Category: Old Woman With No Cat
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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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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and Cat-Alchemy the cat stands on its hind legs at dawn,paws deep in the flour bin,whisking chaos into a sort-of roux, “observe,” it intones,as three eggshells levitateand the toaster hums. the old woman watches,arms crossed,coffee steaming a fog:“that’s not how physics works,” she says. the cat flicks its tail,a spatula, somehow —and…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Heron in the Birdbath (An Almost Diplomatic Incident) The heron has arrived.A tall, grey-blue silencestanding knee-deep in the birdbath… like a librarian who’s forgottenwhy she entered the reading room. THE OLD WOMAN’S VIEW:“How majestic. How serene.A living sculpture,a breath of wildin our overgrown garden.”She reaches for her sketchpad,her tea going cold. THE CAT’S VIEW…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat Conquers EuroVision(Or: A Feline Bid for Continental Glory) The cat sits before the TV,tail curled in concentration,watching a man in sequinssing something unidentifiablewhile a woman in a flying saucerplays the violin —or possibly weeps.It’s hard to tell. “Old Woman,” he says,“what is this Eurovisionand what is a Bulgaria?Is that a fish?Can we buy…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat and the Sardine Campaign(Or: This is How a Cat Conquers a Tin of Sardines, Miss Violet 😂) The cat sits in the middle of the kitchen floor,a tin of French sardines clutched between his paws. The good kind.The lemony kind. The kind the Old Woman hides on the top shelfbehind the oatmeal. He…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat’s Vertical Oppression(Or: Why the Good Stuff Is Always on the Top Shelf) The cat stands before the pantry,face like grievance,gazing up at the top shelfwhere the good sardinesgleam like a golden fleece. “Explain,” he says,“why the best fishare alwaysout of reach. Not impossible.Not mythical.Simply…up there. This is not accident.This is architecture.Oppression.” The Old…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The St Malo Sardine Incident(Or: A Feline Foreign Policy) The Old Woman stands at the counter in St. Malo,a case of sardines in lemony oiltucked under her arm,her wallet slightly lighter,her heart slightly french. The shopkeeper smiles.“A good choice, madame. For a special occasion?” She thinks of the cat,not hers, never hers,waiting on the windowsill,tail…
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