The stuff pushes in, new stuff; Christmas stuff and clutter. I have a tendency to be overwhelmed even by too many groceries after a trip to the store, the consumerism of Christmas always freaks me out a little. I don’t know how to catalogue things, except books. I have just gotten done giving things away, things with emotional weight; I never keep such things. They stay new and perfect if they are full up with expectations that never realized fruition, or a disappointment that hangs over my heart. It’s so much easier to gift wrap my emotional bounty and give it away in parcels,

But there is always the incoming. The influx.

I don’t pretend to be well, but tomorrow and the next are also parcelled into organization bits. This year I will synthesize a little bit more of the love offered. I’m frowning over a sum, bent over the computer. The stuff has a presence of its own, looming and omnipresent as rock formations in my mind.

What she does, the kitten, is she leaps into the middle of everything that seems so serious and so much. She’s a little girl cat, and she’s one of *those* girls, you know: The kind that prove boys aren’t _quite_ the most lovable things on Earth. She’s all round tumminess and slightly slanted green eyes, and she can take the distance from the couch to the arm chair in one leap, no sweat. She lands in the pile of my terrible stuff, and I’m laughing, suddenly, because there’s a ribbon caught on her whisker, and she’s a rakish pirate cat. I push it all aside, very matter of factly, and retrieve my wayward cat.

Strange magic, Maya. You turn my sink and soar into a comical flounder. I want to write, to respond to people far enough away that I can get close to them. And of course push away those who have gotten too close, find some way to word my regard and still carefully post my ‘Keep Out’ borders, but you won’t stay on the floor, will you?

She jumps into my lap with the stubborn, single-mindedness of a girl cat. Gracie was the same way, but Gracie didn’t leave four tiny holes in the skin of my thigh, rousing me to holler from the pain of her stubborn climb.

You’d laugh too, to see her looking wild and alarmed, rushing away from the shout, to hide behind a pile of ‘Shall i keep them?’ books. She knocks things down. She doesn’t listen. She hops into my lap over and over while I’m sitting at the keyboard, thinking I will write the twisted etchings of my mind.

I have to take my hands off the keyboard, and wrap them around this little, purring body. She doesn’t understand anything. She doesn’t know I’m a failure, that I make some sort of living off of introspection, that I hate myself, and the holiday, and love my family and hate their presence and hate  hate hate the STUFF; she’s a fool.

And she’s real. And soft. And alive.

And I’m in love. 

7 thoughts on “Maya

  1. For a long time I had no pets. I grew up without any, my mom hating the idea of caring for it. I think my dad would have enjoyed a cat as he’d had them growing up, but she was not going to do it so they have been animal free their entire 58 years together (aack!)

    Reading about all these folks with cats, suffering through a summer with youngest overseas and oldest distracted by a girlfriend, even as a devout only child, I got a major case of the lonelies. I decided it was time for a couple of cats.

    Now three years later they have filled those potentially empty spaces and any hint of lonliness when the humans have fled has completely vanished. They are both completed imprinted on me and vice versa ;-) Yesterday the three of us sat on the floor in front of the window staring without blinking at the birds in the backyard where I had just up a new feeder. Me and the cats, bird watching. I realized it was a funny picture, but there was no on there to take it. Which is just fine. My purr babies were there with me after all.

    Hmmm…I seem to recall you at one time scoffing at ::gasp:: Cat Blogging!! :->>

  2. I think that pets, especially cuddly cats, are made for the times when we are not wanting to be around anything or anyone. They have a way of snapping us back to the world of contented purring, needy cuddling, and just plain peacefulness.

    I’m glad I have a kitty. She’s not always the cuddly type but I can talk to her and she looks at me and cocks her head, as if she is listening. Sometimes she even talks back to me. And she scolds me, too. Like when I walked into the house after being gone for seven days. She didn’t like being alone. She had a couple of visitors during that time but they weren’t her mommy so she was angry at me.

    I think a kitty is just what you needed!

  3. Sounds like maybe your doctor could have written you a prescription for a kitten, and you could have written her off as a medical expense. Pets are awesome. We’re dog people, since my husband is deathly allergic to cats. Our sweet dog cheers me up when I’m blue or lonely or stubborn. She’s a good girl. We got her when she was 4. I wish I had known her when she was a pesky little furball of a puppy.

  4. perhaps she does, understand you, that is. just that you can’t understand her enough to realize that. those four tiny holes are going to heal, and that will remind you that the ones in your heart, mind, and living soul will too, eventually. happy new year, amuirin and maya. glad tidings and many well wishes ahead! i look forward to aplenty more introspective reasonings with yourself on this little weeble kingdom! :)

  5. We all need a good dose of kitten therapy every now and again. Mostly now. And again and again and again.

    I can’t imagine my life without animals. Their love is very uncomplicated. And it’s such a relief.

  6. One of the reasons I love cat’s over dogs. (notice I didn’t say better? they both have their places)

    Cat’s do seem to know when and where they are truly needed. Even if most the time you think they are in the wrong place at the wrong time.

    And those claw marks are the drops of blood that keep their true demonic form at bay. Otherwise they would change and cause even more havoc, leave bigger offerings of dead things at your doorstep, and would need to steal your sleeping breath to change back.

    My three cat’s all have foot fetishes too. Much prefer having me pet them with my feet. Rubbing their beastly little beaks against my foot until I respond, then grabbing and nibbling a little to hard before rubbing again when I say ouch.

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