Tag: Cats

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Raindrops, by Lewis Thompson

·       The
following are my favorite images and impressions recalled by the thought of
rain—
·       A
steady rain beating down on the leaves of a deciduous forest.
·       Rain
pattering on the roof of my tent.
·       Hard
rain on a tin roof.
·       Catching
raindrops with my tongue.
·       The
tiny craters made by rain on a smooth, sandy beach.
·       That
brief, fleeting moment when I must turn on the car’s wipers or else miss seeing
a hazard in the road ahead.
·       That
first drop of cold rain as it dashes against my bald head and runs thrillingly
down behind my ear.
·       Rain
on my eyelashes.
·       Rushing
to bring the clothes in off the line before they get soaked.
·       The
indescribable thrill of that first clap of thunder.
·       The
smell of the air after a gully-washer.
·       Sliding
under the bedcovers with the window shade fully up and lightning flashing
outside.
·       The
way the world looks so freshly scrubbed after a thunderstorm.
·       Carefree
lovers kissing in the rain at night.
·       Cats
running for shelter.
·       Dogs
shaking off the water.
·       Me
cleaning up the mess my dog has made in shaking off the water.
·       The
sound of water dripping off the eaves after the storm has passed.
·       The
first rays of sunlight piercing the clouds after the storm.
·       Catching
raindrops in my mouth and complaining when they land in my eye.
·       The
eager children who can’t wait to go outside into the freshly washed world.
·       Driving
from Winter Park to Empire on U.S. 40 with out-of-state friends and seeing a
double rainbow near Berthoud Pass.
·       Standing
on our balcony with my beloved Laurin watching a thunderstorm roll in from the
west washing across Cheeseman Park.
© 4 Apr 2016 
About
the Author 

I came to the
beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the
state where I married and had two
children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married
to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was
passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were
basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very
attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that
time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth.
Soon after, I
retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13
blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to
fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE
Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.
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Eerie by Gillian

Cats.

It’s all about cats.

I love cats, but, face it, they are not completely of this earth. They inhabit a slightly different plane, or at least they see this one very differently. Anyone who has spent much time in the company of a cat knows this. They sit completely still and stare fixedly at something in the corner that none of us can see. They wake from one of a dozen daily dozes to rush off into another room for no reason that we can comprehend.

Growing up as I did in a farming community, everyone had cats. Mostly they were of the marginally domesticated kind who lived in the barns and sheds and fed primarily on the other critters living there. Before the days of spaying, they reproduced prodigiously and the kittens were traditionally drowned as soon as they were discovered.

My mother discovered Delilah with her latest brood, burrowed into a pile of leaves under a hedge, and my poor father was summoned to do the dastardly deed. A gentle, kind-hearted man, he hated this job, which always fell to him. He waited until Delilah had temporarily vacated her position, scooped up the kittens and did the dirty deed. A couple of days later we discovered Delilah, again, half asleep and purring lazily behind a hay bale, curled lovingly around a single kitten.

Had she known what was about to happen? Had she figured one was better than none? And how did she know that not one of us could even begin to think of depriving her of her hidden child? The Mona Lisa look she gave us, an extraordinary yet eminently decipherable mixture of triumph and challenge and love, seemed to answer all our questions.

    
My Mother with Delilah

When I was married we had a huge war-torn, old, yellow cat called FatCat. One day he jumped up onto my lap, nothing unusual, then pushed under the book I was trying to read, lying flat on my chest. He purred loudly, also nothing unusual. He pushed himself further up towards my face, with front paws on either side of my neck, and stared into my eyes.

I couldn’t say why this was so unnerving. There was simply something about the intensity of those eyes peering searchingly into mine as if trying to see something there, or perhaps actually seeing something there. Or yet again, it was more as if he was trying to tell me something. I threw him roughly off me, at which he and my husband both gave me a surprised look. 
“He was staring into my soul.” No of course I didn’t say that. “He was digging his claws in my neck,” was all I actually said, feigning nonchalance.
FatCat gave me a disappointed look like a parent might cast upon a child who has let him down, and stalked off. A few hours later I received a phone call that my mother had died, peacefully in her bed as the saying goes but in my mother’s case it was true, in England. When I adjusted for the time difference, my mom had died right around the time that old FatCat was peering into my eyes.
OK OK it’s all coincidence and a product of that kind of overactive imagination that kicks in around the death of a loved one.

I knew that.

I know that.

But there’s a tiny spark in me that still somehow manages to wonder.

FatCat
© 5 March 2012

 About the Author

I was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30 years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have now been with my wonderful partner Betsy for 25 years.