sun : roof

One of my pillows is wet when I go to bed. Since boy-cat has been tormenting girl-cat and made her very huffy, I think - no, assume – she's got the last word in by weeing on the sacred sleeping grounds. Since they are mostly arguing about who cosies up on the bed closest to me, this would be a superbly apropos move, given how clever she is. No doubts in my mind that this is a carefully thought out action springing from sadly true and honest intent. The ceremonial desecration of the pillow hums poetic justice.

Nevertheless, we have words. Whereby I apologize to girl-cat for turning her life inside out. For taking in the waifs and strays, thereby changing the colour of our quiet, intensely private shared life.

Drip. Splat. Loud in these hours that are an awesome chasm between days. Drip. Splat. Next to me. Another angel is crying – what did I do this time? The thought of down-winged guardians huddled together for a communal bawl at my antics down here actually does disturb me. Deeply. I hate for anyone to cry, celestial or not. I mean, crying per se is good, I hate that I can’t heal misery. I'm cool with Mystery these days but misery is always so … implacable. Inevitable.

Drip. Splat. Light on for full inspection of surroundings. Four cat-ears are alert to possible angelic sorrows or the imminence of demonic attack. Maybe it's on the t.v. Just because it's off doesn't mean it can't get to you. So, switch it on to check. The itv-play studio seems to be running its usual manic course. I distract myself by noting down wrong answers and cross matching with a hastily flung-together list of my own (innately correct.) Suddenly my list has more crossings out, on both sides, than is reasonable. Come on! Enough already! But then that's how it goes, eh? Nothing in my life has ever been reasonable, why start now? At least I have honoured girl-cat with overdue homage. I'm feeling better now.

Outside it's raining hard. Drip. Splat. Thoughts uglier than demonic or angelic wailing drive a wedge between "sundown" and "sunsign" (the puzzle on itv play is prefixed with "sun") and I'm chuckling at the lady who just suggested "sundial kid". But hey, who am I to snigger? I stretch out a hand. Drip. Splat. On my palm.

So how do I fix a leaking roof when I am NBC (Nil By Cash)?? I beg girl-cat to confess that she is indeed remote weeing. She purrs and settles down. On a dry pillow. Aaaahhhh … it never rains but …

*images: Claude Theberge