Furball Diaries update:

Furball is growing and somehow is still living in my apartment. This Saturday will make it four weeks, and his eyes have turned to grey-green orbs that look at me consideringly from across the room then disappear as he lies in wait for me to pass so he can leap, shrieking little goblin cat howls, paws splayed apart for maximum lift, on some portion of my anatomy.

Each day I become more and more an etching, strange hieroglyphs that mark his life with me. Each day gets filled with work, with errands that prevent me taking him elsewhere, eating up the time where I could be delivering him to a shelter and setting myself free of all the inadvertent chains he has wrought around my heart.

He is growing sleek and lean, a face with huge eyes that gaze into mine as if to impart the secrets of the universe, right before he bites my nose or sinks claws in my shoulder as he races off to catch the movement of the air across the room.

My house is rearranged. I am not tidy but there is order in my chaos, or there used to be. A bracelet rolls beneath my foot here by the desk. A bracelet that lives in the box in the bathroom. An earring sits in splendour in the middle of the room. My cat has magpie instincts. And he's not MY cat, just a boarder till I find him shelter.

He eats icecream but not the chocolate chips, he doesn't like sardines and he longs to get outside and stalk the grasses as they dance in deference to the morning breezes that sweep the night away. He is unimaginably loud and looks at me and grins a goblin grin, a pixy grin all pink and white with sharp and shiny teeth.

He has put his newsprint covered pawprints on my soul.
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created Nov 2007
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