Sunday, May 9, 2010

Bingeing and Purring (The One Who Starts The Fire)

Stride - 360 Words
Aaron Dethrage.

"Of all God's creatures, there is only one that cannot be made slave of the lash.
That one is the cat. If man could be crossed with the cat it would improve
the man, but it would deteriorate the cat." - Mark Twain

A grey cat strode confidently across the sun-warmed, hardwood floors that lie in front of the big bay window in my den. Her head was cocked ever-so-slightly upward–as cats often do when they realize that the world they live in is theirs to control. Her white, mittened paws noiselessly joined and detached from the floor with each perfect pace. It was as if roots–ancient and sturdy–were jetting into the ground to insure her balance and grace, and then were effortlessly removed, leaving no trace of their assistance behind. A droplet of milk hung firmly to her longest right-side whisker, remnants of her previous indulgences, undoubtedly being preserved for later enjoyment with unquestionable intentionality.

However, the intentionality of my state or that of the house were much more debatable topics. There were ashes in the fireplace that had been there for weeks, scarring the granite stone chamber, which mirrored the stray hairs that spread like plague across my face and down my neck. Papers are strewn about the room and my desk like the toys of a toddler–important, loved, discarded, forgotten. One scrap lay crumpled and haphazardly isolated from the majority of the mess, so I sat my empty wine glass on the table and retrieved it, pressing out the creases with my hand. I fumbled my pockets for my glasses to help return my focus.

Bingeing and Purring
Walter J. Sawyer
November 12, 2009

We drink alone, the cat queen and I.
Her saucers of milk, my glasses of wine
That sing songs of crystal
As they poison my mind.

It matters not that the sun hangs high,
Lighting the lands that beneath her gaze lie.
Now that you're gone, your scent, your bones,
We answer to no one, the cat queen and I.

I poured my third or fourth drink of the day. There would be another fire that night.


  1. "As they poisons?"
    "Now that your gone?"

    Come on, now.

  2. why have i never listened to levi weaver before?
    love it.

  3. Sorry for that, Steve. I was editing this rather late and changed glass to glasses last minute. I tried to catch all of the singular to plural swaps that were necessary, but alas. The "your" is just an unforgivable sin.