Category: The Old Woman with No Cat
-
The Old Woman With No Cat
Where is the Old Woman?” …the cat demands,pacing the length of the kitchen,tail held high like a sceptre of injustice. “She is late.My bowl is half-empty.My sunbeam is un-warmed.This is negligence.” The crow, from the fence, offers:“Perhaps she’s writing poetry?”The cat scoffs.“Poetry doesn’t fill stomachs.” “No shit!” agrees the robin. Just then—the back door opens.There…
-
The Old Woman With No Cat
The First Crocus (Or: How to Philosophise a Flower) The Old Woman kneels in the still-cold soil,points to a brave spear of yellow poking through frost and forgotten leaves,“Look,” she whispers.“Spring.” The cat pads over,sniffs delicately …then draws back as if offended by hope. “Hmm.A small, yellow invader.Uninvited.Asserting itself.” She smiles.“It’s a flower, not a…
-
The Old Woman With No Cat
A Cupful of Moon The old woman with no catdigs where the crow dropped her house key,a hole just moonbeam-wide,neatly spooned between two failuresof courgettes. Her spade hits porcelain.Not bone.Not root.A teacup …a drowned saint,half-sunk in the drought-starved clay,glazed in sorrow and stained by Earl Grey. The crack in its sidesings in a language of…
-
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…
-
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…
-
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.…
-
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…
-
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…
-
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…
-
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…
It's Still Life 