the story is the same as it ever was: i am trying to balance life and my artistic ambitions. my time is divided between work, sleep, exercise and loved ones. what i want to do least of all is cram blog posts with anecdotal mumbo-jumbo. i want quality!
as i'm trying to type this, mango (who turns 12 in about a week) is pawing at my belly, attempting to get me to move my laptop and give him a spot on top of my lap. mango's age prompts thoughts of my dearest first cat, the tabby fondly nicknamed "the butler" by my friend adrienne. she took care of monty on more than one occasion when i was out of town. and then, of course, my friend and former roommate kim actually helped me adopt him way back in 1998.
let me get nostalgic for just a moment here--it's so what i love to do (if you know me, it's very true). in 1998, i was living in san clemente. the first thing that i did upon having a place of my own--a two bedroom apartment that overlooked the 5 freeway and the beach, with killer views of the san clemente pier and catalina (on clear days) and hundreds of amazing sunsets--was adopt a cat. it was so easy back then! no one asked to call my landlord to see if i lived in a pet-friendly building. no one asked for references. no one asked much of anything that i can recall. i forked over some money, in partnership with kim, and this cute black and tan tabby with a spotted belly came home with me.
somewhere in my closet there is a picture of monty sleeping on my clock radio (or perhaps it's just a strong recollection i have of him)--he was such a wee thing who grew up to be quite the impressive dude. i loved that cat like no other. or, truly, each pet i've had i love a little bit differently. i think the same goes for people, too. we all arouse different emotions, touching each other in a specifically unique way. that's how i see it.
one of my favorite memories from that apartment took place on a pleasantly warm evening. the sun was setting, and i imagine one of us was grilling something on the propance-powered, vcr-sized hibachi grill that stood 5 inches or so above the ground. monty was sitting on a stool by the kitchen. i was in the vicinity and suddenly monty was out on the balcony. as i took in the scene, my brain put the scene together: monty leapt off of the stool with such strength as to knock it to the ground. the "thud" of the wooden stool on the floor startled him so much that he ran with incredible force through the (somewhat decrepit) screen door. he effortlessly tore a whole through the mesh and left kim and me in stitches. it's one of the funniest things i've ever seen an animal do.
these furry beasts that touch our lives for the briefest of moments, in tandem with the limited time we enjoy here on earth--they really do something special. for me, it's cats. what would i do? where would i be? without them, i think i might sometimes lose my way.
as i'm trying to type this, mango (who turns 12 in about a week) is pawing at my belly, attempting to get me to move my laptop and give him a spot on top of my lap. mango's age prompts thoughts of my dearest first cat, the tabby fondly nicknamed "the butler" by my friend adrienne. she took care of monty on more than one occasion when i was out of town. and then, of course, my friend and former roommate kim actually helped me adopt him way back in 1998.
let me get nostalgic for just a moment here--it's so what i love to do (if you know me, it's very true). in 1998, i was living in san clemente. the first thing that i did upon having a place of my own--a two bedroom apartment that overlooked the 5 freeway and the beach, with killer views of the san clemente pier and catalina (on clear days) and hundreds of amazing sunsets--was adopt a cat. it was so easy back then! no one asked to call my landlord to see if i lived in a pet-friendly building. no one asked for references. no one asked much of anything that i can recall. i forked over some money, in partnership with kim, and this cute black and tan tabby with a spotted belly came home with me.
somewhere in my closet there is a picture of monty sleeping on my clock radio (or perhaps it's just a strong recollection i have of him)--he was such a wee thing who grew up to be quite the impressive dude. i loved that cat like no other. or, truly, each pet i've had i love a little bit differently. i think the same goes for people, too. we all arouse different emotions, touching each other in a specifically unique way. that's how i see it.
one of my favorite memories from that apartment took place on a pleasantly warm evening. the sun was setting, and i imagine one of us was grilling something on the propance-powered, vcr-sized hibachi grill that stood 5 inches or so above the ground. monty was sitting on a stool by the kitchen. i was in the vicinity and suddenly monty was out on the balcony. as i took in the scene, my brain put the scene together: monty leapt off of the stool with such strength as to knock it to the ground. the "thud" of the wooden stool on the floor startled him so much that he ran with incredible force through the (somewhat decrepit) screen door. he effortlessly tore a whole through the mesh and left kim and me in stitches. it's one of the funniest things i've ever seen an animal do.
these furry beasts that touch our lives for the briefest of moments, in tandem with the limited time we enjoy here on earth--they really do something special. for me, it's cats. what would i do? where would i be? without them, i think i might sometimes lose my way.
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