Marginalia, no.127

The cat is the life of furniture. 

~ Jules Renard

And the death.  Ours has torn a flap from the side of the couch large enough to insert her head and peer around at its bowels.  She’ll stand like that for minutes at a time while a slow hemorrhage of stuffing seeps from the wound.  It’s not that she dislikes the couch.  She only loves it too much.



Filed under Marginalia

3 responses to “Marginalia, no.127

  1. Hi Ian,

    Just back from San Francisco, I find this delightful item. Thanks.

    I am 猫ばか as they say in Japanese. (Neko-baka: a fool for cats, “neko” meaning cat, the other part “fool.”)

    Your last remark somehow inconsequently calls to mind the closing couplet of Jonson’s beautiful elegy on his first son:

    “For whose sake henceforth all his vows be such,
    As what he loves may never like too much.”

    Your cat likes what she loves overmuch from a homeowner’s point of view: the couch. From her point of view, that couch is what books are to you, only without the tearing: an occasion for inspired curiosity.

    Who knows what she sees? Who knows what she sees you see?


    • Ian Wolcott

      When I was a teenager my family hosted several Japanese exchange students. One of them gave me the nickname ‘Gaki-daisho.’ I guess I was inclined to be silly. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I remember it meaning King of Children (or King of Clowns?).

  2. elberry

    i left a dobermann puppy alone in the living room once. Came back to find him sitting proudly on the ruins of the sofa, bits of stuffing sticking out of his huge maw.

    An excellent dog.

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