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 Thoughts destined to be washed away by the tides of life. |
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I've been studying my cover photo for a while now, and it seems to me that it is more than just a photo of what is there that can be seen, more than just three white rocks stacked on a beach. It contains an important question about the future, about what happens long after the photographer has gone. What will happen to our pile of stones when the tide comes in? Will it topple or has the architect built this structure at a safe distance? I don't know what will happen to these words that I stack here on the sand. They may prove safely distant, or they may be swallowed up by a rush of self-doubt. They may be here for a season. They may lose their balance and be scattered by the shoreline, or be hidden away under shifting sands. Perhaps someday, the tides of life will reclaim them. Or maybe that's just a bunch of poetic, romantic nonsense. After all, this is just a blog. |
| I am growing tired of these social media posts and internet articles about cat behavior. They all claim to decipher the actions of cats and tell owners what they "really mean". I've been watching my cat for a long time now and I can say for sure that I have no idea what half these behaviors "really mean". Heck, the poor cat probably has no clue why she does some of the things she does. Cats are imperfectly domesticated. They have adapted to a life of comfort indoors, but in their DNA runs a wild streak they neither understand nor can control. Even if you can momentarily convince a cat that you don't enjoy having your arm kicked and bitten and scratched, the cat won't remember not to do that. It's instinct. It's a technique for disemboweling prey. It's in the cat's nature to want to kill you, but it becomes a kind of aggressive play because you're far too big to conquer. No, it's not because you feed the cat or stroke it and let it sleep on your bed. The cat is incapable of weighing those benefits against the delicious idea of tearing you to shreds and throwing you around like a soft toy. If you were the size of a mouse, you'd be a saliva-coated rag doll. I don't say to the cat "oh you're such a good kitty". There's no such thing. Maybe an old, fat cat is quiet and passive, but this young and lithe creature of mine is no better than she ought to be. She behaves quite badly at times, but she can't help that. She's a cat. I try not expect too much from my cat. A more docile creature wouldn't be useful. She might occasionally bite me out of uncontainable excitement, but she keeps the mouse population under control and so we have agreed to make allowances for each other's strange behavior. |
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I'm headed for my first cup of coffee now...
