something peculiar about the darkness
May. 7th, 2001 08:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
threeplusfireListening to this Russian techno that I swear is sampling this instrumental piece from the American Beauty soundtrack. I keep watching that movie, over and over. The first time I saw it, I was alone on a Sunday afternoon. Kept holding my breath in, listening intently to everything said and unsaid on the screen. These movies, these American movies like The Ice Storm and The Virgin Suicides will always represent this point in my life. Remembering watching them all in the Arbor theater, the people I saw them with, the people I didn't see them with.
My roommate's cat crawled into my lap for a little while. Black/grey long haired tabby cat. I miss my own cats, being able to hold them, the strange empathy these creatures had. All of them were raised at our hands after abandonment at the clinic where my mother works. Kittens with broken bones, kittens covered in fleas and mud, kittens left duct taped in airless boxes. The casual cruelty towards animals never ceases to amaze me, even here in Austin. My mother has eight cats at home now, including a little orange and white kitten named Jacks. He slept in my arms for an hour on Sunday morning. My cat is a fluffy long haired calico, Rachel. Such a pretty thing. I've never understood how a person could want to hurt something so beautiful. When they took her into the clinic, she was so dirty and sick no one could tell what color she was. My mom brought her home to me after I had spent a few years without a cat. My previous cat, Angel, died a traumatic and horrific death. (One which I still have my suspicions about even now, but this is not the place.) This tiny calico kitten, with a bow around her neck sat in my hand. I slept with her in my arms, propped up on my bed.
There is something very different about these cats, being raised by human mothers. They share a bond with us that is sometimes uncanny. the night my sister attacked my mother and was taken by the police, the cats slept all around her on the bed. Like some kind of psychic guard. I've seen them come to me or to my mother in these moments of grief, stress or uncertainty. They seem to know things, I'm not sure how. But I've seen it too many times for it to be simple coincidence. They simply know.
My roommate's cat crawled into my lap for a little while. Black/grey long haired tabby cat. I miss my own cats, being able to hold them, the strange empathy these creatures had. All of them were raised at our hands after abandonment at the clinic where my mother works. Kittens with broken bones, kittens covered in fleas and mud, kittens left duct taped in airless boxes. The casual cruelty towards animals never ceases to amaze me, even here in Austin. My mother has eight cats at home now, including a little orange and white kitten named Jacks. He slept in my arms for an hour on Sunday morning. My cat is a fluffy long haired calico, Rachel. Such a pretty thing. I've never understood how a person could want to hurt something so beautiful. When they took her into the clinic, she was so dirty and sick no one could tell what color she was. My mom brought her home to me after I had spent a few years without a cat. My previous cat, Angel, died a traumatic and horrific death. (One which I still have my suspicions about even now, but this is not the place.) This tiny calico kitten, with a bow around her neck sat in my hand. I slept with her in my arms, propped up on my bed.
There is something very different about these cats, being raised by human mothers. They share a bond with us that is sometimes uncanny. the night my sister attacked my mother and was taken by the police, the cats slept all around her on the bed. Like some kind of psychic guard. I've seen them come to me or to my mother in these moments of grief, stress or uncertainty. They seem to know things, I'm not sure how. But I've seen it too many times for it to be simple coincidence. They simply know.
