Tag Archives: relationship

Spade the Cat

Rain smacks against the glass.  Inside, a cat sits on the windowsill, watching the downpour.  The cat whisks her tail back and forth in anticipation; afraid of the wet outdoors but curious nonetheless.  Her owner sits in her computer chair, working on homework.

“What are you thinking, Spade?” asks the owner.

“Meow,” answers the cat, in a descriptive enough manner to insinuate Spade the Cat’s overwhelming interest in the falling drink hitting an invisible wall in front of her.  How strange, suggests Spade, that something I drink so much creates so much anxiety inside of me.

“Yea, that’s what I’m thinking,” replies the owner, her eyes slightly bloodshot from staring at a computer screen for too long.  “I guess you’re right, it’s time for a break.”

“Meow,” agrees the cat, strongly.

A man says, “I love you,” gives her a kiss, “Good night,” and walks outside.  The owner closes the door and turns around toward Spade with a smile on her face.

“Do you like him, Spade?” inquires the owner.

“Meow,” responds the cat, but in a certain tone to suggest that she was still on the fence if the man was suitable for a durable romantic relationship.  Perhaps, advised Spade, we should be patient and allow time to tell us the answers.

The owner lies in bed, covers over her bulging stomach, propped up on a pillow, watching TV.  Spade the Cat walks over and curls up against her stomach.

“Prrr,” says the cat, indicating a resilient, time-tested, emotional bond.

“Are you excited to have a baby to play with?” asks the owner.

“Meow,” retorts the cat in a hasty manner that could only mean, No, I was very happy when it was just the two of us against the world.  We had a feisty demeanor that only we could love, and everything was tailored our fit.  We do not need a man and a baby.

“I’m excited, too,” she says.

A medium-sized cage is placed on the kitchen floor.  The man is bent over it, holding the cage door open.  The owner is carrying the cat to the kitchen.

“Come on, Spade, we need to make you feel better,” the owner says.

“Meow,” growls the cat, her eyes drooping and legs weak.  But, thought Spade, I don’t think I’m that sick, I just need some rest.  I only need some water, and if you all would be so kind, the mushy food that I like.

“I know,” replies the owner, “that’s why we’re taking you to the vet.”

Spade the Cat is lying on a cold, silver platform.  Several people, including the owner, the vet, the man, and the baby, stand over her and talk.  Spade does her best to keep her bare paws off the platform.  The owner has tears in her eyes.

“Meow,” says the cat, but in a soft tone to infer that she cares, and she wants his owner to feel happy again.  There, there, implies Spade, you need to cheer right up.  Let’s go back home and I’ll purr on your belly.

The owner looks at Spade, “I know, Spade, you must be scared.  I’m sorry.”

“Meow,” answers the cat, but in a reassuring quality that could only mean: Hey, I don’t know why I should be afraid.  Why?  Is everything OK with you?  I just want to cheer you up.  Let’s go home, OK?

The owner walks over and pets Spade, puts her face next to hers, and says, “We have to put you down.  You’re really sick, and I’m going to take the pain away, OK?”  Tears glide down her cheeks.  “I love you, I’ll always remember you, Spade.”

“Meow,” cries the cat, but in a desperate manner that could be translated into – What?  Me?  But I’m just tired!  I only need a few more naps!  Just take me home, it’s cold here.

The owner turns her back to Spade as the vet walks toward her with a needle.

“Meow,” cries the cat one more time, in a distressed nature.  Please, howls Spade, just take me home.  I just need food, water, petting, and sunshine!  I’m just a little worn down!  You’re child wears me out!  Please!

The owner is crying.  She looks to her husband and says, “She was saying goodbye.  Such a brave cat.”



We don’t have time for bedtime stories tonight, so I’m just going to hold you for a while.

I love you so much.  You were everything I ever wanted.  I remember looking into your eyes and knowing my life would change forever, and I was happy with that.  But I look into your eyes now, and it’s changed again.

Has it changed?  How long does a man have to stand on the fence?  You dedicated your first word to me, Dada….  You were always hiding when I would come home from work so you could surprise me.  I loved coming home to a game with you.  Finding you, catching you into a tickle fight, and running with you through the house….  I can’t afford to play hide and seek with you anymore.  Things are too… different.  I just want to go back to when you were so young.  I want to go back to when you were only ever in my arms.  Your mother left my with such a beautiful parting gift, and I already feel overwhelming regret for even thinking of returning you to her.

Paying for your mother left me with only you, and that was more than enough.  Why do things change so quickly?  I just want my head to leave me alone.  At least give me more time to deal with it.  Tragedy happens when time is faster than your emotions.  But no matter how much everything else hardened my heart, you broke it every time.

I remember when you thought a scraped knee was the end of the world, and Dada was still able to fix it.  I can’t fix it now, but I tried so hard….  You’ve gotten so much bigger and stronger now.  Dada can’t fix you anymore.  I can’t.

Life has just gotten so hard, and I’ve been doing my best.  I’m so sorry… but I’m trying to do what’s best for both of us.  I’m not just thinking about me.  I promise you, you’ve always come first.  But now everything is telling me things are different, and I have to move on.  They tell me not to think about it, or instead to think how horrible you are, how mean you are, how ugly you are… but you still look so beautiful to me.

The world won’t play pretend with us anymore, we can only do that together one more time.  We’re both going to pretend now, OK?  I want us to pretend tonight is exactly the same as everyone other night for the past four years.  Can you do that, sweetie?  I’m pretending right now you’re in your pink jammies.  Shhh… it’s time to go to sleep, OK?  I don’t want to do this, baby.

                Shhh… go to sleep one more time….

      Father of a zombie

Beautiful Brain Leakage

* The irony of this post may be overwhelming to certain people.  Please use extreme caution.  Do not listen to Alanis Morisette’s “Ironic” while reading.

I have always felt the devastating sense of uncaring when attempting to communicate with others.  Despite the prejudiced truth I believe to be behind my aforementioned, and currently mentioned, words, I cannot help but insist to my mouth that an audience will not listen, even if it is consisted of my closest crowd.  Perhaps most would describe this as timidity, introversion, shyness, or even apathy, but my bias mind would have me agree that it is merely realism.  I would be inclined to agree with you if you thought this was actually pessimism, but after over 20 years of theory, practice, and application in the field, I have found this to be true: those who actively engage in conversation are much more interested in their turn to speak than listening to what you have to say.  This idea may seem cliche, at least to those familiar with the notion, but do not let that taint the accuracy of it.

Let us give a toast to those who not only know this to be true, but fall victim to this regularly, for those people are the ones who turn their attention to creativity; specifically the arts.  Brains are an open container: they are filled with everything from the outside and inside, and when they have to stay inside instead of exiting through speaking or acting, the brain overflows.  When you see an original painting, those paint strokes are the unspoken words to a friend.  When you hear piano notes ringing in your ears, those are the sounds of unheard compliments to a lover.  When you read lines of creative fiction, those are the unexpressed non-fiction words to a family member.  So when you inspect a work of art, listen to what is being said, either implicitly or explicitly,  because those thoughts and emotions did not come from nothing.

The difficulty comes when attempting to return to the creator, as they will deny it wholeheartedly.  They have distanced themselves from their own work and use it symbolically, not personally.  Do your best to comprehend the meaning, then adapt your relationship accordingly.  Best of luck to artists and their contemporaries.