Having Kittens
Sorry about this post. Think of it as something light and fluffy.
I've spoken a little about the little black cat, whom I started calling Elsie a a homophone for LC, acronym for little cat. She got very comfortable here - even to the extent of jumping through our small-and-high-up bedroom window in the night and early morning and having a prowl around for snacks before (sometimes) jumping right out again. We have been wondering whether she is really owned or partially owned somewhere on the street, or whether she has got lost or heaven forbid been abandoned.
We've also been pretty sure, despite her clearly being a young little cat herself, that she has had kittens recently - perhaps one reason for her enormous appetite and presenting herself at our door in the first place. Anyway a few nights ago drama ensued when not only Little Cat herself but a tiny peeping kitten appeared round the alley corner in our back garden. So sweet - as though she really wanted to bring the kitten along. However disruption quickly ensued when a girl appeared over the fence next door and started yelling for the kitten to be returned. So that's what's going on! Ebony (as Little Cat is properly called) does indeed have kittens and all of them do indeed reside, at present, next door. The little adventurer kitten was quickly retrieved.
The following day I met the cat's mother (so to speak) outside on the street and it transpires that Ebony has six kittens in all, just over two months old, and all or nearly all looking for homes. So after not very much discussion we have decided to offer a home for two of them here. They may be arriving as soon as Monday/ I know it's a banal thing to blog about. Post-avant blogging perhaps; conscious playing with traditional topics for the medium. But it feels like an exciting development here: responsibility; down to earth nurturing; fun. I've never had a cat of my own before and neither has K- although we're both very well disposed towards them.
Although strangely today I remembered as a very young girl being sent by my well-meaning parents to a summer drama school; I think I was only eight years old and I remember being the youngest there and not knowing how to approach the others or how to fit in, and the teacher, finally seeing me standing uneasily by, came and involved me in the exercise of sharing invisible pets. I remember quite distinctly being given an invisible kitten and cherishing it as though it was a gift. I think I must write a poem on this. Anyway - looks like destiny will eventually be fulfilled.
And there's fabulous precedent for writers and cat-keeping, from Julian of Norwich reputed to have had a cat - somehow the idea of a peaceful, independent, contemplative feline keeping her company really suits, although the practical precedent for the idea was the Ancrene Wisse authorising the keeping of a cat for mouse and rat-controlling purposes. I also have at least one book by feminist theologian Grace Jantzen where she acknowledges the helpful paws-on-page companionship of a cat named Jutta (the name of Hildegard of Bingen's anchoritic mentor I seem to remember).
Only two little cat poems come to mind - though I highly recommend Gavin Ewart's poem to an old cat which begins 'I want him to have another living summer', and of course the daddy of all cat poems, Christopher Smart's paen to his cat Jeoffry 'Jubilate Agno'. YOu have to love this poem with its insistent liturgical anaphora and lines such as
For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete cat.
For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in
music.
Otherwise there is William Carlos Williams' famous imagist jeu d'esprit 'as the cat'
As the cat
climbed over
the top of
the jamcloset
first the right
forefoot
carefully
then the hind
stepped down
into the pit of
the empty
flowerpot
Apparently it has a metaphorical level as an evocation of the poetic process itself - swift, silent, magical if you can appreciate it. Well maybe. Perhaps for Carolos Williams especially who also worked as a pediatrician - urban poetic myth has it that he wrote is brief vivid poems on his prescription pad in between consultations. Pad pad. Then there's Edwin Morgan's Chinese Cat:
Chinese Cat (Edwin Morgan)
pmrkgniaou
pmrkgniao
pmrkniao
pmrniao
pmriao
pmiao
maio
mao
exceeding pure; or exceeding pun.
At any rate. The kittens are coming, two little lives who weren't even in the world when I began to blog.
I've spoken a little about the little black cat, whom I started calling Elsie a a homophone for LC, acronym for little cat. She got very comfortable here - even to the extent of jumping through our small-and-high-up bedroom window in the night and early morning and having a prowl around for snacks before (sometimes) jumping right out again. We have been wondering whether she is really owned or partially owned somewhere on the street, or whether she has got lost or heaven forbid been abandoned.
We've also been pretty sure, despite her clearly being a young little cat herself, that she has had kittens recently - perhaps one reason for her enormous appetite and presenting herself at our door in the first place. Anyway a few nights ago drama ensued when not only Little Cat herself but a tiny peeping kitten appeared round the alley corner in our back garden. So sweet - as though she really wanted to bring the kitten along. However disruption quickly ensued when a girl appeared over the fence next door and started yelling for the kitten to be returned. So that's what's going on! Ebony (as Little Cat is properly called) does indeed have kittens and all of them do indeed reside, at present, next door. The little adventurer kitten was quickly retrieved.
The following day I met the cat's mother (so to speak) outside on the street and it transpires that Ebony has six kittens in all, just over two months old, and all or nearly all looking for homes. So after not very much discussion we have decided to offer a home for two of them here. They may be arriving as soon as Monday/ I know it's a banal thing to blog about. Post-avant blogging perhaps; conscious playing with traditional topics for the medium. But it feels like an exciting development here: responsibility; down to earth nurturing; fun. I've never had a cat of my own before and neither has K- although we're both very well disposed towards them.
Although strangely today I remembered as a very young girl being sent by my well-meaning parents to a summer drama school; I think I was only eight years old and I remember being the youngest there and not knowing how to approach the others or how to fit in, and the teacher, finally seeing me standing uneasily by, came and involved me in the exercise of sharing invisible pets. I remember quite distinctly being given an invisible kitten and cherishing it as though it was a gift. I think I must write a poem on this. Anyway - looks like destiny will eventually be fulfilled.
And there's fabulous precedent for writers and cat-keeping, from Julian of Norwich reputed to have had a cat - somehow the idea of a peaceful, independent, contemplative feline keeping her company really suits, although the practical precedent for the idea was the Ancrene Wisse authorising the keeping of a cat for mouse and rat-controlling purposes. I also have at least one book by feminist theologian Grace Jantzen where she acknowledges the helpful paws-on-page companionship of a cat named Jutta (the name of Hildegard of Bingen's anchoritic mentor I seem to remember).
Only two little cat poems come to mind - though I highly recommend Gavin Ewart's poem to an old cat which begins 'I want him to have another living summer', and of course the daddy of all cat poems, Christopher Smart's paen to his cat Jeoffry 'Jubilate Agno'. YOu have to love this poem with its insistent liturgical anaphora and lines such as
For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete cat.
For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in
music.
Otherwise there is William Carlos Williams' famous imagist jeu d'esprit 'as the cat'
As the cat
climbed over
the top of
the jamcloset
first the right
forefoot
carefully
then the hind
stepped down
into the pit of
the empty
flowerpot
Apparently it has a metaphorical level as an evocation of the poetic process itself - swift, silent, magical if you can appreciate it. Well maybe. Perhaps for Carolos Williams especially who also worked as a pediatrician - urban poetic myth has it that he wrote is brief vivid poems on his prescription pad in between consultations. Pad pad. Then there's Edwin Morgan's Chinese Cat:
Chinese Cat (Edwin Morgan)
pmrkgniaou
pmrkgniao
pmrkniao
pmrniao
pmriao
pmiao
maio
mao
exceeding pure; or exceeding pun.
At any rate. The kittens are coming, two little lives who weren't even in the world when I began to blog.
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