The source of the title of this blog entry has to do with Christmas lights. It has nothing to do with cats, or herons. When one bulb, burns out, the rest of the string stays lighted.
What does a reader expect from a blog? Why does a writer compose? If the cereal box is on the table in front of you, you read. WordPress provides a nice outlet for mental stimulation. There are many lovely and interesting posts published daily. Why look at this one – some days you might not feel you are getting much?
Some days you may receive no content whatsoever, just a headline. Some days you get nothing. Some days you get something of questionable value and some days, something you can put to use. The employment of ideas is up to each one of us. We can decide what to think about, accept and decline. “Could do without that – could have done more with this.” I want something more solid.
To return to the subject, features and benefits, creatures and assets – selling points and notes about what you can appreciate about something. Some houses contain actors who play their parts and provide drama. What happens here is what happens everywhere else and nowhere else at the same time.
This afternoon Mojo is curled up on the sofa with me. I had been making lists of things to do and drawing diagrams of the cats’ names.
I stroke Mojo’s black back. My fingertips apply mild extra pressure. He sheds. So much hair! Good grooming is essential. Basic, you could say.
Domino, black and white, strolls into the living room, gets on the shabby box first and establishes himself on the windowsill second. He looks outside.
“Where’s Tuxie?” I say. “Where is he?”
Domino has emerged from hiding since Tuxie’s disappearance. It is one of the positive aspects of the redistribution of affection and attention. Tuxie is a little bolder, although both are shy. We improvise. Tuxie is out at music lessons, playing etudes or nocturnes, maybe.
Enter Simon. The land line telephone rings. Simon jumps onto the sofa with Mojo and me. Nothing bothers Simon except touching his hind toes.
The mystery caller hangs up the receiver upon the completed repetition of my recorded message to leave a message, if you wish.
Mojo quarrels with Simon, who has come between us.
Mojo jumps down and walks off.
Simon settles on the end of the sofa.
Mojo sits on the shabby box in front of the window.
Cats have nine lives, people say. Lights for holiday glow, the show, oil and sheen of human life, letting us know we are alive. Bulbs on a string – bulbs in the spring. Do we not yearn for lasting and unbroken relationship? Is that not a need and a want?