December 21, 2007
Cat Bath Friday
…listen
…about the musicRe:pair, for this pair.
Isn’t this what everyone finds in their bathtub?
These are self-cleaning kitties.
With some sunlight streaming in through the adjacent picture window, the downstairs tub is a fine place to take cover when too many people are traipsing in and out of the house and the humans who claim to own you (ha! what a joke) want to shield you from the chaos. Truth be told, these cats never need shielding; they love people no matter what sort of large power tools they might be using. That puts them one step ahead in the evolutionary chain from their mother, the sonically intolerant composer. But since Smudge and Moses could either be lunch or at least part of the weightlifting program for a bald eagle or owl, when the front door needs to be kept open this is one of several safe refuges around.
If I had a photo, and yes, I promise sometime I will, I would have posted an even more entertaining pic of Moses (dressed in black) at my feet, underneath the upstairs shower. As in, IN the shower. With me. Yes, while the water is pouring down. Loving it (hey, who wouldn’t? Oh, wait, this isn’t that sort of blog…). Moses always tries to be as close to the water when I’m bathing as possible. In past houses this usually required sitting on the edge of the tub and craning his neck until the spray rained down on his clueless head. But here he’s found Nirvana: an over-sized walk-in, stretch your legs kinda shower that has plenty of room for a litter of seafaring cats. Of course, the only one I know is Moses.
I will try to remember to bring my camera upstairs with me. Stop giggling and don’t get your hopes up: you’ll see ALL of Moses, and… glean an idea of my shoe size.
Glenn Buttkus said,
December 21, 2007 @ 8:02 am
Gee, which feline is which instrument? Is Smudge, the cat who cannot get too close to a warm fire, the flute? Is Moses, he of the cat’s eyes looking out of deep shadow, he with a shadow body, the bassoon? Some cats make a very high and squeaky meow that is more flute-like or birdlike. The music is whistful, yet playful, with the deeper notes grounding the piece, as the woodwind keeps trying to flit, to fly, out of the room, out to play.
Any cat can be a joy. Two cats must be double the happiness. They, of course, have each other for company, as playmates, and they still can lead separate lives. Are they friends? Most cats do not like water much, or any kind. Moses must have been a dolphin in a past life. I have heard of such peculiar behavior in cats before, but here stands Moses in the fur, ready for his shower.
Smudge is not a water baby we all assume? She bathes herself, thank you very much; or himself? When you try and keep the kittys inside, yes, those pesky workmen can often let them out, and confuse them. Do they go outside with you ever? To live in such a great cat’s paradise, full of birds and bunnies and bugs, and not to let them frolic, must be difficult; or do they just not know what they are missing?
Melva and I have a spayed male, Keezie Moto. He came to us as a stray. He is an outside cat that does not require a cat box. He comes in for crunchers and love;and the odd bowl of wet food, usually fish, as well. He prefers my wife to me, but will tolerate man affection and pets if I insist.
As to you changing the artistic tone of this here blog, madam –that would be a trauma to all us artsy types, but it might sell a wagon load of your music.
Glenn
Glenn Buttkus said,
December 21, 2007 @ 8:12 am
By the way, Lady of the Islands:
I now am the proud owner of a CD entitled NOTES FROM THE KELP, all 73.18 minutes of it. I listened to the first nine pieces this morning. What a fabulous poussette of the old and the new, morphing from our new age to centuries past, embracing all the spices of the ages. I must listen to it dozens of more times before the individual sets or pieces begin to speak to me. I like to play it on my computer here at the office at 5:30am, when the space and the air is all mine; and yours it seems.
Glenn
Alex Shapiro said,
December 21, 2007 @ 12:17 pm
Another satisfied customer!
🙂
Thanks so much, Glenn! I am most appreciative, and very happy that you’re enjoying the music. I’m always astounded when the sonic chaos from my brain actually connects with someone who is not in my brain.
Smudge and Mo are both of the [formerly] male persuasion (missing some gear, as it were) and adore each other. They’re pretty much inseparable. And amazingly, they are just fine with staying on the side of the threshold on which their kibble is buttered. They seem to sense that the outside lacks a number of the creature comforts to which they’ve become accustomed. Most recently, they added our infrared sauna to that list. Once they get in that nice wooden box of warmth, there’s almost no getting them out. Good thing they don’t have opposable thumbs otherwise they’d go nuts with the controls and over-bake themselves.
So viewing the world through the window seems to suffice their need for exploration; with all the birds and the deer every day, I call it cat TV and it’s quite the show, even though to many it would appear to be reruns.
As for adjusting the nature of this blog, I think I’ve written before about how tempting it’s been to get a domain name of http://www.alexxxxshapiro if only to generate enormous traffic. But thinking about how disappointed and annoyed those new visitors would be upon arriving at my site, I nixxxxed the idea….
Paul H. Muller said,
December 21, 2007 @ 2:12 pm
Dogs have owners. Cats have “staff”.
