Category: Old Woman With No Cat
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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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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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