Feel the World Shake?

I looked out my bedroom window at the two cats waiting for breakfast in the meager shelter on my deck below. I wished I could bring them inside but I'm told by reliable sources that bringing feral cats into the house never really ends well. I suppose it might be different if they were kittens but they aren't of course. They're first cousins to Eddy, that miniature panther that gave us the idea for Happy Cats Wellness and he's almost 7 now.

But it wasn't cats that filled my thoughts this morning. It was fine art. I'd recently had a close encounter with the stuff and was still reeling from it. Napoleon must have felt the same way when his aide reported that Nelson had just sailed into Cairo Harbor and set fire to the French fleet. 

Ms Wonder is an artist, of course. You don't need reminding of that. You've been here through the thick and thin of art gallery galas and whatnot, so you're well aware of her photographic talent. I thought she might be able to enlighten me on the reason for a certain motif--one that, so far, had eluded me.

"Poopsie," I said, getting right down to it, which, as you well know, is the Genome way. "Why the reclining nude?"

She stopped splashing and sloshing, an activity she seems to enjoy when submerged in the bath. Her face took on a familiar questioning look, which told me that I'd gotten her attention. So good so far.

"Did you say, nude?" she asked.

"Nude is what I said. Reclining to be exact. It's a common motif in the art world. The first one, I'm told, was done in 1510 by a Venetian painter named Giorgione, although I read yesterday that some scratchings, found on cave walls in Spain, are actually 40,000-year-old reclining nudes. So you see, it's a popular subject for artists. I don't suppose you've ever photographed any? Reclining nudes, I mean."

She frowned at that and shook the noodle as though warding off a swarm of no-see-ums. She has a particular dislike for those. I'm not sure why.

"What about reclining nudes?" she said.

"Exactly!" I said, "Just what I want to know! What about them? We seem to be deeply connected to the unclothed female form lying on a bed."

"And when you say, 'we', you mean men, of course."

"You wouldn't have these shallow views if you were familiar with Fernando Botero's work."

"Who?"

"A painter who spoke out, if I can use that term, against the deplorable human rights conditions in his native Columbia. He was able to paint the most troubling scenes that somehow didn't turn us away but invited us to look and consider."

"And these troubling scenes included reclining nudes?"

"No, no!" I said. "No, the nudes were something different. One of them sneaked up on me yesterday at Dulce Cafe. The owner, Carlos, is a native of Columbia and admirer of Botero and has a print hanging in the cafe. It's a painting called 'The Letter' and that work is surrounded by mystery. Art historians and scholars wonder who the subject was and what the letter was about."

"And the mystery subject is a reclining nude woman?" she asked.

"How many paintings of a reclining nude man have you seen?" I asked. It wasn't one of my better comebacks so I wasn't surprised when she ignored the question. 

"It seems you've researched the subject well," she said. "What are you thinking?"

"Never mind what I'm thinking, Poopsie. What are these art historians and scholars thinking? That's the question I ask myself."

"I'll bet you have a theory," she said, and let me just pause here to say how happy it made me to know that she was allowing me to drive the conversation for a change.

"First of all," I said, "these historians and art scholars are too deep in the status quo. They see a woman in a painting and fall too quickly into the Mona Lisa Syndrome."

"Mona Lisa Syndrome," she repeated.

"That's right," I said, "the MLS is that comfortable niche where they wax eloquent about mystery and whatnot. It allows them to write all sorts of bilge."

I paused to give this opinion more thought because I was impressed that I'd come up with this insightful nugget. It doesn't happen often and on those rare occasions, I like to appreciate the experience fully. For her part, nothing more was said and I was allowed to continue.

"There is no mystery," I said. "It should be clear to the meanest intellect, that the woman represents the nation of Columbia, reclining in spartan surroundings, and saddened because her lover--and by lover I mean the citizens of her country--don't enjoy the comfort of her arms and her bed. Love is absent. Only loneliness and the estrangement of the spirit, which is represented by that mysterious letter."

