Your Grouchy Old Cat


Your Grouchy Old Cat: Form 1

Old man, old man, sitting in the dark.

Eyes wide, teeth tucked,

Waiting in the dark.

Old soul, old soul, eight times out of nine.

He will not beg or whine-

Eight times out of nine.

Old tom, old tom, death’s a callin’ you

You hear it in your whiskers.

An old soul’s callin’ you.

Old man, old man, the mice have run away.

The birds have gone to branch.

The prey has run away!

Old soul, old soul, I see it in your eyes.

Confused, upset, resigned,

I see it in your eyes.

Old tom, old tom, death’s a callin’ you.

Soon you’ll be the hunted.

The old man’s callin’ you.


Soon you’ll be the hunted.

Death’s a callin’ you.





Yeah, it’s a bit of a downer. This cat is an odd mixture of understanding and anger. He can tell he’s old – he’s lived a long life for a cat. I think he gets the sense that he should be dead and is not, and yet he also thinks he should not be dead because no animal wants to be dead. Then again, he could just be a bastard.


I like to give cats the benefit of the doubt.


Anyway, here is the other way I saw this idea going:




Your Grouchy Old Cat: Form 2

He doesn’t hate me,
He doesn’t hate you.
He’s looking at his ending
And wondering what to do.

Could we ask for humor?
Could we ask for purrs?
A gentle snuggle fluff ball
Of warm, inviting fur?

How could we be so callous?
How could we be so blind?
He’s got his end before him –
Death is on his mind

He’s wrestling with the cosmos.
He’s fighting tooth and claw.
He’s blood and pulse and claw marks.
He’s no widdle thing at all.

So before we go pass judgment
On his twitchy tabby ass
Let’s recognize his struggle
And give those bites a pass.

Yes, feel free to be a bastard,
It might be just as well
That you get a little practice,
Before you go to Hell.



The Value of Sadness

In our quest to never be sad
We saturate ourselves in corgis playing with balls
Pandas rolling off logs
Bats stretching
And cats failing to be catlike.
In our quest to never be sad
And have “all the feels.”
Because we have decided that feeling sad is the pits.

And it is.
And it should be.

There is strength in sadness.
Sadness is empathy.
The ability to see that all is not shiny
Proves our link to each other.
Happiness is a lovely thing,
But to drown in happiness is ignorance writ large
in an unending stream of sloth .gifs

Sadness forces quiet.
Screech joy, whisper condolences.
We fear seeing hearts in pain
Lest we be reminded of our own scars
Lest we be reminded in moments of quiet
That we have our own interior ash piles,
Remnants of fires we savored and lost.


I’ve been feeling a little overwhelmed by the amount of animal videos on my Facebook as of late. And by all the caps lock joy from my adult friends who simply “Can’t even!” with “all the feels!” That lack of specificity, that need to be exuberant always strikes me as unhealthy. Almost as much as the flip-flop between overly joyful and needing hugs posts that populate my wall. It’s as though we’re now operating on this extreme teeter-totter, where on the one hand it’s screaming unintelligible sounds of happiness, and the other is sad emoticons and over-zealous counter emoticons.

Just feel sad – let yourself feel sad. It’s not like you won’t feel happy again. And maybe feeling happy after feeling low will feel better than being made to feel like your sadness is not wanted.