique of Sanitary Accommodations) The Old Woman kneels in the evening light,gloved hands pressing soilinto a glorious blue-glazed pot,the scent of lavenderrising like a prayer. The cat sits beside her,tail curled neatly around his paws,observing the air,a discerning criticat a garden show. “So much better,” he says,“than the dusty…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Poll Deed Form(Or: A Feline Declaration of Independence) Question 4: Reason for name change. The cat hesitates.Taps the pen.Stares out the window.Sighs — a deep, theatrical sigh,the kind that shifts tectonic platesand alerts the neighbours. Then he writes: “I have outgrown the name I was given by a shed and a previous life.I am…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
Tuesday, Explained by a Cat The cat motions the old womanto the armchair with one deliberate paw. “Sit.We need to talk …about Tuesday.” She sits.He leaps onto the armrest,tail wrapped around his feet like a professor’s robe. “Tuesday,” he begins,“is not a day.It is a concept.A flawed concept. Exhibit A: Monday has purpose.It is universally…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Crow’s Supremacy(Or: A Feline Crisis of Gravity) The cat is stretched in a sunbeam,belly exposed,dignity intact,one eye fixed on the bare winter treewhere the crow stands.Stands!On a twig no thicker than a whisker,rocking slightly,as if gravity were a suggestionit had politely declined. “How,” the cat breathes,“can that bird do that?Stand on a twig?A twig,…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Fence Treaty(Or: A Headbutt Heard in New Zealand) The cat sits on the fence post,tail like a sceptre,looking down at Crymych,the Cane Corso,the Italian mastiff,the dog who digs holesand aspires to New Zealand. The cat clears its throat. “Tell you what,” he says,in the tone of a kingoffering a peasant a crumb,“I’ll stay on…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Weatherman Exposed(A Feline Inquiry into Atmospheric Fraud) The cat sits before the telly,tail curled like suspicionas a man in a nice jacket points at a mapcovered in swirls and damp-looking arrows. “This man,” the cat begins,“calls himself a weatherman.Yet the rain continues.The wind howls like cousin Ralph,and my patio is wet.” The Old Woman…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Great Digging Mystery(Or: A Cane Corso’s Underground Ambitions) The cat sits on the fence post,high, safe,watching Crymych,the Italian mastiff with the Welsh name,dig a hole in his garden.Deep.Determined.Earth flying like brown bag confetti. The Old Woman appears with her tea.“What’s he doing?” The cat doesn’t look away.“That, Old Woman,is the question of the hour.Is…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Welcome Gift(Or: How to Empty a Sardine Tin with Dignity) The cat stands at the fence,tail high,expression beatific,a tin of French sardines clutched in his jaws,empty, of course.Carefully emptied.Licked clean with the reverenceof a monk at prayer. He places it delicately on the top rail,nudges it toward the dog’s side,and steps back, expectant. “A…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
Maybe Later (Or Curses for Neighbours) Part One: The InvasionThe cat sits on the windowsill,tail rigid,ears flat,watching the moving vandisgorge strangers into his territory …the house that was once his,before the vowel-less traitorsfled to Bwlchgwyn, Wales,thinking he wouldn’t find them. “Fools,” he mutters.“I am cat.I am eternal.I am territory.” The Old Woman sips her tea.“They’ve…
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