Saturday, September 4, 2010

Cats. Wind. Me.

Common thread: they’re all about freedom.

[Disclaimer: you must try to keep a straight face.  What appears in the following paragraph is quite in earnest.  And you who know me know that I am serious when it comes to the honored genus Felis.  Ask Sam Tappe from fifth grade, with whom I had an ongoing Cat v. dog debate in art throughout the entire year.]

Fact: it is truly unfortunate that “cat lady” carries the connotation of a feeble old lady who has lost her mind decades ago, manifested by the fact that she serves her houseful of Cats as if she is serving a household of dignitaries.  I regret that it is so, for you see, Cats are the King.  No need for a vote.  (Sorry, dogs, popularity isn’t everything—look at the 2000 presidential election.)  The Feline breed rules by a look and a tail-shake.  How aloof!  How fully aware of their own importance!  How bored they appear with the truly mundane events of the world!  Because of their attitude of independence and self-sufficiency, Cats have the freedom to roam the planet, ruling civilizations, easily acquiring their throne on the savannah, playing both the hero and the villain (see The Jungle Book), some becoming tame, some remaining wild.  But at heart, Cats are the same—they embody the ideal of freedom and exercise it at will.

Wind is freedom.  The only good thing about Wyoming (sincere apologies to those who inhabit this vast, dull state) is that when you step outside on most any day of the year, you can feel the glorious blustery wind tugging you, pushing you (probably telling you to get the heck out of here and find a more interesting place to live).  I’ve never particularly been one to personify inanimate objects (unlike some college roommates I know—my favorite is, “I don’t know yet, my computer is thinking”).  To me, the wind has always been Weather.  But it’s the only weather that moves.  That’s all that matters.  It comes and goes in and among the objects on earth—trees, houses, people, balloons—rustling, terrorizing, swirling, scooping, brandishing, sighing, haunting, rocking uplifting....  It makes its own way and...lives...sentient or not.

And I, I am only a human being, craving the free mind of a
cat, the free movement of wind.  As it is, I do what I can.  I make plans, I write, I read of Otherplace and Othertime, and I watch Otherone live a life of adventure.  Some plans come to pass.  Some remain in words and dreams.  But see, I'm not quite at the end of my life yet.  Like I said, I do what I can.

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