If you’ve been with me for a while, you knew this answer was coming. Why would I compare myself to a cat? Why not?
Here’s what cats and I have in common: When we like you, you will know it. When we don’t like you, you will know it. We don’t give our affections to just anyone, we choose the people who won’t look at us. Duh. We will welcome you after you’ve been away for a long time, but we will not run up to greet you and lick your face. That is uncouth. Instead, we will wait the perfunctory 3 to 5 business days to say hello to you, because you left, and that was not approved.
(I love dogs, have had several, and you guys know that I love my friend Petey. The insinuation of dogs being uncouth is a joke.)
Here are some photos of me training to be a cat:
Introductions are made.The initial phase begins.Phase 2 has been reached.Just two cats chilling in the grass.My transformation into a cat is fully realized. Susie is not impressed.
I heard you turned 100. Happy Birthday! I hope there wasn’t a fire when they lit the candles on the cake. Couldn’t resist sarcasm, but you know that about us. Anyway, I just want to say thanks for everything. I’m sorry about the neck. I tried to tell teenage Amy about this, but she didn’t really listen. She carried that heavy bookbag on her right shoulder for 12 years… I was trying to make her see reason, but she wouldn’t have any of that. You know teenagers. I should apologize for the neck as well. I spent hours with my head down, looking at my phone, using poor posture in front of the laptop, and generally not taking the advice that I gave to teenage Amy. I guess I never learned. I hope that you are a “good” 100. By that I mean I hope you’re still active and enjoying things. I hope you are of sound mind. It would dishearten me to learn otherwise. Please tell me you’re still wearing fedoras and dressing like you want. I hope you have a really cool scooter and that it goes 60 mph. I hope you start foodfights in the cafeteria of the assisted living home. I hope they have really good chocolate milk there. I hope there are no weird men. Ha, who am I kidding?
Thank you for all the years, and I hope that all of the versions of us have made you proud. We’ve done the best we could, haven’t we? We protected little girl Amy with all that we had. We did some bad, we did some good, we loved hard, we laughed hard, we worked hard, sometimes we cried hard, and most of all we lived. We really lived.
I see that lady from Room 3A eyeing the pink wheels on your scooter. You’d better get over there. It looks like she’s messing with your music selection. You let her know that no one changes the song but you.
Love,
Amy
100-year-old Amy gets on her scooter and turns up the volume. She tells the lady from 3A to move, she’s got stuff to do. She peels out, heading off to parts unknown, her speakers blaring “I’m Bad” by LL Cool J.
Poeminspired by one of my favorite songs, and certainly my favorite song by Alanis Morissette (official video below the lyrics):
Uninvited
by Alanis Morissette
Like anyone would be I am flattered by your fascination with me Like any hot-blooded woman I have simply wanted an object to crave But you, you’re not allowed You’re uninvited An unfortunate slight
Must be strangely exciting To watch the stoic squirm Must be somewhat heartening To watch shepherd need shepherd But you you’re not allowed You’re uninvited An unfortunate slight
Like any uncharted territory I must seem greatly intriguing You speak of my love like You have experienced love like mine before But this is not allowed You’re uninvited An unfortunate slight
I don’t think you unworthy I need a moment to deliberate
I’m not sure why, other than the name of the song, but when I was composing this poem, and looking at this photo of my wooden cross, I thought of the song Take Me To Church by Hozier. The title is a metaphor, which you can probably glean from the lyrics. This is a great song. The official video is worth a watch, but I’m not posting it here, as it tells a story within itself. I posted below a video that displays the lyrics.
Take Me to Church
Song by Hozier
My lover’s got humor She’s the giggle at a funeral Knows everybody’s disapproval I should’ve worshiped her sooner If the Heavens ever did speak She’s the last true mouthpiece Every Sunday’s getting more bleak A fresh poison each week “We were born sick”, you heard them say it My church offers no absolutes She tells me, “Worship in the bedroom” The only Heaven I’ll be sent to Is when I’m alone with you I was born sick, but I love it Command me to be well A-, Amen, Amen, Amen
Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life
If I’m a pagan of the good times My lover’s the sunlight To keep the Goddess on my side She demands a sacrifice Drain the whole sea Get something shiny Something meaty for the main course That’s a fine looking high horse What you got in the stable? We’ve a lot of starving faithful That looks tasty That looks plenty This is hungry work
Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife Offer me my deathless death Good God, let me give you my life Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife Offer me my deathless death Good God, let me give you my life
No masters or kings when the ritual begins There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene Only then I am human Only then I am clean Oh, oh, Amen, Amen, Amen
Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life
The first one is, “Why aren’t you married?” My standard answer is, “I’ve never met anyone who could convince me that it’s a good idea.” That shuts them up really quickly.
The second question I hate is, “Why don’t you have children?” Again, I reply with, “I’ve never met anyone who could convince me that it’s a good idea.” Again, silence.
It’s my standard answer. It’s flippant and sarcastic and intentional. Come at me with questions that are none of your business, and I’m going to come at you with something you have no response to.
We know nothing of lost opportunities, missed chances, wrong time, wrong place, right person, wrong time, wrong person, right time. we know nothing of desire – or lack of desire – for marriage or children. And there’s a reason why we don’t know anything: because these are personal issues.
Last week, one of the cashiers in the grocery store told me I looked really fashionable. She said she always loves to see what outfit I’m wearing. This particular trip I had on my plaid black and white fedora, with my houndstooth belted coat and matching houndstooth gloves. Finished off with tall black boots. She asked, “You’re not married are you?” Immediately, my defenses went up, but I asked with a smile, “Why do you say that?” And she said, “Because you look so put together and cute. You’re a cutie pie and you take time with your outfits and always look adorable.” I thanked her and put my defenses down. (I’m not sure what that had to do with being married or unmarried, but it was said, from a place of kindness.)
I like those kinds of people. Not because she complimented me, but because she didn’t ask me a personal question to be nosy or critical. She had no ulterior motive.
We don’t know what people go through, what battles they are waging on the inside. We should always strive to be kind and never assume anything.
And never assume a void means lack of hopes, dreams or wishes.
“It's Amy,” I said. 