There was a quiet moment during which I waited again for her reply. Again, there was only silence. But she had a look on her map that caused me to think she'd taken my remarks in a big way. There was something definitely going on behind those eyes. I began to feel like one of those orators who incite mobs to action. Not one like Trump but rather one like Thomas Payne.

"What are you thinking?" I said.

"Just wondering," she said, "if there's something I could do with my photography to speak out in support of people in Ukraine or Palestine. Like the way Botero speaks out about the struggles in his Columbia."

"Many people are struggling in the world," I said. "And we live in the land of opportunity--even though many in this country struggle too. It does seem that we could be doing more to help others."

"The good I would do, I do not," she said. 

"Very well put," I said, "One of your own is it?" 

"Saint Paul," she whispered, which got right over my head but I realized from the whisper that she was deep in meditative thought and not to be disturbed.

"I'll go feed the cats," I said, "they're waiting in the rain." As I walked downstairs, I had the feeling that the world had just changed. And I'm sure Napoleon must have felt the same at one time or another in his career.

Modern Life and Cats

"Modern life is not a lot of fun if left to its own devices," I said to Ms. Wonder and I felt it to the core.

"You seem low-spirited," she said and I think I've made it pretty clear that it was so. I was as low-spirited as I could stick even though Uma, Queen of Cats and Empress of Chatsford Hall lay at my feet doing an impersonation of an eel out of water in the hope, no doubt, of receiving a treat for the effort.

Empress Uma Maya 

"No, Poopsie, modern life is not much fun at all. Consider how Napoleon must have felt when Nelson sailed the British fleet into Cairo Bay and burned the French navy. Couldn't have been pleasant for him."

Sagi (Sagitarius) M'tesi

"It must have been much the same for Peter II when Catherine the soon to be Great, led the Russian army to the Winter Palace where he was in residence. No," I said, " modern life is just one damned thing after another, just as Shakespeare told us."

She gave me a quizzical look and I realized that she was about to interrupt my soliloquy with some drivel about Shakespeare but I wasn't done yet. I continued.

Beignet Lafayette

"But instead of searching for the silver lining of life's muddle-headedness, do you know what most people do? They get all hotted up and the pressure builds until they start leaking at the seams. You can find them grinding teeth and clenching fists and giving passersby a look that could open oysters at 20 paces. Only makes things worse, if you ask me."

I waited for her response, one that would make me feel that we commiserated if that's the word I'm looking for, but she didn't say anything, just gave me what passes with her as a compassionate look.

Lucy Lucille Lupe 

I remember thinking that brown eyes do a better job of portraying compassion than green eyes, but then it isn't her fault that she has the eyes of an elf, and besides, I knew what she meant. 

"Something really should be done before it's too late," I said.

"Done?" she said. "You mean something to change the general attitude of people you meet? Do you think that's possible?"

"Thank you for asking," I said. "I really would like to see people sweeten up a bit and I think I have the perfect antidote to whatever it is that poisons their outlook."

"Go on," she said.

"P.G. Wodehouse," I said. "It's imperative, the way I see it, that modern man, and woman too if she cares to join us, read Wodehouse to learn the importance of aunts, or rather, the importance of avoiding them."

Abbie (Abracadabra) Hoffman 

"But not cats," she said, always having her finger on the nub. "People must realize the importance of socializing with cats."

"Cats to be sure," I said. "Of what value would life be without cats? I mean, what's the point?"

We began to discuss the Wodehouse cannon and the relative importance of aunts and cats but somewhere along the way, and I'm not sure exactly where it occurred, I began talking about my own writing, and my hope that perhaps I could help supply some relief to pedestrians as they navigate life's potholes.

Eddy Spaghetti 

"I've paid my dues, the way many writers do, and I feel it's time I give back some of what I've learned," I said. "I shall stick to writing about what I know, which is normal life, or in the words of George Costanza, nothing at all, because that's what I know best. 

