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Monday, November 23, 2009

Katie Sherrod’s terrific posting of

The Simon Chronicles

My name is Simon.
I am The Cat.
I have asked my staff to help record this chronicle, because I feel I have been much misunderstood.

I am a very spiritual being.

I do Yoga.


I meditate.

I enhance the beauty of the space around me.

And yet, the calumny persists that I spend all my time sleeping.

It is a perfidy of dogs.


These dogs among them. Do you see the injustice of the accusation?

 

It is a waste of my time.

So I repair to one of the many retreats my staff has thoughtfully provided for me,

where I muse on the ways of humans and dogs.


My Chief of Staff has provided many venues designed to enhance my natural catly beauty.

I am awaiting my Chief of Staff. It’s time to go work in my garden.

She works.

I supervise.

I helpfully point out a weed she has overlooked.


I check the place for evidence of lizards.


I visit the fat toad who lives among these pots.

There are many squirrels to chase. I oblige them.

I work out to keep in shape.

I put up with a blue jay scolding me. Idiot bird.
Molly waits for me to move so she can go past.
It gives me hope that she is finally learning the natural order of things

— cats, then staff, then dogs.

Mike and I head out for our respective patrols each day.

Mike is the least lazy of the dogs.
A high compliment, don’t you think?

I often allow my staff to dine with me.
I show them how to keep up with current events.
I sit next to them as they read to encourage their efforts at improving themselves.
I rearrange the cushions for them.
I spread beauty all around me.
Wait! Is she calling me?
Yes, she is.
Yawn.
My Chief of Staff’s assistant advises me to do what she tells me to do.

Have you been drinking?
After all, I keep her computer warm for her.
I inspect the kitchen.

And the cupboards.
And the bathroom.
 I stand guard.


I am amazingly kind to those human kittens she adores.


I share my room with them when they are here. I even allow them to think it is their room.


I allow them to commit all sorts of indignities upon my person.

I attempt to instruct them in catly strategies on their game thingy.
It is futile.

So when they go home, I rest,
and offer my Chief of Staff a chance to rub my belly.
Am I not fabulous?

They just keep looking for my Chief of Staff to appear with treats.

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Joan of Arc

I know this now. Every man gives his life for what he believes. Every woman gives her life for what she believes. Sometimes people believe in little or nothing yet they give their lives to that little or nothing. One life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it. And then it is gone. But to sacrifice what you are and live without belief, that's more terrible than dying.--

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Beannacht

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

John O'Donohue, Echoes of Memory