Family Portrait

Some of you have been asking the prison guard how many of us prisoners there are and how we are all related (none by blood, I can this tell you truly), and so I thought I would do you the (dis)service of making our "family" clearly known.

My name is, as you may have already surmised, Luco - Luco de la Cabeza Grande is my full name, although my head is mostly average (perhaps smallish would be more accurate) sized now; when I was a kitten, it was so like a balloon as to tip me forward on my paws.

The prison guard suggested I list "likes" and "dislikes" and other such nonsense on here, so here we go, reader, on a journey asinine and superfluous.

Birthday: February 2001
Birthstone: Amethyst
Astrological sign: I am not even going to look this up. My astrological sign would be a bookshelf next to a comfortable couch and my astrological traits would be as follows: prone to melancholy and scholarly endeavors. Rarely satisfied with life outside of literature. On a constant quest for self and societal advancement, but only in the most passive manner imaginable.
Likes: Tuna water, books, the Outside, open windows, books, quiet afternoons, spots of sunshine, books.
Dislikes: Dogs, other cats, loud noises, ignorance, and more so than ignorance I think willful ignorance, intellectual dishonesty, long walks on the beach.
Relation to the prison guard: MR had a stray cat (my mother) she cared for and was planning on "fixing," but before she could do so, said stray had me and four brothers and sisters. MR kept me. I do not know what happened to my kin. I assume they are all dead.

And now I will move on to the other members of the house. I have transcribed their answers to the best of my ability, but in some cases (see: Slippy) I am simply at a loss as to the true meaning of their utterances (I have chosen to use punctuation as I am the transcriber, but please note, some of the below animals [see: Slippy] do not believe in punctuation. I, however, feel it improves reader comprehension).

Name: Slippy, Slipperson, Slope, Slopey, Yopey, Slipper, Slip, and any of the other things you say to me that you say in a nice voice that might also be my name like good lookin', cutie pie, baby boo, and other stuff also maybe the words like ham if you say it the right way which means it would soon be in my mouth.
Birthday: I don't know which on one of the days I was born on, but maybe probably it was a Saturday, which is a great day because then MR is home all the time and she hangs out with me and with her boyfriend and they take us Outside on long walks in the sun and everything feels great - like it's great to be alive, you know? So my birthday was probably on the best day because it was so lucky for me to get born.
Birthstone: Ham
Astrological sign: I check my fortunes every day by reading the Internet when if Luco lets me (please excuse the authorial intrusion, but no, friends, he does not do this) and I always pick the best fortunes to be mine, which I think the ones that have the best fortune every of the time is the astrological sign of the Dragon of Darkness, which is my astrological sign, which means I am very tough and dangerous, but I have a sweet side too. Also, my other astrological sign is Pepperoni Pizza.
Likes: You, ham, you Luco, food, My Scarecrow Lucy, corn muffins, MR's boyfriend, butter, the other animals, ice cream, MR, every of the food, sleeping, calzones, going Outside, rice, squirrels, cookies, MR's sister Anna, Chicken Meatball, bread, peanut butter, bones, chicken, ham, ham, ham, and ham.
Dislikes: None of the above! I love all of it and every of you! Every all of the things are what I love and I can eat all of everything too if I put it in my mouth really quickly!
Relation to the prison guard: Two years ago around this time MR saw me at a place called the Animal Aid where they are really nice and aid animals and she saw me being sweet and wonderful like how I do all the times, and then so she took me home to be living here with her.

Name: Lucifer Elizabeth Poops, Lucy, the Scarecrow, Miss Lucy
Birthday: I prefer not to remember my birthday, thanks. I'm one of those "lucky" dogs rescued from a puppy mill... So, for me anyways, birthdays are more painful than not. I'm happy to celebrate every other day, you know? But not that.
Birthstone: Since I've chosen to not know my birthday, I have no idea what my birthstone would be, but I choose the heliotrope, i.e. bloodstone, because it sounds the most terrifying, and we all know that in order to survive, we have to be terrifying to our enemies (like the mailman/maulman, amirite?).
Astrological sign: The bloodstone puts me in March, but I don't like all this wishy-washy stuff about emotions and the water for Pisces, so if you don't mind, I'm going to take a cue from Slippy (of all creatures!) and Luco and just make up my own. My astrological sign is the Fire-Chainsaw. No one is going to mess with the Fire-Chainsaw. Do you think the UPS guy is going to try to break in and serially kill everyone in the house of a dog with the astrological sign of Fire-Chainsaw? No, no way. He's, like, going to be running away from this prison as fast as those stupid brown shoes of his can take him. Fire-Chainsaw.
Likes: MR's boyfriend, Hiding, food, MR, Slope, patrollin', studying to be a police officer, reading up on conspiracy theories, any kind of food (especially if it's on the ground outside - and it's been there for a few days to ripen), going for long walks, connecting the dots, surveillance of all kinds, sleeping with one eye open, getting pets, barking, hiding.
Dislikes: Stupid people walking down the sidewalk who I don't know and who could at any moment throw grenades at the house and kill all of us inside, loud noises, anyone knocking on the door- ever, doorbells, people trying to get into my house which I personally own with all my teeth, lack of food, lack of walking, people talking outside my windows at night and so I want to kill them, anyone ever that I don't really know at all, all the things I want to eat and can't.
Relation to the prison guard: Something like six years ago, I can't keep track of dates any more, MR's boyfriend picked me up from Tri County and we've been together ever since. I've lived here, in this prison, for just about a year now. I love having a big back yard to chase and try to kill squirrels in - it's really quite lovely.

