The Gugh Cats Remain Unimpressed

‌—02.24.2000—

I’m back from Gugh. Even though I didn’t get that much work done while I was over there—what’s new?—I have been looking at my graphic design work again and feeling really proud of it. I’m starting to feel a little bit frustrated just sitting on an island out in the middle of the ocean. Perhaps that’ll be just the motivator that gets me going.

While there, I did spend some nice time watching the waves break, reading, building fires and trying to get the cats to like me. That last action item met with only marginal success. At least they didn’t bite me, as they did Phillip during his housesitting stint.

And that was Gugh. Its sacred places and aging mysteries filled me with such a sense of well being. There were no ghosts at all. In fact, the only unexplained phenomenon I encountered was a magnetic word poem that spontaneously appeared on the fridge. It read: “Dreaming beyond the never-never of my wee girl, lovelier than spring.” And that I assumed was meant for Patricia, not me.

—02.25.2000—

Spring pretended it was already here today, warming the sleepy soil and shining its light to the bottoms of shallow coves. On a walk this morning I spotted, floating in one cove, a seabird, beak down in the water, wings splayed out as if it were posing for a heraldic family crest, stiff but noble.

Bitey cat dropped in today for the first time in a while. He showed a noticeably softer side, licking my hand with his sandpaper tongue after clawing his way to the top of my lap. He’s still as tough and bitey as ever, though I noticed that his fur was thinning and mangier on one flank.

My situation feels no different: noble intentions, still a little stiff, though more affectionate, and at the moment, dwindling. Something will have to change soon. I can’t see much point in me spending another eight weeks here going for walks, contemplating my existence and staring at the sea. Oh yeah, and digging.

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