So, cats

First, writing. Other than on my book, I shouldn’t write at all. My journal is a huge basket of angst, Facebook a less and less compelling interaction of the wrong kinds of energy, and blogging, while full of goodness in theory, doesn’t have a lot of motivation behind it. Since we publicly write to be seen, and there are fewer people who occasionally drop in here than I have fingers on my right hand (or my wrong hand, for that matter, and that’s not saying much, for all my hands are full of fingers — very good as doorbell ringers, if you remember the song), I am therefore not motivated to spend time and energy here. Except when I am.

Why would I be right now? Because I got a test started out in the shop and data is collecting, and though I have other things to do, I feel like pretending for a minute that I don’t. This testing is fun, by the way. The gizmo that I designed has an 800 pound battery and an 8kVA inverter powering a few big loads while data collects of all the parameters, data which will make pretty graphs for the client when we have a design review. Yesterday was even cooler. I was charging up the battery with big ol’ solar panels (and collecting data of all the parameters) out front and we had another client’s big red haz-mat truck next to it so it was quite a scene for the drivers-by.

So, cats. Two came with my house. One of those moved in when I moved in and his owner moved in too. That owner is long gone but the cat stayed. The other was snuck in as a kitten and then stayed when her owner moved away to a place she couldn’t have a cat and she had kittens and I got her fixed and here she is. Both of them are largely outdoor kitties, though after I moved in they started coming in more and the big old grumpy one even loved up on me and it was cute and fun and THEN. My girlfriend is moving in and her cat is now in the house and they all hate each other.

I don’t know cats well enough to know if this is temporary or if they’re going to be growling at each other like pint-sized lions for the rest of their many lives, but for now anyway the old cats don’t come in as much as they used to and when they do and see the new one, or the new one sees them, nothing commences but drama and posturing and snarling and the occasional talon-jab. We just want everyone to love each other but eh, no. I feel like the old cats are Palestinians and the new one is an Israeli settler. They will posture and snarl and pull claws unto the seventh generation. Except for the girls having been fixed.

So, the new one started out feral, having been found as a kitten mostly dead and covered in scabs and matted fur, and has spent the last several years as an indoor kitty, all soft and pretty and spoiled, looking out the windows with longing but not too much longing, while the others have learned since their indoor days to steal food from the neighborhood cats and fend off raccoons, and it’s the new one who is aggressive. We can’t tell if she keeps trying to play and the others are all, hell no, bitch, get away, or of she is being territorial and wants these scruffy outdoors kitties to stay the fuck out. Both seem equally likely. Last night, though. One of the outdoorsers, after months of getting used to her, actually climbed up onto the indoor kitty’s owner’s lap. That was beautiful and amazing. Until the indoorser did her usual snarly act and then, after the lap was empty and a hand reached out, actually hissed at it. Hissed at her keeper. My girlfriend was heartbroken for a minute. Her cat had never hissed at her. Something weird is going on.

My house has weird energy, so I’m told. The various sensitive psychic types who’ve lived in it or visited have all said so. They’ve even pinpointed specific locations, some of them the same locations. So maybe it’s working on the animals and turning them into little devil cats. I’m okay with that. They may have built-in knives, but I outweigh them.

Here’s the only picture I ever got of all three. Mutually repulsive forces prevent them being this close for more than a few seconds.

Sunrise

The room has nothing in it but an old worktable and my filing cabinet. The cabinet’s contents are strewn about the floor so I can see what files I have. The wood floor was laid down about fifty years ago and spent most of that time underneath wall to wall carpeting. Now the floor is bare and paint-stained. The walls are interesting shades of orange and blue, colors chosen about four years ago by the artist who once lived here. I will repaint them soon.

The window faces to the east. The sky is a light blue, a few straggling clouds lit orange by the rising sun. That means it’s morning, finally.

I’ve owned this house for five years. In that time I spent very little time in this particular room. It is the downstairs suite: A large room with its own bath. It first housed a woman we hired to look after the house and kids in return for lodging. That didn’t work out. Then it housed a friend, another artist who has spent his adulthood on the fringes of homelessness, while he looked after the house and kids. I appreciated his creative interior decorating. We all went to Burning Man together. Did a lot of drugs in this room. But he was in essence just another one of the kids, and a little bit of a drama queen as well. In time he too had to go.

Subsequently the room housed combinations of the daughters, and then after they and their mother moved out a small family that was in a bind. Now they’re all gone. They’re all still in a bind, but I’m not rescuing them anymore. I’m not rescuing anyone. The room is empty, except for the temporary furnishings of an office, and the light of the advancing dawn.

That could make a good ending to this pointless little scene description, the advancing dawn symbolizing the light slowly going on in my head. Not rescuing anyone anymore, etc. But there’s always more. Always. Yes?

Maybe not. My companion will want to wake up and have her coffee. I will go take care of that. Otherwise I would just write about chronic depression, and no one wants to read about that, nor does writing about it help me any.