I'm as apolitical as an oyster but I'm not naive, at least I don't think so. I hope that I can follow in the great man's footsteps--I allude again to P.G.--and produce quality work in my latter years, just as he produced in his. Neither he nor I peaked early."

"I hope you consider offering spiritual guidance to your readers," she said.

"Not as such," I said. "My stories will be in the context of my own spiritual outlook but I will not be explicitly spiritual. I don't care to be preached at and I don't intend to engage in the practice. I have some knowledge of the Bible due simply to the age in which I grew up. We memorized and quoted Bible versus in primary school and I can nail down an allusion as quickly as Jael, the wife of Heber, who was always driving spikes into the coconuts of overnight guests.

"The plots I prefer are much the same as those of Shakespeare's comedies. The foibles of love and the antics of those trying to win or escape from love's embrace. There will be a scarcity of mothers and fathers, only because of my own upbringing, but a pile of aunts, uncles, and cousins, of which I had so many that laid end to end would stretch from here to the next presidential election."

"And cats," she said as Abbie Hoffman, who had just wandered into the room, and apparently decided that the number of felines in attendance exceeded the fire marshal's recommendations. He left the way he came.

"Absolutely cats," I said. "Cats add value to any subject and the absence of cats wounds even the best literature."

We both mused on this concept for several minutes, cats being a deep subject and a wide one too.

"I shall attempt to apply what I have learned from the master," I continued, "and use metaphor to the fullest extent. From bees fooling about in the flowers to the stars being God's daisy chain. I hope I can do it. I've certainly marinated myself in his works--not God's but Wodehouse's. I do hope so. These are truly troubling times we live in and we must battle the powers of darkness before we are undone."

"Excellent plan," she said. "I can't wait to see where this new path leads."

"Me too," I said and I meant it like the dickens!

Little Cat Feet

"What's the problem?" asked Ms. Wonder when she came into the dressing salon. It may have been my slow, careful movement through the sea of cats that prompted her question. "Something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," I said, "I remain, as always, the pert and nimble spirit you see before you."

"Before I what?"

Eddy Peabody

"Before you think of your own adjectives," I said. "And no more of the high-order repartee, if you please. I'm practicing fierce living like the dickens right now because sewer harpies that I will not name are intent on bringing me in sorrow to the floor."

"Where do you get this drivel? Do you read it somewhere or make it up?"

"I make most of it up but that doesn't mean that I haven't read it, or at least something like it somewhere. Wodehouse probably."

"I thought as much," she said. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Do you have American standard wrenches in your toolbox?" I said. "I need to replace a couple of vertebrates in my lower back--numbers 4 and 5. But all my wrenches are metric."

"Sorry," she said, "no wrenches."

"Well, number 4 is moving like the North American tectonic plate and bumping up against number 5, which is moving like the Pacific plate, and if the pressure isn't released soon, California is going to fall into the ocean."

"Is that what's bothering you?" she said.

"Why do you insist that something is bothering me?" 

"Oh, just thought I would," she said. "Bad dreams?"

"Not particularly. I slew all my enemies in my dream, and the interesting part is that I did it with the jawbone of an ass."

"Just drifting off station then?"

"I fancy so, don't you? Can't think of anything that's gone especially wacky in the last 24 hours. I suppose Princess Amy is just bored and thinking of all the things that might possibly go wrong, which of course would be everything as far as she's concerned."

Now, if you regularly attend The Circular Journey, you are familiar with that little clump of grey cells sitting in the middle of my head who goes by the name, Amy. You are also aware that Amy follows a line through the Red Queen from Looking Glass World, and you understand that when Amy is discontent, the Genome is manic.

I wrestled a pair of socks from the dresser and began to upholster the outer man. This requires delicate acrobatics for those of us who lack the full cooperation of the lower back, and as I rolled back on the bed to bring the feet closer to the hands, Eddy the cat developed an acute interest in the socks. His intentions were good, but we all know where that leads, don't we?

