Chuck’s Cats

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Abstract

ds to write a paean to Linda, his wife, who is probably the one who did. And if not her then the paid help who did. Someone cleaned up the cat poop and the cat vomit and vacuumed up all that cat hair. Six cats create a lot of poop and vomit as well as shedding a lot of fur.</p><figure id="9205"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*dkHQz4DzEMeWtJdbqehIlA.jpeg"><figcaption>My old girl, JJ, who shuffled off this mortal coil on January 17, 2022</figcaption></figure><p id="5540">One cat did! I’m only now becoming aware of how much work one 8 pound cat can be.</p><p id="f664">We’ve been catless for 52 days (and eight hours but who’s counting). Today was only the second time in 52 days that I finally got around to hauling out the vacuum cleaner. Not because I’m a world-class slob but because without a cat there’s not much need to vacuum. It will, however, take a lot more than 52 days for my poor partner to walk with confidence across floors that now are completely vomit-free.</p><p id="97f2">Will being catless make us better writers? Or should we consider Chuck’s example and start haunting the ASPCA for our Writers’ Cats?</p><p id="9188">I mean, it’s not just Chuck you know. There’s Hemingway, Atwood, Huxley, Dickens, Chandler, Plath, Eliot, Williams, Auden, Yeats, Burroughs, Bradbury, Highsmith, and Mark Twain who is supposed to have said ‘When a man loves cats, I am his friend and comrade, without further introduction.’</p><p id="0156">Then I come to my

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senses and realize that damned few of the luminaries on that list probably scooped cat poop.</p><p id="dcb8">For now, I’ll leave the enjoyment of cats in the house to those more able to afford to have someone else do the work. And I’ll continue to enjoy reading about Chuck and his cats. It’s warming to hear a voice as rough and uncompromising as Chuck’s going gooey and gentle when he writes about his cats.</p><p id="0bb4">And I’ll keep writing…even at times about my cats.</p><figure id="c993"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*fOIchWBv8_WVlN1c75z0VQ.jpeg"><figcaption>Photo Credit — The Author / JJ and Alice, queens of their domain.</figcaption></figure><p id="35f5"><i>© Remington Write 2022. All Rights Reserved.</i></p><p id="224c">Support the writers you love reading. The gods will notice.</p><div id="a28a" class="link-block"> <a href="https://tlr31.medium.com/membership"> <div> <div> <h2>Join Medium with my referral link - Remington Write</h2> <div><h3>As a Medium member, a portion of your membership fee goes to writers you read, and you get full access to every story…</h3></div> <div><p>tlr31.medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*B2wdrabJY9np2Ayc)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Not the whole story

My partner reads to me at bedtime. This started with Pynchon’s “Gravity’s Rainbow” nearly a decade ago (talk about jumping into the deep end, eh?) and over the years our bedtime reading has included “Conspiracy of Dunces”, “Apropo of Nothing”, and Pynchon’s “Vineland” to name a few.

We’ve recently been a bit of a poetry binge alternating between Polish poetry goddess, Wisława Szymborska, and American drunken genius, Charles Bukowski.

Chuck’s the bomb.

But you knew that. Everyone has their favorite Bukowski poem. Every drunk is sure the muse that visits Chuck’s pages has a soft place in her heart for them. I did and do. But the bit that always sings truest to my heart is when Chuck talks about his cats. Six of them. Six cats! Sure, the guy lived in a stand-alone house and presumably had a spare room for three or four litterboxes. But here’s what I’m thinking:

The genius did not clean the litterboxes.

Someone needs to write a paean to Linda, his wife, who is probably the one who did. And if not her then the paid help who did. Someone cleaned up the cat poop and the cat vomit and vacuumed up all that cat hair. Six cats create a lot of poop and vomit as well as shedding a lot of fur.

My old girl, JJ, who shuffled off this mortal coil on January 17, 2022

One cat did! I’m only now becoming aware of how much work one 8 pound cat can be.

We’ve been catless for 52 days (and eight hours but who’s counting). Today was only the second time in 52 days that I finally got around to hauling out the vacuum cleaner. Not because I’m a world-class slob but because without a cat there’s not much need to vacuum. It will, however, take a lot more than 52 days for my poor partner to walk with confidence across floors that now are completely vomit-free.

Will being catless make us better writers? Or should we consider Chuck’s example and start haunting the ASPCA for our Writers’ Cats?

I mean, it’s not just Chuck you know. There’s Hemingway, Atwood, Huxley, Dickens, Chandler, Plath, Eliot, Williams, Auden, Yeats, Burroughs, Bradbury, Highsmith, and Mark Twain who is supposed to have said ‘When a man loves cats, I am his friend and comrade, without further introduction.’

Then I come to my senses and realize that damned few of the luminaries on that list probably scooped cat poop.

For now, I’ll leave the enjoyment of cats in the house to those more able to afford to have someone else do the work. And I’ll continue to enjoy reading about Chuck and his cats. It’s warming to hear a voice as rough and uncompromising as Chuck’s going gooey and gentle when he writes about his cats.

And I’ll keep writing…even at times about my cats.

Photo Credit — The Author / JJ and Alice, queens of their domain.

Support the writers you love reading. The gods will notice.