Kitty in the Sky With Diamonds
Now, I’m not one to see Jesus in a piece of toast or Mary in bird droppings (and I certainly wouldn’t tell the media if I were) but I did notice a shape in the wallpaper on my mini-notepad that somewhat resembles the Prodigal Cat. I might take it as sign my kitty ascended if I hadn’t taken the picture weeks before he went into the night on secret kitty business never to return. He did visit me in a dream but I was realistic enough even in sleep to not wake up and get his treats.
I do know what paradolia is and once spent a few minutes viewing a picture before and after the blues were tweaked. This proved beyond reasonable doubt that even a mentally challenged person can use Photoshop but did nothing for the sasquatch effort. There wasn’t even a shadow to form an impression of a hominid in the brush, let alone two (one was transparent). It’s nice, I must admit, to be free of a group that even begins to take such things seriously.
The idea of cats in the sky led me to Donald Johanson and the discovery of Lucy, so named for the song playing in camp. Contrary to popular belief at the time, the song is not about the initials of the title. John’s son brought a painting home from school and when asked what it was he said it was Lucy in the sky with diamonds. I’d somehow never thought of paleoanthropologists enjoying simple pleasures like we lesser mortals do. I prefer Norwegian Wood, however.
But I digress.
After Lucy I wandered to ancient Egypt and wondered if the ladies of the time applied eyeliner the way we do, for emphasis, or whether it was just to repel parasites. Desmond Morris called us the Naked Ape. I submit we’re the Decorated Ape.
I’m now all disinfected and entering the land of “Nothing by mouth after midnight.” I’m already wondering what I’ll forget to bring to the hospital even though I’ve been packed for two days. It’s not like I’m going to a foreign country. My housesitter can bring me things – provided I remember where I put them. Will I really finish the books I packed? Can I live without the Internet for 3-5 days or should I risk bringing the netbook? Did I answer all the e-mails I really needed to answer? Will I come out of the anesthesia or will I end up like a character on House? “Oops! Did the wrong thing; you have five hours to live.”
I don’t have to worry about leaving my cat with a stranger. I sure could use his company now, but then I run across a glob of cat hair (how did he get it there?) and have mixed emotions. I understand my mother wanting out of cat sitting when time was slowing her down. I resented her putting housework ahead of her kids (who never did master the art of wiping feet). “Who tracked up my clean floor?” I can hear her say. It just now occurred to me she could tell by the size of the prints. So why did she ask me? Now I no longer resent her; I just miss her. I hope she understood at last I couldn’t be there for her because I just couldn’t handle it.
When I was little I’d cry over roadkill. When one of my first cats died my grandmother opined I should be glad it wasn’t a person. My mother responded, “Right now I think she wishes it were a person.” I think that was the only time my mother really understood me.
I used to think I’d be okay if I had no emotions at all. It would be nice if I could think everything I’ve lost in life is waiting for me in The Great Garbage Can in the Sky. Sister Clotine told me when I was in kindergarten animals can’t go to Heaven; they have no souls. That pretty much did it for me and religion at the age of 4 1/2.
So, kitties can’t go to Heaven and the shape is not some sort of spiritual cat. I can’t help but notice, though, that that Jack-o-Lantern “face” next to “him” in the photo looks pretty angry – or is it hungry? If, by chance, there’s an afterlife for kitties I hope all the animals he killed weren’t there waiting for him.
Lu's Lips 