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Nov. 23rd, 2013
It’s getting a little too hot in L. A. for Nina and she makes a run for it - just leave the city, leave the state. Outside of Tucson, she parks and sets out a blanket and looks out upon the desert scene.
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The coyote stopped, ears up, listening for something. I couldn’t hear anything, just a little wind brushing against the rocks. Then it dropped its head, doubled back, excited about something. Paced back and forth around a cluster of sagebrush, pawed and sniffed around the base.
Two rabbits broke free, sprinted different angles away from the brush. The coyote made his decision faster than I could see it happen, chased one rabbit, cut it off from where it wanted to go, caught it with a crisp and brutal snap of its jaws. The rabbit screamed when it was caught, I didn’t know a rabbit could make a sound like that, like a person screaming, like the kind of scream I would make if something jawed the back of my neck. The coyote shook its head, broke the rabbit’s neck, the scream stopped. Just like that it was over. The rabbit was alive one moment, dead the next. It ran, was caught and killed. No fun being a rabbit.
-- “Shooting Elvis” by Robert M. Eversz
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
No fun being Nina either. She decides that she is not going to keep running all her life. She turns around and heads back to the city of angels. She’s going to fight.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
The coyote stopped, ears up, listening for something. I couldn’t hear anything, just a little wind brushing against the rocks. Then it dropped its head, doubled back, excited about something. Paced back and forth around a cluster of sagebrush, pawed and sniffed around the base.
Two rabbits broke free, sprinted different angles away from the brush. The coyote made his decision faster than I could see it happen, chased one rabbit, cut it off from where it wanted to go, caught it with a crisp and brutal snap of its jaws. The rabbit screamed when it was caught, I didn’t know a rabbit could make a sound like that, like a person screaming, like the kind of scream I would make if something jawed the back of my neck. The coyote shook its head, broke the rabbit’s neck, the scream stopped. Just like that it was over. The rabbit was alive one moment, dead the next. It ran, was caught and killed. No fun being a rabbit.
-- “Shooting Elvis” by Robert M. Eversz
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
No fun being Nina either. She decides that she is not going to keep running all her life. She turns around and heads back to the city of angels. She’s going to fight.
I am at the computer in Pop’s office, doing my evening blogging rounds, and Ash is at my side standing on her hind legs and pawing at my knee. I pick her up for some hugs, and as I look into her liquid eyes, I marvel over how Pop and I were finally able to progress from having feral cats to having cats that are sociable and can even be with us inside the house.
When I was feeding those first generations of hissing, feral cats, and longing to be able to pet them, I never dreamed that we would get to this point, and it was not just because the cats were feral. After Bo’s death, I was certain that I did not want another pet, and I think I came to look upon the outdoor cats as a sort of compromise. I could have some of the benefits of having a pet but without really, really having a pet. I failed to appreciate that you cannot truly do love only halfway.
If it wasn’t for that gorgeous calico cat, seeing her hiding out in the back of our shed with Mother Grey and the other kittens, back in the spring of 2007, I am pretty sure that I would have been able to forgo the temptation of feeding them and tending them. As much as I love these cats, the ones I can now pick up and pet, I am still not sure whether this has all been for the best or not. Not that it really matters. This is the path we chose and it is the path we are walking on. At the very least, I dare say, it has made my life richer. It is just that I also place a premium on simplicity, and after Bo left me, my life was supposed to get much, much simpler. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, it was just going to be me waiting for my date with Death.
When I was feeding those first generations of hissing, feral cats, and longing to be able to pet them, I never dreamed that we would get to this point, and it was not just because the cats were feral. After Bo’s death, I was certain that I did not want another pet, and I think I came to look upon the outdoor cats as a sort of compromise. I could have some of the benefits of having a pet but without really, really having a pet. I failed to appreciate that you cannot truly do love only halfway.
If it wasn’t for that gorgeous calico cat, seeing her hiding out in the back of our shed with Mother Grey and the other kittens, back in the spring of 2007, I am pretty sure that I would have been able to forgo the temptation of feeding them and tending them. As much as I love these cats, the ones I can now pick up and pet, I am still not sure whether this has all been for the best or not. Not that it really matters. This is the path we chose and it is the path we are walking on. At the very least, I dare say, it has made my life richer. It is just that I also place a premium on simplicity, and after Bo left me, my life was supposed to get much, much simpler. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, it was just going to be me waiting for my date with Death.
Three Journal
Nov. 23rd, 2013 09:30 pmWorking on the Three Journal, I finally got through that post on science and religion, in which Dave and I go at it pretty hot and heavy, dialectically rather than sexually of course. I was tempted to skip it, because it was intense and not really fun, but I am glad that I stuck with it, because it actually makes for very interesting reading.
Funny, I remember when I was working on a Sugar IM-conversation how it felt like I was actually reliving the experience, and I actually felt something like that working on this debate with Dave. The experience of the argument really comes back fresh. I can feel the tension. Of course, this was not nearly as nice as the memories of Sugar, but it is still a very moving experience that helps to make my work on the Three Journal feel deeply meaningful.
Funny, I remember when I was working on a Sugar IM-conversation how it felt like I was actually reliving the experience, and I actually felt something like that working on this debate with Dave. The experience of the argument really comes back fresh. I can feel the tension. Of course, this was not nearly as nice as the memories of Sugar, but it is still a very moving experience that helps to make my work on the Three Journal feel deeply meaningful.