Tag Archives: Rosie

Rosie’s Rubber Bands

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I am enjoying Rosie’s litter box.
Something I enjoy about summer is
Rosie’s litter box.
Winter is when my neighbors enjoy
Rosie’s litter box.
The difference is rubber bands.
Rubber bands are the difference between
summer and winter litter boxes.
Rubber bands are a connection
between summer and winter.
Rubber bands and cat poop are connected,
as far as summer and winter are concerned.
One good thing about summer is
that’s when I don’t notice the connection
between Rosie’s poop and rubber bands.
Summer is when I don’t notice that
Rosie’s poop is connected by rubber bands.
Rosie eats rubber bands.
Rosie doesn’t use her litter box in summer.
I am enjoying Rosie’s litter box;
which is great,
but where does she get the rubber bands?




Sept. 11, 2013



Rosie in Bed

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Birth, death, and the moments in between: all good stuff to write about.  Sometimes a good noun or verb and a simple image will get me started. Sometimes I need something extra: an interlocutor or proxy to courier difficult ideas from the noise in my head to the quietness of a blank page.

Animals have served this role for artists and writers for millennia. Really, almost anything on the other side of the imaginary wall which separates humans from nature can be anthropomorphized in service to disclosing what is too close to see. My interlocutor is my cat, Rosie.

 

Rosie in Bed

Rosie protests
my reading in bed.
She pushes books
out of my hands
and purrs,
“Read me instead!”

 

March 2012

Cat Mood

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Left for the day.
Forgot to feed the cat.
Bitching, moaning, whining,
and plodding like a miniature calico
draft horse around her empty kibble bowl.
Goddamn my sorry hairless Homosapien soul!
Filled the bowl and tickled her ticked-off nose—
hedged with a herring carcass on the heap.
Mea culpa. Cope with my caresses, Miss.
Don’t finger me your twitchy tail.
No, you took a bite or two,
pranced to the door,
left for the night.

 

Jan. 2013

 

Cats!

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I have a cat, Rosie, who is my muse.  Like all cats, she has absolutely no respect for us humans, especially when we’re walking downstairs with armfuls of dirty laundry.  They remember the trick we’ve played with them over and over: dropping them upside-down to watch them twist and flip and land on their feet.  Cats amaze us.  So we shouldn’t be surprised when they scoot down the stairs ahead of us and stop on the third to last step.  They just want to see if we humans can perform the same trick.  If we land on our feet, they’ll grant us peace by allowing us to gently scratch their heads and fill their bowl with kibbles.

Cats are funny.

I want a dog.

 

Nov. 5, 2012