The Three Boys in This House

Truth be told, I do not want to be here.

I do not want to be sitting down writing.

Writing has become – a problem.  As it is being used as a means of controlling me rather than bringing joy, enlightenment, honest revelations, interest, or stories.

There are few who are privy to this information, so before it gets turned the other way around let me tell you about these boys of mine.

Ahem, I mean, cats.

I used to live on street that was named after T.S. Eliot.  My mother asked me what I thought a good name for our house was.  This was an unusual question, I thought for her.  I decided the name Eliotwood was a good name for that house.  It had thickets of scrub oak trees in the back and front.  Not to mention all the other trees we planted while living there.  Birch, Almond, Cinnamon, Dogwood, Camphor, China Doll, Raintree’s, I could go on and on.

I gave my cats monikers.  It has suited them.  My cats are great people, they always are.  My Thursday used to run to the door when I returned home like a dog.  Tuesday would follow also, but Thursday had the excitement like of dog of seeing his owner or person return home.

Maurice, The Handsome.  My Mauritz.  My Maurit-zie.  He is the saddest boy in the world, but he is the best behave-est boy in the world.  He has the most remarkable colors and colorings and markings.  The top of his head has a skull.  His tail seems to have been chopped off for it is shorter than it should be.  He is a skinny boy, he just has a gooshee fur coat.  Gooshee and slightly shaggy fur coat.  He rarely talks or mews.  He is quiet, and his favorite toy is a mouse he likes to carry in his mouth and drop.  He tremendously enjoys standing on his hind legs like a jackrabbit for a treat or to clean the spoon of cat food.

Lambert, The Good.  The Ever Vigilant.  The Protector of All.  My Lambie-love.  Lambert looks like a lion, he has a broad chest so much so that when he lies down his legs must bow to make room for his chest.  His white fur almost looks pink, a shell pink, unusual.  He has markings on the top of his head that look like little ears with a set of antlers in the middle.  He is the strongest cat in the world.  He could push my piano across the room.  He has no idea how strong he is.  Once I gave the boys a bath, and it was Maurice’s turn Lambert stepped in front of Maurice to protect him.  I have never seen another cat step in front of another cat.  Getting himself between me and Maurice.  Lambert didn’t talk or hiss or fuss, he simply stepped in front of Maurice.  They must have lived on the street before I adopted them.  He is elegant, and sophisticated.  He is humble.  Lambert’s favorite toy is bird feathers on a wand.  He takes that bird down every time I play with him.  Puts the bird in his mouth.  As if to say, Yep, again.  He would play with those bird feathers all day.

Murphy, The Magnificent.  The Brilliant.  Murph.  Murph’s.  Murfreesboro.  He likes Murphy best.  If it was possible for a miniature cat, Murphy is it.  Murphy also has a skull on his head.  He can do anything.  Anything.  He tells me so all the time.  Cherith, did you need something?  Did you need me to go down the stairs?  I will go down the stairs.  Did you need me to go in another room?  I will go.  If I had thumbs I would help you do the dishes, but I don’t so I will just lie on the counter and watch you instead.  He can catch a treat in mid-air with his front two paws.  He has caught a treat with his front paws while doing a back-flip.  True story.  He wants to help.  All the time.  Did you need something?  Just tell me, I will do it.  Just tell me, the Murphy.  Murphy loves to play.  Any toy, no matter.  He plays Pounce and Play with Maurice.  Sneak, sometimes not so sneaky, then Pounce.  And run and run and run and run around the house.  Pounce and Play.  Maurice is so glad Murphy plays Pounce and Play.  Murphy says, yeah.  What else do you need me to do?

This is just an introduction of my boys.  I could go on and on.  I believe they are a good children’s story.  I believe all my cats would make a good children’s story.

Lambert just told me it’s time for me to stop writing.

Another time, another story.