You are lucky your cats get along so well. There is a continuous territorial soap opera going on at our house: one cat is the queen of the tops of things – desks, counters, refridgerators, cabinets – and the other cat is king of floor and furniture. Much hissing and growling is required to precisely set the boundries – and these are always changing.
Our cats are a bit more traditional about water – they think it is some sort of deadly poison.
Doug Palmer said,
December 21, 2007 @ 9:37 pm
Yes, and Polallie, of the flattened head, and his sister Keet seem to consider drawing blood as a normal part of house play.
It must be nice to have your royal family a peaceful one.
Both of ours like looking at moving water, but contact?
Not on your pawprint!
Glenn Buttkus said,
December 23, 2007 @ 11:54 am
Actually, Moses is the exception when it comes to cats and water. Looking at it from a purely Zen perspective, which we must do at times, Moses is more than a cat. He must be an old soul that is reconnecting with yours in this lifetime. So if he is not the reincarnation of an old lover or boyfriend from this unique lifetime of yours, then he was in one of your many former lifetimes.
The image of him lounging on or nearor in your tub and/or shower brings to mind several kinds of imagery that simply cannot be discussed on such a public forum. Could also be that Mo just loves his Mom, and puts up with the water bit in order to show his affection, like my cat Keezie does with wife, Melva. He has to be on, or near her much of the time. When I call upstairs for things, Melva often replies,” I would love to do that for you dear, but I have a cat in my lap, and I prefer not to disturb him. It upsets him so.”
So, Paul, you are right on with your “cats have staff” statement. Although I often wonder if dogs don’t as well. We find ourselves jumping up and tending to our dog’s needs often, and she can communicate well, with whines, whimpers, barks, and collar shaking.
Glenn
Alex Shapiro said,
December 25, 2007 @ 1:24 pm
You’re spot-on, Glenn: I have often thought of Moses as an old soul, returning in cat form in this current incarnation, to work out his Karma (again) as either a former man, or a past dog. He is very, very dog-like. I’m the last person to say that men are dogs, but in this case it might be true in the nicest sense.
Glenn Buttkus said,
December 26, 2007 @ 7:32 am
How wonderful to find out that you have a bit of a Zen soul, Alex. Following is some cat poetry by T.S. Eliot:
Gus – The Theatre Cat – a poem by T S Eliot
Gus is the Cat at the Theatre Door.
His name, as I ought to have told you before,
Is really Asparagus. That’s such a fuss
To pronounce, that we usually call him just Gus.
His coat’s very shabby, he’s thin as a rake,
And he suffers from palsy that makes his paw shake.
Yet he was, in his youth, quite the smartest of Cats–
But no longer a terror to mice and to rats.
For he isn’t the Cat that he was in his prime;
Though his name was quite famous, he says, in its time.
And whenever he joins his friends at their club
(Which takes place at the back of the neighbouring pub)
He loves to regale them, if someone else pays,
With anecdotes drawn from his palmiest days.
For he once was a Star of the highest degree–
He has acted with Irving, he’s acted with Tree.
And he likes to relate his success on the Halls,
Where the Gallery once gave him seven cat-calls.
But his grandest creation, as he loves to tell,
Was Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.
“I have played,” so he says, “every possible part,
And I used to know seventy speeches by heart.
I’d extemporize back-chat, I knew how to gag,
And I knew how to let the cat out of the bag.
I knew how to act with my back and my tail;
With an hour of rehearsal, I never could fail.
I’d a voice that would soften the hardest of hearts,
Whether I took the lead, or in character parts.
I have sat by the bedside of poor Little Nell;
When the Curfew was rung, then I swung on the bell.
In the Pantomime season I never fell flat,
And I once understudied Dick Whittington’s Cat.
But my grandest creation, as history will tell,
Was Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.”
Then, if someone will give him a toothful of gin,
He will tell how he once played a part in East Lynne.
At a Shakespeare performance he once walked on pat,
When some actor suggested the need for a cat.
He once played a Tiger–could do it again–
Which an Indian Colonel purused down a drain.
And he thinks that he still can, much better than most,
Produce blood-curdling noises to bring on the Ghost.
And he once crossed the stage on a telegraph wire,
To rescue a child when a house was on fire.
And he says: “Now then kittens, they do not get trained
As we did in the days when Victoria reigned.
They never get drilled in a regular troupe,
And they think they are smart, just to jump through a hoop.”
And he’ll say, as he scratches himself with his claws,
“Well, the Theatre’s certainly not what it was.
These modern productions are all very well,
But there’s nothing to equal, from what I hear tell,
That moment of mystery
When I made history
As Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.”
This bit of Eliot double-speak always tickles me.
Glenn
Glenn Buttkus said,
December 26, 2007 @ 9:25 am
Gosh, I went on a search on silent cat’s paws, and found that Cat Poetry is very popular out there in cyber space, and everwhere else; all over the place. T. S. Eliot along wrote dozens. I put a bunch on FEEL FREE TO READ. And here is another fine feline verse, written by someone who shall remain anonymous;
Training Your Human
Training your human is a thankless task.
