Thursday, September 17, 2009

The Cat Nadine Speaks

I am still sad about my Facebook account being disabled because I am not an "entity." Sad because I am now unable to share my wit, intelligence and love with my many friends on Facebook. But as I said the other day, I will write here on my Blog more often; I am even thinking of writing a book! Yes, a book. The Cat Nadine Speaks--Wit and Wisdom for Every Day of the Year.

I am inspired by Bruce's website and Bruce's brother Dennis, whose new book arrived in the mail the other day. It's called "Visiting Wallace--Poems Inspired by the Life and Work of Wallace Stevens." The book is an impressive assemblage of an astonishing variety of poems and poets! Here is a poem from the book by Dennis and it even mentions a cat!

An Ordinary Evening

His house is empty when
He arrives--empty and
Quiet and large. Perhaps,

It is too large for one man
And two women. From
The window of his study

He can look toward the town
He travels to each morning
And returns each night.

It is winter and the slope of
His yard, so green six months
Ago, is now awash in white,

Patterned slightly by the paws
Of the neighbor's cat. Of the
Garden nothing remains but

The dried out sticks of roses
Trimmed low to the ground
And protruding some above the

Snow. He sits in his study
And thinks of the green of May
And red of June. He awaits

The return of his daughter and
The start of his dinner,
Hearty, he hopes, and hot. He

Dreams the sound of her feet
Upon the stairs, but realizes
That if he has fallen asleep he

Is now awake for she has entered
His room. He smiles,
Stretching forth his hands,

Hands that she steps forward and
Holds. He remembers how
He used to write to her mother

When he went to such distant places
As Greensboro and Elsie stayed
Here at home to guard the fort,

As they used to joke. Holly pulls
Slightly and he stands, shaky
At first, yet, recalling

The hikes he took last spring.

Maybe I will get to go outside this winter and leave paw prints in the snow. Susan and Bruce take me out (I take them out!) every day. Here I am in the front yard thinking about my book!

I have never been outside in the winter, in the snow. I have only stood on my stool at the kitchen window and watched the snow. Sigh. Just writing about the snow makes me think of those beautiful and poetic lines from James Joyce's "The Dead":

"Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther eastward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannaon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead."

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

My Blog

If it wasn't bad enough that Bruce and Susan brought me to the vet yesterday, this morning I woke up to discover that my Facebook account had been disabled because I am not an "entity." I am not sure what that words means in this situation but I am a cat; the cat Nadine. I guess I have relied too heavily upon Facebook as a simple way to stay in touch with many of my friends, but sacrificed writing often here on my Blog. So stay tuned, friends, because I will be writing here more often; I will be bringing you stories, poems, and photographs. Here is a photo of me resting on the living room couch last night:

P.S. The vet said I am a healthy cat!

P.P.S. Here is Sonnet 43 from Elizabeth Barrett Browning, which I think is beautiful and may I suggest you read it aloud:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.