cat3
Haven't seen her.........I was thinking...........well maybe it was the cat's way of saying "goodbye".
She does get bored easily with me.............after the stories she told me of "her" lives.
The way she tells them.
Man
She thinks this is her last life. No, I tell her, the time as a galaxy doesn't count.
She says it was the most pure, The one life she wished lasted longer.
It doesn't count for you, I tell her, you found a "kink" in the system.
I say, because she's the only one that remembers her lives, that she knows of.
Besides, where you go after this one,
is the one we all go to.
At least you had nine turns.
last night
a knock on the door.
There stood a monster of a man. From the smell and appearance of him, homeless.
But it was as if he was asleep.
Kind of like he was there but not there.
Just this huge bulk mass of clothes, hairy flesh and muscle.
Luckily the cat had been teaching me to be relaxed and ready.
Only clean underwear was on my mind.
Was I wearing clean underwear, so when they find my body.
His head still down, the mouth opened wide as it seemed possible,
then close, then open, then out came this
"Don't take my picture"
the sledge hammer of a fist came straight up toward my face and then continued to halt in front
of it's owner, as if to block a strike.
I know that voice!
It was the cat's.
"Give me two cans of fancy feast, you know which kind,
write your phone number on it with something permanent...and...
ten dollars for the man,
oh, and permit me to get something from the studio.
If you have to go to the store or bank, I'll wait outside.
You know who sent me."
Luckily I had everything at the studio. When she left, I thought she would be back the same night.
She never went out while I had her.
But after awhile I worried and yeah, missed her, winter was here.
I purchased all her favorites, bought a new dish, even changed the cat box.
By this day, I had given up all hope.
The man put a piece of paper into my hand.......rushed into the studio............went to where the cat box was,
reached into the back of a work table and pulled out a plastic bag,
which he quickly put into his pocket and rushed out the door.
I knew it!
She kept a stash.
I opened the paper,
it was a letter from her. Using the tip of her nail, she scratches the paper to print messages to me so as not
to disturb her "thinking" when I come home. "Thinking", huh, looks like sleep to me.
I just wet it with coffee or whatever I'm using to paint at the time, the colors bring out the letters and the writing is legible.
You have to hold it at the right angle to see it.
the letter read.
came by earlier you not there
going to see governor's state speech
try to see you tomorrow
have to catch a train or plane east
keep stash ready
call if able
Now, I can finally watch "Okalahoma" again.
Went back to practicing my model runway walk.
Copyright 2007, Manuel Samaniego. All rights reserved. No part of this website may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including storage or retrieval systems without the written consent of the artist.