Bruce
In Search of a Wisewoman
Blessings to you long-suffering regular readers of this palaver. Palaver a word for which we have the Portugeuse to thank for their word ‘palavra,’ from the 18thC meaning useless or fruitless talk, idle or tedious discussion, unnecessary fuss. The Portugeuse used it in West Africa to mean “negotiating with the natives” which other sailors having heard the word palaver, adopted.
Thoreau said, “ Steady labour with the hands, which engrosses the attention, also is unquestionably the best method of removing palaver and sentimentality out of one’s style, both speaking and writing.” Alas it is so hot and my energy level for any labour is non existent both physically and mentally so I am reduced to blather - to talk foolishly and at length without saying anything important which is why Bruce is today’s theme. Readers will know I live with the Resident Overlord, Sir Cat, a feline of years and stately demeanor who regularly outsmarts his chosen Caretaker. He is constantly discomfited by the next door neighbour cat, Bruce, who has less than a basal ganglion for a brain, makes free with Sir’s domain, and will come to fisty cuffs being younger, stronger, and far denser. While Sir has an actual bell on the back door to summon service, the phantom screen door does not but Sir has deduced the sweetspot of applying pressure and snapping said door open with the accompanied sound of a gun retort.
Sir had been fed his breakfast, had his treats and bladder health tablet doled out and had gone out to survey his estate, moving with the pace of a night watchman. I was toiling up the stairs hefting a full laundry basket when I heard the retort. Upon reaching the kitchen, I saw the door wide open and the morsel of chicken left for future reference by Sir, was gone. Bruce, in the past, has entered the kitchen with the stunned expression of not knowing where he lives, but given the rapid time, it was evidently Bruce who managed to pop open the screen door, scoffed the chicken in short order thus finding nirvana because he lives with Vegans. Even dull cats sometimes manage to achieve success. Alas Bruce will continue to be a source of aggravation to His Nibs.
And on that note, Happy Sunday, and apologies for that 2 minutes of your life that vanished like the chicken morsels.
Poor, short-of- a-full toolkit, Bruce
I smiled because my last cat's name was Bruce. He was more like a dog and ruled our neighborhood. He could open my back door by hanging on the latch until it clicked open and then used his paw to open it. He let our three dogs out one day.
Here's a toast to my Bruce who was named after "the Boss" Springstein.