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Literature Text
He owns this family of cats - or they own him, however you like to see it.
They sleep, empty the food dish and fill the box. He empties the box, fills the dish and wakes the cats, so the cycle can start over again. The sound of the cat flap is his daily weather forecast – they come crawling through it before it gets too nasty.
He named them all, adopted some neighbourhood cats along the way. He knows their stories better than their original owners did. There's Franky, the one with the tear in his ear – he got it from the dog across the street he loved to tease. He still does it, Franky never learns. Minka is all soft fur and begging eyes – he can never refuse to pet her if she wants it. Grant always makes a big appearance and if Killer is already there he'd better make sure they don't see each other. They have this never ending rival war going on.
His days are determined by the cats – he prefers their reign a lot to that of the ticking clock. On a lazy afternoon when all of them just lie in the sun lazily he tends to do the same. He sometimes wonders if he became partly cat, too - but this is nonsense, he is nothing but an overgrown and overly attached can opener to them - or at least so he tells himself, but Minka brushing along his legs begs to differ. And although Grant is big enough to fight for his food anywhere and hates his constant efforts of keeping peace between him and Killer, he always comes back. Killer tends to lay tons of dead mice in front of his house despite the fact he always tells him not to – it can't be helped it's just his way of showing affection. Last but not least Franky wouldn't know a better place to get patched up after another clash with the neighbourhood dogs.
In a strange cat-like non-verbal way, they patch up his wounds, too. They comfort him by touch or just being around, giving him the feeling that somehow the world is still in check, giving him the feeling he has a reason, a right to be there. Sure, they might scratch and bite sometimes, but those wounds heal easily – unlike others.
They sleep, empty the food dish and fill the box. He empties the box, fills the dish and wakes the cats, so the cycle can start over again. The sound of the cat flap is his daily weather forecast – they come crawling through it before it gets too nasty.
He named them all, adopted some neighbourhood cats along the way. He knows their stories better than their original owners did. There's Franky, the one with the tear in his ear – he got it from the dog across the street he loved to tease. He still does it, Franky never learns. Minka is all soft fur and begging eyes – he can never refuse to pet her if she wants it. Grant always makes a big appearance and if Killer is already there he'd better make sure they don't see each other. They have this never ending rival war going on.
His days are determined by the cats – he prefers their reign a lot to that of the ticking clock. On a lazy afternoon when all of them just lie in the sun lazily he tends to do the same. He sometimes wonders if he became partly cat, too - but this is nonsense, he is nothing but an overgrown and overly attached can opener to them - or at least so he tells himself, but Minka brushing along his legs begs to differ. And although Grant is big enough to fight for his food anywhere and hates his constant efforts of keeping peace between him and Killer, he always comes back. Killer tends to lay tons of dead mice in front of his house despite the fact he always tells him not to – it can't be helped it's just his way of showing affection. Last but not least Franky wouldn't know a better place to get patched up after another clash with the neighbourhood dogs.
In a strange cat-like non-verbal way, they patch up his wounds, too. They comfort him by touch or just being around, giving him the feeling that somehow the world is still in check, giving him the feeling he has a reason, a right to be there. Sure, they might scratch and bite sometimes, but those wounds heal easily – unlike others.
Literature
Hometown Glory
Once, back when I was in school, the teacher played us an old song from back before America collapsed and Panem was formed. It was called, if I recall correctly, Hometown Glory. I had long ago forgotten the tune and words, but I remembered the name. I also remembered that the teacher explained to us that a hometown used to mean the place where a person grew up, where his or her roots were. Memory is a strange thing.
It was that song title I was thinking of when I heard that Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark were coming back to Twelve. Our hometown glories. This year, all of Twelve had watched the Games with bated breath, instead of our
Literature
Youth
A thousand burning candles
lighting up a temple.
With the quenching of the last flickering flame
the aegis falls,
and the sacred building crumbles.
Literature
Blood Mother
I love you in your inexistence
rabbit’s ear
baby’s breath
you are dust
but you are
mine.
Misadventures and
dew drop mornings
small curls
large eyes
my bones cannot knit your future.
Sunsets and moonbeams
sleep burdens our eyes
your soft lips sigh
there is a better world for you
than this.
-D.E.M
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This was (and still is) my Christmas present to ~HadrianR.
It was inspired by - you guessed it - a conversation I had with ~HadrianR and also by december's monthly challenge by #Dreamers-Welcome, which was themed family.
to the challenge description ->
to all the other lovely entries ->
It was inspired by - you guessed it - a conversation I had with ~HadrianR and also by december's monthly challenge by #Dreamers-Welcome, which was themed family.
to the challenge description ->
to all the other lovely entries ->
© 2013 - 2024 Story-of-a-Mind
Comments6
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This is a wonderful thing that i have read
p.s. Its nice to see you back!