Right Now, The Cat...

Wednesday, September 14, 2022

happens to be sleeping on his left side, gently crushing his ear against the teal-colored down blanket that my stepbrother gave to me many years ago, and that is now covering the wicker ottoman that H uses when he wants to take a good snooze and can't get to your chair. I haven't tried to move him from the ottoman. I wonder if he would react as sharply to it as the times that I have tried to move him from the recliner? I've been very careful to cover it up. Well, maybe I forget from time to time, I must confess. And that's how I know how hard it is to move him from the recliner.

appears to be listening to the sound of my keyboard going clickety-clack, as his right ear (perfectly pert) swivels ever so slightly as I type. I can see that H is about to have a dream: he has wiggled his whiskers a few times and the ear twitches from time to time and he moves his mouth as if to eat, or chew, or... speak. Maybe H dreams in English, not cat. I wonder if he understands his dreams. I wonder if he remembers the first time he dreamt in English the way that I remember the first time I dreamt in Spanish. I won't tell you about it now; it would be a spoiler. You'll see.

hasn't moved since I started typing this. Still lying on his left ear, one paw cocked out in front of him. I've seen him twitch slightly, but he seems to have acclimated quite well to my intrusion on his slumbers.

sits up, yawns, stretches, swings around to the right and curls up in a circle, his chin over a white paw. From this angle it is hard to tell if the paw is from is front legs or his hind legs.

stretches out his paw, and then, a few seconds later, raises his head in irritation at the car alarm going off right outside the living room window, where we are sitting, together. As a truck whistles and rumbles towards 101 on Cesar Chavez, the cat swivels his ears toward the noise, which is to say, nearly backwards on his head. The truck passes, H puts his chin back down to rest on his paw. A few minutes later, he lists deeply into the pose, letting his weight fall into the cushion of the blanket, indulging in a stillness that I don't think I've ever experienced. Watching him sleep: quite the balm to the part of me that constantly struggles with the desire NOT to sleep. He makes it look so restorative, so beautiful.

doesn't tell me his secret to beautiful sleep, but nonetheless, I feel the desire to sleep envelop my eyes, making them feel like they are floating in a bath of gentle warmth, weightless, unaffected by the strain of screens and squinting that make them dry and glassy. The cat says to me: close the computer, put down the phone, the book, the paper, the pencil, even the paint. Put them all away and enjoy the dark flow of strange gradients that dwell behind your eyelids.

is waxing a bit poetic. He stretches slightly. Readjusts... "Lie down, Mama. You're starting to write some pretty florid prose. Best to quit while you're ahead."

te dice "buenas noches, papá, y que te duermas bien tranquilo y feliz. nunca se sabe qué sueños nos llegarán, pero seguro que han atravesado mucha tierra, mucho espacio, mares del vacío universal para encontrarnos aquí, dentro del sueño."