An English In Kentucky



















September 8th 2009

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    The grey cat is seasonal.  And he has developed the habits of a drunkard.  

    He gains an initial purpose at around six in the evening.  He inches down the stairs from the room where he sleeps.  He requires a nugget or two of fresh dry food before going outside to sniff the cat nip, eat a little green grass.  He sits for a while on the concrete walk looking as old and decrepit as I often feel.  He has though a four legged life style, and after he throws-up, he crawls back to bed until around eight in the evening.  Leaving the rest of us to wonder how much longer he has for this world.

    Toward the barn where the grown rabbits watch for him, they can see him hung-over and frail, they can see him sick from abuse, they can see him lost to addiction, and they forget quickly that he is addicted to rabbit hunting.



    But he is clever, because when dusk comes he blends nicely.  When dusk comes he emerges lithe and agile and gleaming and just as charming as a presidential candidate.  So of course we open the kitchen door for him, even though we all understand there is a perfectly functioning cat-flap, which he only ever uses when no one is looking.

   In the morning there is often something nasty under the table.  A foot or an ear.   Some part of a creature that was only the day before hopping happily about, perhaps curious to know what lay beyond the fence around the vegetable garden.  And oblivious to warnings from wiser heads about the old grey four legged invalid who lives in the house with the nice man and woman who chase deer and bark at them, to no effect whatsoever.

    Then when he goes missing, as sometimes he does, I can pretend it's his just reward and I can grumble on through the day about coyote and the rich dialectic that makes of life a cruel tapestry.  I can look at his food bowl and feel that sense of sadness.  And I can know it is an enabling relationship we have with the cat.  And if he were human I would belong to a conspiracy.

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tim candler

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