2001-12-26 || 1:21 p.m.

|| laverne and meow and a jar of minced garlic ||

the air is the same, the sky. the way the leaves react to the motion of air: the slightest tremblings, like watching a painting for long enough until the brush strokes begin to move. southern california winter- cool only at the very edges, 67 degrees under an afghan in a backyard. this backyard is much smaller, penned in. i am lying on a lounge chair in my pajamas reading banana yoshimoto, fulfilling home rituals, tracking weather patterns, trying to communicate with my cat. laverne ambles to the patio and only her tail is visible, kinked at the top, quivering when i call her name. she makes a slow circle and collapses just out of arm's reach. 'laverne.' she rolls around, collects ants and pine needles in her whiskers. 'fernie.' she hops up, makes brief eye contact. i pretend she knows who i am. i move to the grass to where she has wandered and give her good scratches. she is very lean. she has green wild tiger eyes. there is a swirly pattern on her side that looks like a target. she appears to know me. she croons and bellows and leans into my thigh.

i am not sure what cats are capable of. too many people i know are so accepting of the idea that cats don't retain memory the way we do, that when i pet her and say her name, all of her secret nicknames, she responds only because i am just a potential hand to man the can opener. they say i project. they say i fall in love with things too easily, breathe life and personality into things for my own entertainment. take for example the way i talk to inanimate objects (this is more a product of living alone i think. stepping on a record cover and saying sorry. pleading with a jar of minced garlic that just won't open.) but i love my lovey, i hate that she is so far away, that we spend our quality time as short spurts in suburban backyards.

(meanwhile meow meow is locked up alone in an apartment 500 miles away. i was driving along the freeway last night and thought of her. guilt guilt guilt and pure longing for my cat. is this pathetic? should i be embarrassed? what does it mean to miss a cat like a best friend? to play the moment of opening the apartment door and running down the hall to find her over and over, wanting to cry at the distance that is making her so lonely. there in the dark.)

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