A Brief History of Gold, from The Cat’s Mouth Humanpeople think cats don’t get up to much when they’re asleep. Very solipsistic animals, humans. My Person, for example, is entirely obsessed with her own narrow concerns. She hasn’t even thought to ask me what I’ve
and Edith Piaf, and Joan the statistician, and tells a good story about poo and gold. I’d been for a glorious swim amidst the iridescent confetti-fish. Then, for a little while I lay on the surface with the sun glancing off my goggles and felt calmly, peacefully purposeless... I
and the trouble and joy of not being there again, the beauty of bats and vampires, and observing a fucken travesty [Note for readers who haven't started from the beginning of this series of tales: AF (Annoying Friend) lives in my head. Dick is a highly educated cat.
ways of understanding certain complexities of diplomacy after the village is inundated by large cars. The narrator also falls briefly in hate. [Note for readers who haven't started from the beginning of this series of tales: AF (Annoying Friend) lives in my head. Dick is a highly educated
A passage on sorrow, joy, patterning, madness, and mycelium [Note for readers who haven't started from the beginning of this series of tales: AF (Annoying Friend) lives in my head. Dick (or Richard, Dickson etc) is a highly educated cat. George (an actual person) sometimes lives with me
But first: actuarial prediction, narcissism, furious contempt and mess and solipsism, sexual revolutions, gingernuts and guilt. Good morning, Person, says Richard Dickson from the doorway. Good morning, Dick Richardson. I trust you slept well? Your trust is well-placed. As you know, I am a good sleeper. We’re in the
Awkward conversation with the cousins. Pyoongggnang, complains His Royal Heinous, Richard Dickson, Cat. Seoouuul! He starts speaking Korean when he’s upset. You see, I’d been away for a few days and when I returned Richard was in a temper. A lot’s been happening here, Person. And none
On not being present and of remembered presences; of encroachments small and large; of avoiding dark thoughts—or no, having dark thoughts and watching them progress through my system in slow pulses, like a kind of digestive peristalsis for the soul. Or something. Although I’m usually a solitary swimmer,
The narrator experiences an attack of electric eels followed by an assault of creeps and slithy toves, thence to a brief disquisition on the value of lies and the rare apparition of love at first sight Ping! Oh let me unglue myself from the poisonous excreta of the enshittified internet!
Pre-apocalyptic thoughts and stories, deep and shallow, of sea level goings-on by myself, an invisible Annoying Friend, and the excellent Dick Richardson. We three consider a number of questions such as, Is it possible to fall in hate as it is to fall in love? Is a view from above