He’s in bed. They’re sleeping too. The one on my chest is dreaming about something.
I must have drifted off. When I wake up, my body is singing a welcoming song. It is a musical instrument being played by expert rhythmic paws. Knead, knead, rest. Rest, rest, knead. Purring and humming – where is the hum coming from? What tune is that? I adjust the recliner for a better look, The cat smiles at me, a Chesshire grin, and continues her kneading that has now become a strumming. With each lift of her paw, strands of my body’s fascia, caught on her outstretched claws, are lifted. Each strand sings a different note.
The song is pentatonic, primitive, the clear and sweet voice of a young child. My chest tightens and gives a jolt. Am I having a heart attack? Funny that I am relieved to see that it’s just my heartstrings being plucked They add a bass line to the plaintive tune that has morphed into something jazzy - a tune I should know but can’t quite place.
The cat continues her serenade. The purring is more distinct – there are vowels and consonants, and words. I realize she is singing a love song to me. Her eyelashes flutter as she casts long coy glances at me. She head-bumps my face and I try to land a kiss on her forehead, but she’s sucked my lips into her mouth, never missing a beat of the now Bosa Nova song she is singing.
In fascination, I see my lips move behind her teeth. They have joined in the tune and are singing harmony to The Boy from Ipanema. Really back-up vocals. “Aah, Aah” my lips mouth as Xena sings “Each girl he passes goes aah.” “Swish, swish the mouth sings when she croons “When he walks, he’s like a samba.” She belts “Oh, but I love her so madly!”
She will leave soon – apparently they’ve given her permission to return but first this confession of love. Paws quicken – pick up the beat, she tries to contain herself but as her kneading becomes frantic, her rhythm gets wonky, and her purring becomes a broken roar. My lips in her now dangerous mouth plead “help me.” She tries to pull it back, get the tune back, reclaim that sweet moment, knowing she’s terrifying me.
My heart strings are broken and unstrung. They break and ping every which way. Fascia strands hang from her teeth, and she sucks them up like spaghetti. The other cat wakes and sees the danger I’m in. He’s never liked me much, but his orders are to leave things as they were. Hurling himself across the room he knocks her to the ground, his teeth clenching the back of her neck. “Enough! He screeches. “But I love her, she wails.
I drift in and out of consciousness, hearing bits of conversation. When? Tonight? Can’t we say goodbye? I wake and feel for my lips – they’re there. My heartstrings are more or less back in my chest as are my fascia. The living room is an abattoir, so I wasn’t dreaming. My hands explore my body. That’s when I discover a little toe is gone. A souvenir, I guess.
I must have drifted off. When I wake up, my body is singing a welcoming song. It is a musical instrument being played by expert rhythmic paws. Knead, knead, rest. Rest, rest, knead. Purring and humming – where is the hum coming from? What tune is that? I adjust the recliner for a better look, The cat smiles at me, a Chesshire grin, and continues her kneading that has now become a strumming. With each lift of her paw, strands of my body’s fascia, caught on her outstretched claws, are lifted. Each strand sings a different note.
The song is pentatonic, primitive, the clear and sweet voice of a young child. My chest tightens and gives a jolt. Am I having a heart attack? Funny that I am relieved to see that it’s just my heartstrings being plucked They add a bass line to the plaintive tune that has morphed into something jazzy - a tune I should know but can’t quite place.
The cat continues her serenade. The purring is more distinct – there are vowels and consonants, and words. I realize she is singing a love song to me. Her eyelashes flutter as she casts long coy glances at me. She head-bumps my face and I try to land a kiss on her forehead, but she’s sucked my lips into her mouth, never missing a beat of the now Bosa Nova song she is singing.
In fascination, I see my lips move behind her teeth. They have joined in the tune and are singing harmony to The Boy from Ipanema. Really back-up vocals. “Aah, Aah” my lips mouth as Xena sings “Each girl he passes goes aah.” “Swish, swish the mouth sings when she croons “When he walks, he’s like a samba.” She belts “Oh, but I love her so madly!”
She will leave soon – apparently they’ve given her permission to return but first this confession of love. Paws quicken – pick up the beat, she tries to contain herself but as her kneading becomes frantic, her rhythm gets wonky, and her purring becomes a broken roar. My lips in her now dangerous mouth plead “help me.” She tries to pull it back, get the tune back, reclaim that sweet moment, knowing she’s terrifying me.
My heart strings are broken and unstrung. They break and ping every which way. Fascia strands hang from her teeth, and she sucks them up like spaghetti. The other cat wakes and sees the danger I’m in. He’s never liked me much, but his orders are to leave things as they were. Hurling himself across the room he knocks her to the ground, his teeth clenching the back of her neck. “Enough! He screeches. “But I love her, she wails.
I drift in and out of consciousness, hearing bits of conversation. When? Tonight? Can’t we say goodbye? I wake and feel for my lips – they’re there. My heartstrings are more or less back in my chest as are my fascia. The living room is an abattoir, so I wasn’t dreaming. My hands explore my body. That’s when I discover a little toe is gone. A souvenir, I guess.
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