” />There’s a heavy frost this morning, with little diamonds catching the sun. I took pity on the black cat that makes eyes at me every day as it sits on the fence and looks in. It is very grateful, wandering everywhere exploring, delighted to be in the warm. Someone feeds it but it doesn’t seem to have a warm home in the daytime. *
On days like this I see the point of having a house. Other times there is an aboriginal voice in me that scorns any shelter that insulates me from the common air and sky. Later, as I hang out the washing, I feel the warmth of sun and revise my view again. That’s “living in the present gone mad”, I suppose, but blogs are born in the present. Their gestation period is negligible.
PS * I discovered later that our neighbours on the other side of the fence have a cat-flap for their own cat, and this one sneaks in to eat from the same bowl.
A well-fed fly-by-night cat-burglar.
a wayfarer’s notes 
🙂 (((Hugs)))
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I find I revise my opinions almost as quickly as o goes to 1 on a chip.
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Well, if you do decide to return to nature, at least you know you've got a feline friend. The critical questions then become whether whoever feeds the cat will also feed you and whether kibble is an acquired taste.
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I suspect that most cat-lovers would be infuriated to see an old man under a tree spoiling the view and would call the police.
Kibble is a new word to me so I looked it up, and discovered the recipes of certain brands. Some are “all human grade” meaning the ingredients are to the standard set for human food, so that wouldn't be too bad.
The aboriginal way of dying however is to decide your number is up, and sit somewhere until life ebbs away. If it were in the summer months, and I could find my way to some lonely place where the busybodies wouldn't send a screaming ambulance, and the vultures were on hand for their role (it would have to be foxes and red kites around these parts), it would seem a good way to go.
And as for the feline friend, we are both too haughty and disdainful to acknowledge any friendship. Mistrustful too. It fears being trapped in the house, I fear its claws on the furnishings.
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Robert, sounds good to me. I remember you and I would argue every time we met but sometimes discover that we had both changed sides in the interval. Never mind, the important thing was to disagree!
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To me Your “the present” solution could be the cats “it doesn't seem to have a warm home in the daytime” … meaning it has during night-time. Could that be a path to follow?
(( hugs ))
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Very nice and full piece of writing Vincent, and I envy the conciseness and brevity of it.
Cats cats cats, many wild ones outside my door, they have it hard, they do the best they can, but nature is not really good to them, they fight for every bite and every pleasure, and that Vincent, is their reality. It makes me weep, and angry on their behalf, for they didn't ask for it, didn't choose it, didn't 'deserve' it, at least I don't think they did, I see NO SIGN that they did.
Old men, poor and sitting under trees, they are the reality of us all, but they have some dignity that is stolen from many of us, and so, from many of us they get no sympathy. Strange world.
Life is hard, take and enjoy what you are given Vincent, don't take it for granted, not for a minute, but do enjoy it while it is there, such is the philosophy of the cat.
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To Anna-lys. My neighbours tell me they let the cat in at night and it sleeps in their bedroom, but they don't own it. If cats have any concept of ownership it's that they own the human who feeds them.
What do you mean by a path to follow? I suppose I am following the cat's example in that I purchased this house in order to have a place to sleep nights.
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Ah, Jim! You touch on important things. Dignity is better than sympathy, I think.
Have you read The Nigger of the Narcissus? It has been my world in the last few days—the most beautiful piece of writing I have ever come across. A sailing ship in a storm. What it is to be human. The ambiguity of emotions. The commanding dignity of Jim Wait, the nigger of the title. Love for all humanity in its pathos and frailty and comedy.
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Tnx!
May I put a copy of Your Singer maschine computer picture in my blogpost about steampunk?
Cheers,
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About the cat walkabout:
(sorry for my Swenglish)
“Other times there is an aboriginal voice in me that scorns any shelter that insulates me from the common air and sky.”
You can live in different bedrooms every night … like the cat probably does 🙂
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Anna-Lys, yes of course you can link or whatever.
Ah, the different bedrooms! Do you imagine I live in a palace? It's a small cottage and everything (and everyone) has a place.
With me it is not so much the walkabout idea but the outdoors idea. And it's not even an idea but a constantly-renewed experience. To walk out the door, no matter the weather, and stand under the sky, is a connection to ecstasy.
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