(Edited to give each piece of Bad Poetry its own post...)
It was sort of a downer of a weekend, despite the sunshine--fighting a "Roundup" reaction that made it hard to see letters on the screen, watching Serena's little blue-eyed Wonder die slowly, wondering whether he was killed when a friend's retriever took a firm grip on him before dropping him in the road or when I scooped him up out of the road. He weighed three or four pounds. His last achievement had been climbing up to the shed roof. He seemed to die slowly, keeping some signs of life all through Saturday, but never recover consciousness. He was completely dead by Sunday morning.
A theory of mine that correlates with observation: Cats who have more human-like intelligence (e.g., who learn to recognize words) will grip your fingertip between their toes when you touch their paw pads--what a friend used to call "making hands" with their paws. Wonder had never done that while living, just as he'd never snuggled into my hand while living, because he took any attention from anyone but his mother as an opportunity to start a game. He'd had all the cuddles he needed; he would let me pick him up and put him in his cage for safekeeping overnight, but otherwise he wanted to race, chase, bounce, wrestle, bite, and climb. Whenever I touched his paw to check for full rigor mortis, he gripped my fingertip in his coma. But for testosterone, he might have been as clever as Serena. We'll never know.
Music
Harry Chapin.
Dee Dee Sharp.
NeilDiamond.
Len.
Stan Rogers.
Politics
Found on the Mirror.
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