"Are you going to wear knickers under those pants?" asked Ms. Wonder eyeing the clothes I'd laid out.

"Of course, I'm wearing knickers," I said holding Eddy back with one hand and attempting to don the socks with the other. "Do you think me wanton?"

"It's just that I don't see any on the bed."

"I'm wearing them now," I said, "underneath the robe."

"I'll give him a treat," she said and after some intense concentration, I realized that she was talking about the cat.

"Oh, sure," I said, "reward him for keeping me sock-less."

"What are you going to do about California?" she called from the laundry room where the treats are stored. Eddy heard them rattle in the bottle and catapulted himself from the bed and into the ether, in the general direction of the laundry room.

"I think the great Eureka State will have to take care of itself. I've got about all I can handle with the situation here at Chatsford Hall."

"What's the situation here," she said, "other than getting dressed I mean?"

"Oh, you know--ordinary life," I said. "It isn't always easy, is it? Who can say why, really? It could be that the path deviates sometimes from the dotted line connecting A with B. Or it could be that the Fate sisters, those Great Aunts of the Universe, are busy dropping banana skins in our path. I lean toward the second line of thought, don't you?"

"Well," she said, "if it means anything to you, I have all the confidence in the world that you will get the latest issue of the Happy Cats newsletter published today. You are the Genome, descendent of Ortho Gherardini, and when you make up your mind, look out Princess Amy."

"Besides," the Wonder said, "you have people who depend on you. Big and small people. Some of the littlest ones are the most important."

She smiled at the cats gathering around me now that she'd placed the bottle of treats in my hand. They were all there. Ben, Sagi, and Uma were at my feet. Abbie Hoffman was sitting high atop the cat tree and, Eddy the kitten, was walking about as a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour.

"I do have people depending on me, don't I? The big and the small. Some of them wearing fur," I said lifting the chin and swelling the chest. "Thanks, Poopsie."

"Not at all."

A Three Cat Night

With Eddy back in mid-season form and out of quarantine, the evening had been a three-cat night. Two kept me from rolling out of bed and one, unless I missed my guess, had slept on my face. When I had disentangled myself from cats and quilts, I ankled to the window and threw up the sash.

The moon on the crest of the new dawning day was slipping behind the western hills and the sky was Carolina blue and the sun was smirking as though he had not a care in the world, if it is a he. I was conscious of the spirit of the bluebird. It was going to be another one of those days where larks and snails figure big.

I may have hummed a few bars of When the red, red robin comes bob-bob-bobbing along. Not sure but I may have. What I'm sure of is that I said, "What a beautiful day, Poopsie!"

"Pleasingly clement," she said and I remember thinking what an odd thing it was but I gave it a miss like the idle wind.

"Mornings in the Renaissance District have an invigorating freshness, Ms Wonder. A garden of Eden I call it--without the angels and swords. I'm not saying that I would turn down an offer of a few days in Asheville but as a place of residual habitation, give me the south of Durham any day."

"Did you sleep well?" she said in that cute way she has of ignoring whatever I say.

"Sleep? Wonder! You know very well I didn't sleep. You?"

"No, I was thinking about the lyrics of my line dance all night," she said and then she began sashaying around the bathroom as she sang, "Wooo-oooh, it's late; let me check. Move to the right, move to the left. Zip me up--check it out--looking goo-ood. Mambo, cha-cha-cha."

This was, I imagine, another of her channeling the ancestral spirits, taking a line through the philosopher, Ivan Orlov, who was one of the pioneers of relevant logic, which I'm sure you're aware, but was also keenly interested in music theory, which may come as a surprise to you. I realized that prompt steps would need to be taken immediately through the proper channels if I were to extricate myself and so I spoke authoritatively.

"I understand fully. I often lay awake thinking about a troublesome passage in my book."

She still danced and sang. Then suddenly remembering a phone call in the night, I said, "I heard from Rick Davis last night."

It worked. "Oh, yes?" she said.

