Category: The Old Woman with No Cat
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat Studies Tai Chi(Or: The Slow-Motion Pounce) The Old Woman finds himin the middle of the sitting room rug,moving with a slowness usually reservedfor glaciers or drying paint. One paw lifts,hovers,descends—as if placing it on the very heartbeat of the earth. “What,” she asks,“are you doing?” He does not look up.“Tai Chi walking.It is…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman Delivers Wisdom in Small, Reusable Jars The old woman stirs her teawith a cinnamon stickthat once doubled as a wand,then tucks itinto her apron pocket,right beside a raisinthat gave up being lunch. She says philosophy can fiton the head of a pin,but you’ll have to squint. Rule 4. Be a blossom.Roots are…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman’s Wisdom Delivery Service The old woman stirs her morning tea,and tucks a bit of this too shall passinto her apron pocket,next to a stray raisinthat might be hopeor might be breakfast. Her entire philosophycould fit on the head of a pin,(if the pin was slightly bent)and smelled faintly of orange marmaladeand mothballs.…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat Establishes Dominance (Or: A Hostile Takeover) The dog arrives with a wag and a woof,all floppy ears and hopeful eyes,unaware it has just walked intoa carefully fortified sovereign nation. The cat watches from the mantelpiece,tail slow and deliberate,like a general surveying a battlefieldbefore the first shot is fired. “So,” he murmurs to the…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat Questions the Daffodil (A Floral Inquiry) The cat sits in the morning sun,one paw delicately touching a yellow petalas if it might bite back. “Daffodils,” he enunciates,slowly,testing the word like a suspicious piece of chicken, “Who decided?Who looked at this…yellow trumpet on a twig and thought,‘Yes. Daffodil. Good name.’ Certainly not a cat.A…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat Seeks a New Country(Or: A Feline Defector’s Lament) The cat sits before the telly,tail wrapped tight with disappointment,as Team GB slides — mostly sideways —down a slope that looks suspiciously likeold woman’s garden after a bad storm. “This,” he hisses,“is embarrassing.We don’t have snow.We have damp.Glorified drizzle.You can’t ski on damp.You can’t luge…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat Watches the Sky Slopes (A Tragedy in Four Paws) The cat buries his face in the old woman’s sleeve.“Make it stop,” he whimpers,one eye peeking at the telly.“They’re falling.Tumbling.Cartwheeling through the snow. WHERE ARE THEIR CLAWS?” She strokes between his ears.“They have skis, cat.And skill.And helmets.” “Helmets?Helmets don’t protect dignity!I fall off the…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
An Olympic Curling Critique(Or: to curl or not to curl) The Old Woman is curled up under a blanket,watching curlers sweep icewith a focus usually reserved for bomb disposal. The cat sits on the floor beside her,tail twitching in time with the stones. “Amateurs,” he mutters.“Look at that sweeping.No conviction!No flair!And the yelling —‘Hurry! Hurry…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat’s Koan(Or: The Sound of One Paw Clapping) The Old Womanis reading a book of Zen poetry.The cathas claimed the sunbeamthat crosses the page,and with it, her attention. “I have a koan,” he purrs,without opening his eyes.“What is the sound…of one hand clapping?” She looks at him over her glasses.“You don’t have hands.” “Exactly,”…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
Do Cats Know How to Swim?(Or A Torrential Tale in One Question) The rain has not stopped for two days.The patio is a shallow lake.The birdbath is a waterfall in revolt.And the cat — who is not hers, never hers, stares out as if the worldhas personally offended himwith its weather. Without turning,whiskers twitching at…
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