Tuesday Morning

I was surprised to see all three cats waiting to come inside this morning, especially since there was still food on the plate. Then, I immediately almost let Sammy go back out again, so that he wouldn’t wake up Kay-Pop with his yowling. I’m glad he did not take me up on that offer, because when I stepped outside to take check the weather more closely, as well as take the trash bin to the curb, I learned that it was lightly drizzling. My instant reaction was happiness and to smile, as though I really did not want to go on my walk, though I suspect this has more to do with Kay being here and the complications she brings about. This also makes my management of the cats easier. There was supposed to be a good chance of rain today, and almost a certainty of it tonight, and now I don’t have to keep trying to guess when to get and keep them inside. They are all inside now, and that is where they are going to stay. Everything is settled. Maybe this is why I smiled.

Pizza

Kay must not be a big pizza eater. I left out the usual three slices, but Pop just stored them in the refrigerator as usual. If I had known that was the way it was going to be, I would have taken an extra slice. I could have used one more piece.

“This works out better for you. You look like you have had far more than your share of pizza in your life.”

Let’s just hope I don’t feel like having a coke and a snack this afternoon, or else I will be worse off, as far as that goes.

Wank and a Nap

A wank and a nap. Kay-Pop left on their rounds, and it seemed like that much better of an idea to get that out of the way.

“Because you wouldn’t have done it anyway.”

Well, I might have skipped today. That happens sometimes.

“Whatever makes you feel better.”

It does happen sometimes.

“Whatever you say.”

Gah!

Cats

All three cats are lying side by side on the ottoman. Okay, I am willing to call it a perfect day. How man perfect days is one allowed in a life?

The Man Who Loved Dogs

“The Man Who Loved Dogs” is a novel about the assassination of Trotsky (born Lev Davidovich) and the intrigues of Stalin’s communist party. Going by this narrative, Trotsky was shy about grasping for power after Lenin’s death, even though he was arguably the heir apparent, being the next foremost revolutionary. Stalin was more ruthless, and Trotsky ends up exiled and ends up as a sort of Emmanuel Goldstein character.

In his exile, Trotsky has a lot of time to ruminate over how things went wrong. He comes to realize that he, too, was not altogether innocent. In his dispute with Stalin, Trotsky most sharply and effectively called him the Grave Digger of the revolution. However, recalling his own leadership and his own political violence in consolidating power for the Bolsheviks, such as when he brutally cracked down on the Kronstadt rebellion in 1921, he could perhaps see himself as also being a grave digger of the revolution.

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He knew that if in March 1921 the Bolsheviks had allowed free elections, they probably would have lost power. The Marxist theory, which he and Lenin used to validate all of their decisions, had never considered the circumstance that once the communists were in power, they could lose the support of the workers. For the first time since the October victory, they should have asked themselves (did we ever ask ourselves? he would confess to Natalia Sedova) if it was fair to establish socialism against or at the margin of majority will. The proletarian dictatorship was meant to eliminate the exploiting classes, but should it also repress the workers? The dilemma had ended up being dramatic and Manichean: it was not possible to allow the expression of the people’s will, since this could reverse the process itself. But the abolition of that will would deprive the Bolshevik government of its basic legitimacy: once the moment arrived in which the masses ceased to believe, the need arose to make them believe by force. And so they applied force. In Kronstadt - as Lev Davidovich knew so well - the revolution had begun to devour its own children and he had been bestowed the sad honor of giving the order that started the banquet.

-- “The Man Who Loved Dogs” by Leonardo Padura

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