Purrsonal Stories: Awkward Like a Cat

And no, I'm not talking about my beautiful Cinderella kitty in the picture above.

Cats are generally beautiful, graceful creatures. They are the 'always land on their feet' type. I suppose they get it from their natural instincts as well as from their mothers.

My sister Kara and brooding Romeo

I must've been a bad cat mama, though. My poor orphaned Romeo is awkward. He gets it from me. He has a tendency to bump into things. He doesn't always land on his feet (even sprained his foot once from landing awkwardly). He has a long tail and tries to catch it (or its shadow) and will run into things.

I do the same things (although I don't have a tail). I am forever bumping my arms into something and legs. I haven't gone to a writers' conference yet where I didn't bang my knees onto the chairs. When I was in theater, I was forever doing awkward things like getting splinters in my legs from fainting (on purpose for the play) or falling 8-feet from a shelf (I did land on my feet). I can be standing perfectly still and almost fall over. Yet, I'm pretty good on a balance beam.

Yeah, I'm awkward like my cat. Or he might be awkward like me. At least Cinderella got all the grace that we lack.

Personal Thursdays: Wisdom from Cats: Catching your tail or a shadow of a tail

*I would’ve taken a video of my cats catching their tail—or shadow in Romeo’s case—but they didn’t cooperate.*

Watching cats’ behaviors can be quite entertaining and philosophical.

Romeo has a long tail, but instead of trying to catch it, he’ll spin in circles chasing a shadow. The tail is right in reach, but he is a dreamer, doing his best to grasp hold of an elusive dream in the guise of his tail’s shadow.

Cinderella (or Relli for short) has a short tail. She’s a small cat anyway, but she’ll spin around and before you know it, she’ll have the tip in her grasp and stand on it. Since her tail is short, when she stands up, it pulls out from under her paws, and the chase is on. When she really catches her tail, she enjoys giving it a quick bath while holding it in her paws. She is a pragmatist, a realistic. She grasps hold of what is there in front of her. Sometimes she lets go, but it’s there for her to grab again.

Cats are a lot like people. We chase after dreams. Sometimes we seize them. Sometimes they slip through our fingers. Sometimes we sprint after an idea that will remain just in the shadows, always beyond our reach.

Like Romeo, we can have fun chasing after that elusive dream, the shadow of a tail, but I think we need some of Relli in us too. We need to know when to catch it and stand on it to keep it there with us and when to let go and begin the chase again.

Writing is a lot like that too. We create the idea. Sometimes it remains just an idea. Other times we hold it and run with it. Sometimes even then we have to let it go and begin the chase anew.

So what are you? Are you a shadow chaser? Or a dream catcher?

As for myself, I believe I’m a bit of both.

Flash Fiction Fridays: "Cat Companion"

“Cat Companion”

A loud meow made George open his eyes.

It was the sixth time this week, so he wasn’t surprised. He’d been expecting it, despite trying to get another hour of sleep before the morning paper came.

The eighty-year-old man shifted and sat up in the bed. His bones creaked and popped. Grabbing his cane, he slipped his feet into some slippers and wobbled into the house.

“Meow!”

The cat was definitely persistent.

He wrenched open the back door to find the orange tabby sitting there. The cat’s green eyes peered up at him.

“Meow,” it said in a simple tone. His tail flickered.

“Go on, shoo.” George waved his hand. The cat’s ear twitched and he licked his paw before continuing to stare.

Nope, it didn’t work the first time or the sixth one either. “Fine.” He grumbled the word, stepped back, and went into the kitchen.

The cat remained at the door.

Moments later, George hobbled to the porch and plopped the can of tuna in front of the cat.

He sniffed the meal, his whiskers quivering. A pink tongue lapped up the liquid first before he bit into the meaty bites. He cleaned the can, his face and paws.

George watched the little critter. “Go on now, you’ve had your meal.” He shooed him away.

The cat stood and entwined around George’s feet before he leapt off the porch and disappeared into the woods.

The old man smiled and shook his head. “See you tomorrow, Cat.”