Mortaljive: The Rest is Silence

There is no still point in all the Universe, and that is the rock upon which I stand

Sunday, August 22, 2010

A Large Helping of Chauncy



Our cats have dropped all pretense at civility and have initiated open hostilities against our persons and our belongings. My glasses, without which I cannot drive or read, have been batted about the nightstand and onto the floor repeatedly of late, the frequency of attacks increasing even as the summer wanes. Seven in number, these gatos locos have been hissing and pissing with abandon, as though some switch has been flicked off inside their bird-nest heads: open war has begun, whether we engage them or not. Though my wife and I do not cower beneath the bed sheets, neither do we embrace our peril. As sleep arrives we hold hands in solidarity, watchful for the seven pathological assassins who slink in the night across our prone bodies, their claws like crooked daggers, waiting for the right moment to dispatch us to the distant hollows. But fate allows us one measure of compensation: Chauncy, whose face and love are a comfort to us.

And as for all the cats: come, my pretties, and do your worst, for we fear you not--Chauncy is at our side and we shall fear no evil. And because Chauncy has existed he has also participated in eternity, and will always have existed--no back doors for Nine Dimensional Cat Mercenaries to enter and wreak ever more elusive havoc. All manner of creation rolls back on itself, purring in the logic of its own improbability, but Chauncy merely smiles, and rests his head beside us. We may yet wake again in the morrow, with Chauncy at our side. Thank you, Chauncy. We couldn't have done it without you.

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