Tuesday, August 26, 2003

 
My cat is a lovely companion and extremely talkative. She clearly is unhappy when I spend the night at my partner's place and she is very giving of affection, not just accepting (demanding) of affection like some I have had live with me.
I cannot imagine ever living without a cat and have at times had as many as three in the house.

Her name is Starr. I would never have chosen this but she came with it from the animal shelter, knew it and answered to it, so I decided to keep it. For a brief, loony moment I thought of translating it to Stella so I could call her by yelling "Stella!" up the stairs like Stanley Kowalsky in STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE, but I dropped the idea very fast.
I do pride myself for having SOME subtlety. Starr suggests two people: Ken, the sleazy lawyer who was involved with
the Whitewater scandal surrounding the Clintons (no good, male and insufferable); and Brenda, the cartoon heroine
who became the subject of a forgettable movie. Actually, Starr is a homebody, a gentle soul but a great hunter (two
bats caught and killed in the house in the last two months--Boston is suffering an invasion of bats this summer infesting
neighborhood houses). I wake up every morning with her pressed into my left thigh, waiting to have her tummy stroked and VERY anxious to start the process of opening cans to feed her.




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