written a few days ago -- warning: contains cats

when I was writing without an internet.

So last night (January 24, 2012) I'm on the phone with Debbie Kolodji and I start hearing a thumping sound from over by the dining room window. We were talking about Science Fiction Poetry Association kerfuffles. The thumping goes on for a few minutes. Finally I look over to see Simon playing with something on the Duncan Fife table. Something green. A dog toy? (Forgetting that we have no dog toy that color green.) Finally he tosses it on the floor and it rolls across the room. He jumps down and follows it, batting at it like he would a half dead chipmunk. It's an apple. A Granny Smith apple. For several minutes he whacks it one way, runs after it, whacks it another way, runs after it again, thumps it on the top with his paw, tries to get his mouth around it (he can't), and so on. He has it trapped against a table leg at one point, so he rares back on his hind legs like a grizzly bear and falls on it with all 6 pounds. It almost escapes by darting under the dining room table at one point, but he's too smart for it. In the end, it appears to be slain, but he still can't get his mouth around it, so he just walks away. It mysteriously returned to the Duncan Fife table this morning. Has it lived to fight another day? Round two is eagerly awaited by all potential spectators.

Now, I have seen him playing with a chipmunk, and there is one difference. He saunters after the apple. He moves so fast going after the chipmunks, you almost can't see it.