"He wants me to take a position with some admiral or whatnot at the naval base in San Diego. Something to do with the navy's efforts to provide assistance to victims of natural disasters."

"Are you considering it?" she said.

"I admit his offer interested me strangely, but I think not. I'm committed to my book and moving to San Diego would be too big an interruption."

"That book isn't even finished and it's all anyone talks about." she said. "That's a good omen for success, I think."

With those words, she assumed the posture I've seen in a portrait of Count Alexi Orlov. All that was needed to complete the image was a white stallion behind her and a wolfhound at her knee.

"Why is everyone talking?" I said.

"Well," she said, "it's widely known that you misspent your youth in frivolous pursuits and you influenced many others to do the same. So, everything considered, there's going to be a lot of uncovering of things that pillars of the community have tried to keep hidden. That's hot stuff."

She spoke with a twinkle in her eye like the one Czar Alexander must have had as he watched Napoleon pack up the tent and catch the 2:35 express back to France.

"Wonder, you of all people should know it's not that kind of book."

"No?"

"It's a book intended to sweep the clouds away and let the sunshine through. It's a book that describes in detail what it was like in my, as you say, misspent youth, what happened to turn things around, and what it's like today. It's meant to detail precisely how to escape the emotional seizures of mood disorder."

I tried my best to look indignant as I said those words but without a lot of confidence. It's hard to be indignant first thing in the morning wearing a "rock all day, roll all night" t-shirt and with toothpaste foaming around the mouth but I did my best.

"As long as they buy the book, right?" she said and it was clear that my words had not the intended effect--she regarded them as the idle wind. It was becoming a big day for the idle wind.

It was a simple, direct question and there was a simple, direct answer but not for a preux chevalier and, damn it, the Genome is as preux as a chevalier can stick. The affront to the Genome honor had the limbic system pumping out indignant words--it was a big morning for being indignant too--words that banged against the teeth but remained unspoken because rigorous honesty keeps me quiet. In a nutshell, I was non-plussed.

"I'm saving up to buy the first edition as soon as it's published," she said.

What was I to say to that? Yes, it might be a fair morning, a morning as fair as any in a summer filled with fair mornings but it had been preceded by a three-cat night.

"Thank you, the Wonder," was all I said.

Not at all, she said.

Love Potion Number Mouse

If you're one of the inner circle, you know all about Eddy, the two-year-old, black American shorthair, and his frequent bladder inflammation. Well, I want you to be the first to know that I've found the cause and the solution to his problems. I also want to pass along an idea that will enhance the fortunes of someone who can spot a sure thing when it comes along. That someone is you.

One recent morning I found Ms. Wonder in the salle de bains preparing for the office. When she saw me, she gave me a familiar look with those emerald eyes that turn the knees to jelly. It's the look that hooked me so many years ago.

"How did you sleep," she said.

"Sleep?" I said, "How can I sleep with Eddy suffering? I made a promise to that little guy when I found him in the construction zone. I promised him that I would take very good care of him and that he would be happy with us. Do you remember?"

"I remember," she said kneading my shoulder, "but you're doing all you can."

"No," I said, "I'm not. I can learn everything there is to know about this inflammation thing he has."

"Ideopathic chronic cistitis," she said. "Ideopathic means the cause is unknown. If the veterinary schools haven't found a cure, how do you hope to?"

"You forget," I said, "you're talking to the Genome. I do not eat pine needles. Watch me. I'll find the solution. I can't forget the vet telling me that if the urologist at North Carolina State has nothing to offer, then at least they will do the autopsy for free when we decide to say goodbye to him. And Wonder...."

"Yes."

"I don't plan to say goodbye for a good while yet."

"Well, on the subject of eating pine needles, I have a starting place for you--" she said, "kibble. I've read that it's associated with a lot of feline health issues from diabetes to urinary issues to allergic reactions."

"Kibble? I don't understand you. Isn't kibble just dry food?"

