“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

6.28.2015

the cat's chair



i dreamed about draperies, sheer against a nighttime sky.
i could see the stars through them.

it's because the house is still a mess.  it's because i keep changing my mind about the new floor color. it's because because because.  

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yesterday i was sure this new color, the one you see above, was too light, too gray, too everything.  i decided it needed to be darker, needed to be the color of a pair of old navy shoes i own, still taupe, but browny taupe, darker.  i was sure.  and then this morning i moved the furniture again, more of the floor needing to at least be primed, the couch now in the middle of the living room, just a bit of walking room around it.  i moved this chair onto a part of the floor already painted, this chair that i was so in love with back when it was new and perfect, this chair that the cat destroyed back when she was new to this place and there seemed no way to stop her, this chair that i eventually handed over to her - it's yours, i thought, and maybe even said out loud.  even though when i'd catch her scratching it i would stop her, i knew it was useless.  and anyway, the chair was less important, and i just covered it and i still cover it.  eventually there may be a slipcover because it's a comfy chair, and it holds all those memories of the months after my mother's death, when her cat became my cat. memories in the form of those scratches.  she was making her mark.  i've talked about this before, about how she mostly now uses the pear tree by the staircase, scratching right where maggie used to scratch.

but back to the chair, back to the floor that this morning i suddenly liked.  i keep leaning over from my spot here on the couch so i can see the chair sitting there.  it scratched a bit of the new paint when i settled it into place and that seemed kind of perfect.

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1 comment:

  1. Perfect indeed. I like scratches, they are to me the art of life's hidden soul, even when they show pain. And I like the colour of your floor.

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