CADILLAC CAT

a whisker?

A piece of white string on the rug.

The book nook cadillac returns from time to time, hear that purr? Skewed off at a crazy tilt, her broken tail making her more like a chevy in popular opinion, but oh yeah . . .

Snuggling up late at night, both of us listening on the ear phones. Good jazz. Summer reading in the backyard with butterflies to chase, and me with my camera. I still haven't caught one. Everything from Heidegger to the Canterbury Tales, Whitman to Brautigan, anything on the Kindle, I give her credit. What's not to like? Finches, even, due some respect.

She liked Rachmaninoff, Bruebeck, the Ramsey Lewis Trio and cheddar cheese. She liked to help me write, using her paw to dictate things which have taken quite awhile to understand. She didn't purr all that often, though.

I think life at the shelter must have been hard for such a small cat. After getting here, she hid under the spare bed for three days. But she listened carefully when I went there and told her it would be OK to wait until she was ready to come out.

Then it was one of those times of literally curling up with a good book on my lap when she decided. Quietly, she jumped up. My cadillac cat.