MISS MOOX + summer

Old writings

For lack of better things to blog about, I am going to include some snippets of older writings, things hammered out on a whim when something struck me and worked its way round in my mind till it demanded to be spilled out on paper, or computer at least. Before I had a blog, they lived as miscellaneous and unrelated snippets on my computer's hard drive. Now, they exist as miscellaneous and unrelated snippets on Blogger's servers' hard drives, for all the world to see, or at least those bits of it that happen upon them.

Upon meeting a fat white cat in the dark

As I was walking down the street one evening after dark, I met a very fat, pure white cat who peered at me curiously with round and innocent eyes round some foliage. I stopped to greet it. “Hello, wiblet,” I said (“wiblet” being the generic term for cat, particularly fat cats with small heads).

The cat “mrrp”ed at me loudly and in a friendly manner, staring full into my face with wondering and pleading eyes, so I bent down and talked to it gently. It approached, and I moved to stroke its head, but with the ingenuity that un-introduced cats have it ducked and managed to keep its nose just barely touching my hand, like a security guard frisking a suspicious-looking customer. After it had satisfactorily sniffed me it pushed its head against my hand in a very warmly accepting way; then in the sudden way such cats have turned and began nosing around the foliage again as if on urgent business.

I spoke softly to it again, and in the sensuous and tantalizing manner of a cat it turned its back and began winding its way slowly, tail up, back into the gate leading to its home. I stopped and stood up, explaining to it that I couldn’t follow it, much as it seemed to be indicating to me it would like me to. I left it there, stroking its head on the gate and waving its tail pensively, to go about its fat-white-cat ways unhindered.

Written on a dreamy summer day

The fan is steadily blowing a stream of cool air into the room from the outside. The sunshine is in that dreamy hazy stage which threatens storms. The air sleeps, but turmoil is just beneath the surface. Any moment now it could spill over into clouds, lightning and rain in that turbulent, dramatic way summer days have. It's a middling brightness dwindling into overcast but with an excited edge, sitting between peace and wrath. This is my favourite kind of a day.

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