It was like getting a cat
thinking it would act like a dog
—Ruth Lepson
It’s the British
invasion here.
And that's cool. Even though
I was supposed to bring
left
overs from home for my
lunch,
which certainly would
have
been better than the
turkey
sandwich from
Quizno’s.
Plus I have popcorn
hulls
stuck between my teeth
and this is happening
in
two different
dimensions.
I mean time zones.
Coco wants out. She
hates me, now more
than ever. Coco the Loco.
Sepia the Cat, on the
other
hand, was a dog in a
cat’s
body if ever there was
one.
She loved every
breathing
thing, wasn’t the
least bit bi-
polar, and if a dog,
per chance,
dropped by to visit,
and, no lie,
the larger the better (and we
seemed to know a LOT
of
very large dogs) she’d
just jump
up and down nipping at
its neck
and playing with it
like it were her
sibling. Those poor dogs. It seemed
they never knew
whether to run
or gobble her up like
a very small
appetizer (the real
expensive ones
that are often served
on very tight
budgets so the
sit-down dinner price
is considerably
less pricy, often with
out the guests feeling
anything but
slighted. Tricks of the trade....
Back to meanwhile, or
to that thing
I escape these days
that’d be called
“The Present” (I like
to think of my
escape a matter of
life and death.
How fun, right?), Coco
claims territory
and more than a bit of
terror. She
growls now, quite
often, when I approach.
Me! The one who’s always kept her food
bowl at slightly less
than empty! Sepia
would by now be here
in bed with me,
her dogless catbody
completely under the
blanket dozing somewhere between ribs and hip.