"That's right," she said. "I read that all dry food is nothing more than junk food for cats. Cat's wouldn't even consider it food if the manufacturers didn't coat the stuff with something to make the cats want to eat it."

"Crack for cats!" I said, "Thanks, Wonder, that's a good place to start. Cut out all dry food. But I thought pet food had to measure up to some government standard."

"Yeah, right," she said, "Just check it out."

I did check it out. I learned that the information provided by quality veterinary schools like Cornell (No. 1) and North Carolina State (No. 3) had to be rightly divided or taken with a grain of salt if you prefer because veterinary science is funded by the pet food companies and the science is not the best. 

If you want specifics, look it up. The vets I find most helpful are Dr. Karen Becker and  Dr. Elizabeth Hodgkins. They both suggest that healthful cat food consists of high protein meat sources (not meat byproducts); high fat content (cats require enough fat in their diet to give a human a coronary); very low carbohydrates; no grains or starches; and high moisture content. This is the suggested diet for all cats.

If you have a special needs cat--one with urinary issues or allergies--then you should go a step further and choose a food that uses "novel" protein sources. When first reading this, I was surprised to learn that novels have any redeeming value. I always stick to non-fiction. 

Then I discovered that a novel protein source is one that has very little incidence of allergic reactions. Those novel sources include venison, lamb, and rabbit. There are others, but I chose these three. I still stand by my recommendation to read non-fiction and for heaven's sake stay away from self-help books--I can take some drivel but not pure drivel.

After just a few days on venison and rabbit sourced in the United States and New Zealand, Eddy was showing signs of better health than he had shown in his entire life. It has been about four weeks now and he has been reborn. Hard to imagine that he is the same cat that, about six weeks ago, our vet was talking about quality-of-life and autopsies.

All our cats are now on the new diet and I am very happy with the outcome but I am never satisfied and recently I've been musing on a brain splinter that I picked up from those websites concerning raw food. It seems that the experts on cat nutrition all agree that raw food is the most healthful. But it takes a lot of work and quite candidly, my cat duties take up enough time, especially during the morning feeding.

However, I have had one of those manic inspirations that the Genome is known for, and I think it's the perfect solution for the most healthful cat food. I spoke to Wonder about it just this morning.

"Wonder!" I said. "I've got the perfect solution to feeding our cats the most healthful food without the hassle."

"You mean the raw food diet?" she said.

"None other," I said. "I'm surprised that someone else hasn't thought of it before me. Wonder, can you patent an idea?"

"No."

"Too bad." I said. "This one is a piperino."

"I'm almost afraid to ask," she said, "but before you tell me, let me say that I'm not going to feed raw food to my cats."

"You'll feed this food, I'll bet, when you hear how simple it is. Laboratory mice."

"I'm sorry," she said, "if I didn't know better, I'd swear you said laboratory rats."

"Mice, Wonder, mice. There's a big difference. Mice and rats hold different political views altogether."

"I know what you're thinking." she said, "The mice will be the perfect portion size and the cats will have the 'whole bone' diet or whatever, but you do realize, don't you, that you have to keep lab mice frozen, then thaw them in time for feeding? I'm sorry but I'm not going to have those things in my refrigerator."

"You have the wrong idea," I said. "No refrigeration. When the dinner gong goes, my job is to release five mice and the cats do the rest. Perfectly natural food source and no leftovers or washing bowls. Didn't I tell you it was ringer?"

"Feed live mice to our cats?"

"Nicely put. In a nutshell," I said.

She gave me a different look. One that I get more often than the soft gaze. It's the one where the eyebrows slam together above the nose and the upper lip is tucked into the lower and if I'm not mistaken there is a bit of chewing.

"I'm guessing you prefer to leave well-enough alone." I said.

What she was thinking she didn't say but it was enough. So there you are. You have my permission to use the mouse idea in a commercial venture--perhaps a book or a blog site--and I shall follow your future success with great interest.

