Posted by on May 21, 2013 | 1 comment

Papa’s sister is married to a poet.

Yes, a real live one who makes words sound like music and I know because mama, who loves poetry, has read some of his poems to me as kitty bedtime stories when I’m getting all relaxed and snoozy.

Mama and papa drove four hours to see papa’s sister and the poet in the Lot, which is where I thought they parked those things that go really fast and make honking noise and to be avoided at all costs, but instead, it’s green fairyland place where the poet lived many years ago when he was just starting to write.

Mama says he doesn’t like kitties.

Well, that’s because he loves chows and had a very important friend who was a dog and lost his friend and the loss will be with him always. Humans do not do well with the loss of a pet; sometimes it’s far worse than losing a human—for some humans.

I know mama and papa would feel just like that if…

Let’s not go there.

But they left me with my catsitter and when they came back, just 30 hours later, I was weird. I don’t know what I feel when I’m left with a really nice person who plays with me and feeds me right on time and then disappears on the day that suddenly, mama and papa show up again and say, “Hi, Loulou, little kitty, how’d you do?” And then they goo, goo, goo over me and I’m supposed to be NORMAL after such a change but instead I glare and get under the bed for a little while.

We kitties like continuity in our lives (like small anthros) and having your big anthros pick up and leave every now and then is very, very disconcerting (I love that word, too—sort of sounds like ‘no more music’, which is how it feels to go through an experience like this).

But I could see that it was really good for papa (and mama) to see his sister who lives far away in Hawaii on Maui (near a town called Haiku—isn’t that a great name for a poet’s land?), and mama and papa love them both so much and esteem them both and you just never know how much it means to see your family when it has been a long, long time between hugs. I know what that’s like.

So I guess I can forgive this separation.

Haiku for today:

Sleeping sprawled on both of them. A hand touching my black fur. Life is good.