Friday, January 06, 2012

Ah, the bucolic charms of our domestic life

Owing to requirements of a necessitous nature, making compulsory a number of mandatory commitments, the Baron and I have recently found ourselves confronted with an interregnum of the spatial, geographical, and sociological sort from the internet, the chooks, and the cats. While we had provided for the situation adequately by arranging for a pair of fellow primates to scrutinise the affairs of the felines and the gallus gallus domesticuses, yesterday while sitting upon a public transportation unit carrying us, in a somewhat expected fashion, from point A to point B, we found ourselves pondering upon the domestic situation. It was then that the Baron posited this statement: "It is soothing to think of the cats."

Indeed, it is soothing to think of the cats: for then, what do you have but Thought Cats? Leaping from lobe to lobe with the greatest of feline ease, crouching behind your neurones and stalking Thought Birds, and occasionally rubbing their faces against your cortex (whatever that is). It is exceedingly tranquil to have some Thought Cats in your head, almost as tranquil as having Thought Kittens, who are well-known to be very tranquil and soothing indeed. But vanquish that train of thought, for you have fully-grown Thought Cats in your head, not Thought Kittens; they have long since ceased to be Thought Kittens, and are now fully mature; - and as the train of thought vanishes into the nether recesses of your mind, what should the Thought Cats do but leap upon it as a cat does with a piece of string, and bat it about, and chew on it? Nothing could be more restful. And then, perhaps, one Thought Cat pauses for a moment to sharpen its Thought Cat claws upon your memory centre, when what should happen but the other Thought Cat leaps upon it and the pair of Thought Cats have an exceedingly calming tussle, right upon the top of your mind, before one bounds off over your cerebellum, while the other burrows in to the dark of your subconscious mind and spends quite a jolly time there leaping upon complexes of an Oedipal or Electran nature, presumably to present to you later in your Thought House. There can certainly be nothing more soothing, tranquil, restful, calming, and indeed full of the bliss of a spiritual state of Nirvanic existence than these Thought Cats.

The Baron and I contented ourselves by meditating upon these Thought Cats for the rest of the day. Upon arriving home, of course, we found that not only had we been thinking of the cats, but the cats had been thinking of us: Beatrice celebrated our arrival by taking a huge dump upon the laundry floor. How thoughtful! Ah, the bucolic charms of our domestic life in the outer suburbs never cease to delight me!

Harriet, busy casting herself into your thoughts and notions, ponderances, postulations, and mind.(Photo courtesy of Mann and Frau X of wordpressvilletononsea.)


Anonymous said...

Tim, I'm enchanted. Thought cats will gambol, pounce and play in my collection of synapsing neurones all day. I hope they avoid that particular collection that holds the visual and olfactory memory of Beatrice's act!

TimT said...

And Thought Cats are ever so helpful for keeping the Thought Gorgons and Thought Dragons at bay.

Steve said...

"Beatrice celebrated our arrival by taking a huge dump upon the laundry floor."

I thought you could trust cats not to do their doo-doos except in a litter tray, and only when you are not looking too.

But besides that, you and the Baron are so attached to the cats, and talk about it so much, I fear you are setting yourselves up for a catnapping and ransom ordeal of historic proportions, perpetrated by the members of organised crime that read this blog.

I recommend they (the cats) both start wearing dark glasses and fake beards, for their own protection.

Alexis, Baron von Harlot said...

Cat-nappers do it sleeping?

TimT said...

The only people who read this blog are august personages such as yourself, Steve. :)

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