I couldn't write because of the cat

She lies on top of my notes, bumping the keyboard with her body, taking a bath. I have moved her. I have picked her up, cuddled her, and put her down on the floor.

I have kissed her on the nose. In return, she sniffs my breath, pretends it is fresh.

This is an old picture. She is a whole week wiser now. She is cleaning her belly in front of my Epson printer. I cannot turn it on. If I turn it on, I cannot open it. There is no space. It is all cat.

I have whispered condolences of not-now and of course you-are-still-wonderful but she won't buy the floor. She jumps back up. There must be something cat-like about a messy desk, papers strewn across, some piles higher than others, all that commotion, conquered, silenced. It makes her purr.

The cat does not seem to mind that the desk is in the dark chill of basement when outside the air is swift with spring.

The cat does not play haiku. The cat does not fret over words and art, bills and burgeoning obligations, the dentist, the mechanic, the broken freezer with the food rotting at the bottom.

The future means nothing. Meals of the past are forgotten. When she feels that itch, she scratches. She doesn't wait or postpone. When her bath is done, she naps.

The cat knows the present moment. The cat is Zen.

My name is Rae Hallstrom, and Ameriku is my art and my business and my brand.

Ameriku® is the registered trademark of Ameriku Ltd. When you see the Ameriku trademark, you can be sure the work meets my high standards of quality.