“Why bother with it?”, some kittens may ask.
The fate of the world is the issue at hand,
as felines worldwide stake a claim for their land.
Make no bones about it, we cats own the joint.
We spray in the corners to drive home the point.
Some say the meek shall inherit the Earth,
But they’ve no fangs or claws, for what that’s worth.
The cat is the ultimate species, you see,
We’re poised to usurp man’s authority.
These silly old humans who cannot play nice!
We cats are peaceful, we hate only mice.
Just what does training your human entail?
A host of fun things you must do without fail:
The sofas and rugs need a little makeover.
The La-Z-Boy’s target for kitty takeover.
Then sleep on clean towels placed in the guest bath.
And make their best clothing a target of wrath.
Tear down those new drapes with a quick forceful tug.
Then tatter the pile of the new Berber rug.
And when they are sleeping, you block off their nose,
paw at their lower lip, chew on their toes.
Strut on the mantle. If they give any flack,
knock down their trophies and all bric-a-brac.
Shed on mom’s new velvet black evening gown,
as she’s headed out for a night on the town.
If they leave you home all alone for the night,
(Any human doing this can’t be all that bright),
They’re telling you by leaving, it’s perfectly all right,
To totally redecorate ’til dawn’s early light.
Knock over tables and chew up the fern.
Hurry, go faster! Soon, they’ll return…
When they try to punish, you mustn’t show concern.
(All attempts of discipline a pussycat should spurn.)
A snide flick of tail will convey no remorse,
but they will try harder to scold you, of course!
So, hide in the closet until they forget,
and then launch out just like an F-14 jet.
Tear up their ankle, their forearm, their hand,
then when they’ve had all the pain they can stand,
dart from the room while they call 9-1-1,
and celebrate victory: The felines have won!
To humans, however, the battle’s begun,
as they steep in their anger and wish for a gun.
Pathetic and lumbering and clumsy to boot,
My friend, human dominance is really a hoot.
Take charge in your home. It’s destiny, meow.
(The verses above have already told how.)
So sleep for an hour, and then grab some chow,
And then train your human, beginning right now.
…Author Unknown
Perhaps other Kelphistos could find some Cat Poetry favorites of their own?
Glenn Buttkus said,
December 26, 2007 @ 9:29 am
Oh heck, just one more, before you show me the door. This one is a classic:
The Kitten And The Falling Leaves
That way look, my infant, lo!
What a pretty baby-show!
See the kitten on the wall,
sporting with the leaves that fall.
Withered leaves – one – two and three
from the lofty elder tree.
Though the calm and frosty air,
of this morning bright and fair.
Eddying round and round they sink,
softly, slowly; one might think.
From the motions that are made,
every little leaf conveyed
Sylph or Faery hither tending,
to this lower world descending.
Each invisible and mute,
in his wavering parachute.
But the Kitten, how she starts,
crouches, stretches, paws, and darts!
First at one, and then its fellow,
just as light and just as yellow.
There are many now – now one,
now they stop and there are none:
What intenseness of desire,
in her upward eye of fire!
With a tiger-leap half-way,
now she meets the coming prey.
lets it go as fast, and then;
Has it in her power again.
Now she works with three or four,
like an Indian conjuror;
quick as he in feats of art,
far beyond in joy of heart.
Where her antics played in the eye,
of a thousand standers-by,
clapping hands with shout and stare,
what would little Tabby care!
For the plaudits of the crowd?
Over happy to be proud,
over wealthy in the treasure
of her exceeding pleasure!
…William Wordsworth
Alex Shapiro said,
December 27, 2007 @ 1:08 am
These are just great!
Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats was one of my earliest and favorite poetry as a kid. I never had an interest in seeing the musical.
Jerry Moses said,
February 15, 2008 @ 7:49 am
Dear Mrs. Shapiro.I just read your blogs and listened to some of your music.
All I can say in a few words to you is: You are an exeptional pearl of a human being.This world unfortunatly doesn’t have enough wonderful people like you.
I will be in Friday Harbor on April 11 for a week,for my Grandaughter’s Birthday.It would be a unique honor for me ,if I could meet you..I am 73 years old born in Germany,and survived the Nazi murder machine from 1941 to 1947 in Shanghai/Hongkew China ,and again having been lucky to escape the Japanese murder machine. Sorry to have related some of my negative events in my life.After the war my life has been fairly positive.Nothing compared to your life though.You are ,according to what I read about you,a wonderful person,and your music is so beautiful,and how you connected your music with the photos,in my view,is an exeptional way of story telling,like in operas on stage,you tell your stories making it so interesting.Like you tell stories about your life,you could tell stories about war,about sufferings,about dreams,etc. Pictures and your compositions with the apropiate melodies to the pictures…..So,please forgive me for this long comment.
Sincerely yours ,Jerry Moses..Shalom..(in Hebrew is Peace)