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Dear friends and readers,

I posted a wonderful video, Henry, Le Chat Noir from Roger Ebert's site long ago -- on my other Sylvia blog and have posted videos and pictures of my two beloved companion-cats here, Ian and Clarycat.  For today, some clever inkblots from Artfinder and one of Marge Piercy's poems in her Sleeping with Cats:









I am at once source
and sink of heat; give
and take. I am a vast
soft mountain of slow breathing.
The smells I exude soothe them:
the lingering odor of sex,
of soap, even of perfume,
its after-aroma sunk into skin
mingling with sweat and the traces
of food and drink.

They are curled into flowers
of fur, they are coiled
hot seashells of flesh
in my armpit, around my head
a dark sighing halo.
They are plastered to my side,
a poultice fixing sore muscles
better than a heating pad.
They snuggle up to my sex
purring. They embrace my feet.

Some cats I place like a pillow.
In the morning they rest where
I arranged them, still sleeping.
Some cats start at my head
and end between my legs
like a textbook lover. Some
slip out to prowl the living room
patrolling, restive, then
leap back to fight about
hegemony over my knees.

Every one of them cares
passionately where they sleep
and with whom.
Sleeping together is a euphemism
for people but tantamount
to marriage for cats.
Mammals together we snuggle
and snore through the cold nights
while the stars swing round
the pole and the great horned
owl hunts for flesh like ours.


--- Marge Piercy, Sleeping with Cats ...

Miss Drake

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