It Was Raining Cats

You may remember that I woke a few days ago with a sharp attack of euphoria. In fact, I don't remember a sharper. This morning, however, the sharp attack that woke me involved scimitars and sabers. Actually, scimitar-curved claws and saber-sharp fangs. 

It was the foster kitten, Eddy, who had been working on his stalking skills and killer instinct. Unfortunately, he's hanging at the corner with Abbie Hoffman, a bad influence if ever. No, not that A. Hoffman! I refer to the cat dressed in formal wear and known on the street as Abracadabra.

Eddy (L) and Lucy (R)

It was Eddy, you will remember, who got me in the fleshy part of the toe, causing me to shoot six inches off the mattress. Not an easy feat when starting from the prone position. My convulsions shook him loose but left him giving me the eye while digging his front paws into the duvet with an expression on his map like that of a Baptist deacon rebuking sin.

"Poopsie," I said. No response.

"Ms Wonder," I said louder.

"Whumpf?" came the muffled response from nearby.

"Will you please capture your cat?" I said.

"What?" she said. It occurred to me that she wasn't demonstrating her commitment to our vows to stand by and summon the U. S. Marines for aid and comfort in times of trial.

"Eddy is what I mean. Will you get him off me!"

"I'm asleep," she said.

I thought about pointing out that technically she was not asleep but decided to give it a miss. At that moment I realized that Eddy's behavior had attracted the attention of his sister, Lucy, who is an accomplished little foot ninja in her own right.

"Do you have a towel handy?"

Wonder stirred from the depths of the bedding, raised her head, and asked, "Why would I have a towel?"

"It's just that I'm remembering the time you captured another foster kitten in that you-can't-do-that-here manner by using a towel in the way some Roman gladiators used a fishing net. Remember?"

"I don't have a towel," she said. "And it wasn't a fishing net."

And so there I was, Heir of the Ages, one of the highest expressions of life on earth, and I was being chivvied by one of the lessor. If you are a member of the Inner Circle, you will no doubt recognize this as another example of a tiger living like a goat. I mean where is the benefit of being human when you're constantly being harassed by kittens?

It occurred to me that prompt steps through the proper channels were called for. But it's never that easy, is it? I remember something from my senior year in high school--a Shakespeare play I'm sure, that went something like this:

Between the first thought of doing something dreadful and the actual doing of it (some guff about the genius and mortal instruments), there is often a revolt in the kingdom or words to that effect.

Well, that's where I found myself. My genius, if I can call it that, knew what had to be done, but my arms were not happy about it. I wonder if the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak applies here? Quite possibly, but I'm jumping the rails again.

What I'm trying to say is that it wasn't easy to act. I'd rather go back to sleep. But after those moments of hesitation,  I threw the coverlets back, which I might mention caused it to rain cats. It was a sight to see, let me tell you. 

I gathered Eddy as he turned to flee and I decanted him into the Saigon room for safekeeping.

"That cat should be bedded in the stables," I said to Ms Wonder. "You and I can take care of ourselves but consider what might happen if one of the cleaning crew, exhausted from working her two jobs each day, stretched out on the bed to shut her eyes for a spell. I don't like to dwell on the aftermath, do you?"

But Ms Wonder wasn't in sight. I heard the bathroom door close and soon after the sound of running water, similar to a waterfall filled the silence.

Uma Maya the brindled little Empress of Chatsford was surely in the sale de bains with Wonder. Eddy was safely confined to the Saigon room. Lucy was probably hiding underneath the bed. 

Beignet, the ginger and white ragamuffin, and Sagi, the caramel-colored tabby, were at my feet looking up at me to ask, what next? Abbie was absent but I expected he could be found in his usual spot for this time of morning, atop the kitchen cabinets. Suddenly I was acutely aware of the tie that binds and the words of a close friend who often says, "The family we choose is the most pleasing."

Looking down at the two cats sitting at my feet I said, "Stand by to counsel and advise." Fortunately for me, they have all provided just what I needed in the fullness of time.