Cat in Winter

I live in the tropics, but late December is relatively cool, windy, wet — just as it is in most of the Northern Hemisphere. And the cat, the cat doesn't like it so much.

Today I sat with him. He paced around. The sky was a bright pale grey-blue, like ice. Grey wisps of cloud scudded around. The wind blew dying flowers and leaves into the patio. The cat chased some of them, sniffed suspiciously at others.

His golden fur, bright and brazen in the full summer sun, looked brown and irritable. He was a tarnished copper cat today, not the golden glory he prefers to be. He obviously felt brown and irritable too. He looked out over the garden, tail slowly twitching from side to side, as if to say, "I know you're out there somewhere, whatever you are. Bad day! Bad day!"

Once in a while, he'd run back to me, and bang his forehead against my shin. I have no clear idea of what that means to a cat, but it seems to be partly reassurance based on solidity (or solidarity) and partly head-banging from being irritated with something.

Ah, the cat, the cat in winter. "In winter's tedious night, sit by the fire / With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales / Of woeful ages long ago betide." So said the bard, but the cat still twitches.

See What Has Become Of Me

This is not the first time, nor should I imagine it will be the last time, that I am quoting from Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel. I have a noted affinity for songs like The Sound of Silence and Scarborough Fair/Canticle; I've used them in lessons before.

But one song which always hit too close to the bone (in a subtle way, like a stiletto, not the rock-hard clout of I am a Rock) was A Hazy Shade of Winter.

Time, time, time, see what's become of me
While I looked around for my possibilities...
I was so hard to please.
But look around
Leaves are brown
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter.

Hear the Salvation Army band.
Down by the riverside,
It's bound to be a better ride
Than what you've got planned...

Carry your cup in your hand.
And look around,
Leaves are brown,
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter.

Hang on to your hopes, my friend.
That's an easy thing to say
But if your hopes should pass away
Simply pretend that you can build them again.
Look around
The grass is high
The fields are ripe
It's the springtime of my life.

Weaving time in a tapestry.
Won't you stop and remember me
At any convenient time?
Funny how my memory skips
While looking over manuscripts
Of unpublished rhyme...

Drinking my vodka and lime,
I look around
Leaves are brown now
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter.
Look around
Leaves are brown
There's a patch of snow on the ground

Indeed, what has become of me? It's been an interesting journey; it looks set to continue being interesting. I await Mondays with a fierce joy, knowing that they WILL be interesting. *grin*