Sunday, Nov. 14, 2004 - 10:20 p.m.
Oliver Spoon

My Oliver Spoon. His insistent meow for attention. His absolute need to get onto my lap. His little gestures that suggest he thinks, or at least makes motions as though he does. His tiny head that houses an even tinier brain, yet he knows that my lap is where the comfort and warmth is. His little gestures make me warm in that place under my sternum where my heart is supposed to be. He makes me feel human, alive.

With a curl of his tail and a headbutt, he reminds me that someone does need me after all.


ne gallum quidem...

old fish - red fish? blue fish? - new fish




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