In Meowmorium

Those who know me well know that I am a SillysloppySyrupyShameless lover of cats, which I refer to as "mirs." I think there is some deep psychological thing about this passion; no doubt, it is something unhealthy, or at least neurotic.

All to say that one of our mirs died this week. Her real name was Sophie, but I am something of a poet, which means I tend to multiply names for anything I give a lot of attention to, especially if the attention is loving. Therefore, Sophie was also called - at various times - precious mir, this mir and prejudice mir.

This last label requires a bit of explanation. You see, our other mir, "Kiwi," is colored primarily black. Sometimes, she even gets called "negro mir" or "neegie mir." (Please! For crying out loud! Don't tie this to some kind of racial hobbyhorse! This fun with language is not a reflection of a hidden agenda. SHHEEEESH! Anyway...)

The two cats have never really gotten along that well, and most of their fights seem to have been started by Sophie; thus, "prejudice mir." One time, I even refered to her as KKKat, but that *did* seem a little over the line, so never again.

Sophie's limp soul-less body was lying out on the road. It had just happened, because she had not been run over again since the original confrontation with naked eternity.

Blake discovered her. I gave him the choice to either go get the body out of the road, or dig the hole to bury her. He chose the latter; I knew he would. This way, I got out of adding labor to sorrow. However, picking up the body was sadder than I thought it would be. The broken spinal column made for a pretty tragic heap to pick up.

After burial, we stood over her and said a few words.

It is a strange thing, the sudden unexpected death of a living being you have lived with for a long time. I'm not one of these whackos who loves animals *TOO* much in order to compensate for a resentment of humans, but I did enjoy Sophie a great deal. I can not imagine that feeling of loss being magnified exponentially by the death of a person I love. It is truly going to be horrible.

Makes you want to not love anybody... to avoid the pain.

Copyright © 2004 Donald L. McIntyre All Rights Reserved

Fulfilling Brian C's Request

Here's a great little rhyme by W. H. Davies; maybe a little sentimental, but I've kept it in my head to remind me that I tend to be on the wrong side of the peaceful contentment spectrum:

Here's an example from
A Butterfly;
That on a rough, hard rock
Happy can lie;
Friendless and all alone
On this unsweetened stone.

Now let my bed be hard,
No care take I;
I'll make my joy like this
Small Butterfly,
Whose happy heart has power
To make a stone a flower.

***

To balance the emotional content of this day's blog, I want to add another little rhyme that Brian C asked me to send him. This one's better, more a poem than a rhyme. It's still about wildlife, though, is a little more profound and, I think, true to life. It's by favorite obscure poet: Humbert Wolfe

Like a small gray coffee-pot,
sits the squirrel. He is not
all he should be, kills by dozens
trees, and eats his red-brown cousins.

The keeper, on the other hand,
who shot him, is a Christian, and
loves his enemies,which shows
the squirrel was not one of those.

***

By the way, Brian, and anyone else who might be interested:
Remember that manuscript I told you I had finished, a book entitledLittle Crucifixions? Well, it is being published within the next few weeks. I'll keep you posted so you can *buy* several as Christmas gifts.

Privacy Schmivacy

I *hate* it when people ask me how I'm doing.

"HahYuhDooin?"
"How's it goin'?"
"Tsup?"
"And how are we today, Don?"

Desiring to minimize any inappropriate natural bent I might have toward misanthropy, I have tried to analyze why I feel this way about something it seems almost everybody else does, or enjoys, or doesn't mind, or takes for granted, or thinks is no big deal. Here is what has bubbled up:

1. Most people who ask it don't really give a damn about me; and a few have even wanted me to die or at least leave.

2. It seems like nothing more than something to add after "hello" - simply because we feel awkward about leaving it at "hello" but are too lazy, shallow, distracted or uninterested to really initiate some kind of meaningful conversation.

3. I do not have a naturally carefree personality, so if I happen to be enjoying myself at a given moment, or am at least not being self-conscious, I hate the way the question jars you back into self-analysis.

4. Human relationships are really important. Insincere habitual conversational slogans tend to make them seem less significant.

Not that the question never gets asked by a person who sincerely cares about me. I know it's not that simple. But usually it is more or less obvious since people who really do love you usually demonstrate in more solid and compelling ways than just enquiring glibly about your present emotional consciousness.

If I'm ever in doubt, I sometimes will just shovel right through the polite game and drop the question bomb: "Is your question a legitimate and sincere enquiry after my well being, or is it merely a variation on hello?" This usually plumbs the way to the truth pretty quickly.

All that to say, my most immediate reason for starting this blog is so that, when someone asks me how I'm doing, especially in an e-mail (cripes!), no matter who they might be - from a total stranger whom I distrust, all the way to one step short of the incarnate Son of God who died for my sins and lives forever to reign over All Things but still has the time and compassion to give me a listen when I'm sufficiently troubled to stop relying on my own paltry resources - that, when someone asks me how I'm doing, no matter who they might be, I'll be able to say, "Tell you what. Let's talk about something a little more significant, then, later on, if you still want to know, you can check out my blog? What do you say?"

Putting how I'm doing on the internet for all to say? It's either crazy, since people who don't love me might use it for devious ends, or its almost not worth the trouble, since who is really going to read it anyway? But really:

-If someone wants to get me, they don't really need a blog to do it, since, in any case, I've never been very good at keeping myself hidden
-If someone's really interested, they might enjoy reading thus stuff, and can just stop when they want to without worrying about rudeness
-How significant am I, really?
-Privacy Schmivacy

Copyright © 2004 Donald L. McIntyre All Rights Reserved