They were playing Adele in the work cafeteria today, the first time I had listened to more than a few seconds of her singing. And it was really striking, like, how just by hearing her voice you could feel the truth of what everybody says about her – if she lost some weight she probably would be really good.
Uncle Bill Burroughs argued that cats weren’t welcomed as pets by the Egyptians due to their mousing in the granaries, but rather because of a void for psychic companions and familiars that they filled. This, he said, holds true into the present. Beyond this, I think, there is the immediacy of the cat. They are tactile, they are always under hand, or underfoot; their hair is on you; they are on your lap while sitting or at your feet while eating or on the small of your back while sleeping. There’s the severing of the psychic connection, for sure, when losing a cat, but the physical void they leave is heavy.
It’s been three days since I was handed the box of ashes. Looking inside seemed inevitable, but I don’t think I will. Dude was a soft, meaty, and warm paperweight for the soul. I don’t want to see him as a pile of grit.
“The first thing I did in the hotel room was unplug the toilet.”
L’shana tova to all the tribe members out there. Get yourself inscribed before you wreck yourself.
- Shin, 1, left, barked
- Toe, 1, right little ‘un, broken(?)
- Glass, 1, stemmed, placed on table with force, shattered
- Shirt, 1, cotton, absentmindedly used to open grenadine
- Tequila, reposado, not dead yet