Cat Memory

Well, I guess you're all sick of checking my blog and finding that same stupid picture of me. And I know that 6 times a day somebody is checking my blog. I've got a counter. Anyway, I've been sleeping and working lately, and don't have much to say about that, except that out of the 7 women I work with, only 2 have not been to prison. The new dishwasher is very street. She seems prisony. The others have various degrees of toughness, but it's a lot harder for me to imagine them being in jail. Even the one with missing teeth, whose street name is Shadow, I found out from the new dishwasher.

Here's what this entry is about: cats. About an hour ago, Clara, the cat, came inside and dropped a lizard on the floor. It had dropped its tail (which is called autotomy, which is a good metaphorical name for something, I just decided). Clara has brought in several lizards and many grasshoppers (which have beige and brown blotchy stripes here, reminiscent of the military's desert camoflauge), and mostly they have been mostly dead. This lizard was very alive. It hid under a flip-flop, which Clara could not flip. She spun it around and the lizard stayed under. I don't like watching cats play little animals to death. Also, I don't like cleaning up after it, so I got a cup and an envelope and took the lizard outside. I tossed it in the gravel parking lot. Clara didn't see me do it and spent several minutes spinning the flip-flop and pouncing on every pale twist of paper on the ground, just in case. Then she went back outside. She's been coming in and out every ten minutes or so since I removed her toy, sniffing around, especially around the flip-flop, which makes me think all that stuff about cats having no memory is nonsense. You know the stuff, about why they can't be disciplined and so forth. I think cats just don't care to be disciplined. They don't care if they're punished. They remember what they want. And screw you if you throw out their lizard.