Name: Dr. Meena Claw, Fremlin, Dr. Claw, Old Lady, Meena Meena, Freemie, Da Grouch
Birthday: I can't be expected to remember when I was born. They call me Old Lady because I am old. 16, which is something far older than what it means to be 16 as a human, I can tell you that for certain.
Birthstone: I don't care.
Astrological Sign: Well, this I do know, because I once had my astrological charts done, back when I remembered my birthday. I believe I am, yes, I'm a Capricorn with a Libra rising, which if you know anything about astrology shows you I'm a very even tempered, fair kind of creature. I mean, I know that astrology is a pseudoscience, but you should've seen my chart (I wish I had kept it, but I lost it in one of the many moves I've been through in my long life) - it was so accurate as to be rather creepy.
Likes: Not being alone, tuna water, cat food, drinking from the toilet bowl, knowing more about life than Luco, creeping outside - really low and slow? -- and then coming back in before anyone realizes I've been out, watching lizards, large patches of sunshine on the terrazzo, sleeping on MR's pillow, getting pets, going wild at 3:00am, precision, contemplation, pillows.
Dislikes: Closed doors, being alone all of the time, closed doors, loud noises, strangers, closed doors, lack of cat-pets, getting picked up, being ignored.
Relation to the prison guard: Did I mention I'm like 16 years old? As far as I know, there has only ever been this prison I'm living in now, and only ever this prison guard to feed and to pet me. I dimly remember, as I stated earlier, moving again and again in my life, but the past is to me as a shadow. I can't touch it, it doesn't seem real. All life is ephemeral - devoid of characteristics outside of our perception - and therefore this life I live now is, to me anyway, the life I've always lived. I've always-already known MR. I've always-already slept close to her head, purring into her hair.

Name: Charlie Mingus, Mingus, Mingy Mongy, Mopey, the Goose, Gooper, the Mayor of Scruffy Town, Mingy, Mingusy, Mingleson
Birthday: Maybe September?, 2003
Birthstone: If we're gong with September, then I choose the sapphire.
Astrological sign: Either Virgo or Libra. But, wow, how boring, right? I like how Luco, Slipper, and Lucy all got to choose their signs, so I'm making one up too. My astrological sign is Jazz Music, like my name, but it's an ironic paradox because I really rather hate music. Seriously, as soon as MR starts playing the piano I'm out of the room like a brisk ocean breeze. Anyway, and so Jazz Music represents my essential nature, which is passionate, curious, mysterious, free, and wild - also sometimes atonal.
Likes: bathing, keeping myself and my surroundings clean, going Outside, stalking birds, sleeping with MR when stupid Dr. Claw isn't taking up the entire pillow, Roland Barthes (for what he has to say about literary theory - really interesting stuff, his), Chicken Meatball, sleeping, escaping.
Dislikes: Loud noises, music, strangers, people coming to the door, closed doors, the other animals, dirt, grit, grime, dust.
Relation to the prison guard: MR rescued me from Tri County (hey, Lucy! We have something in common after all) back in 2004. We've moved eight times since then, so I kind of like it that she has a prison now, even if I sometimes feel over-safe, that is to say, trapped; it's better than all that moving.

Name: Alfie, Alfonso Tupelo, Alferson, Schmalfie, Alfonso, Tubby Tubs
Birthday: My origin story goes thusly: a happy young couple purchased me from a Siberian Cat breeder as a gift to themselves for their engagement. After a few years they had children and had to move closer to their parents who were deathly allergic to cats, so the couple found a home for me. That home was with MR's mother, who kept me and loved me until she couldn't anymore, and then I moved in with MR. So my birthday is I don't know when. Maybe I have papers somewhere?
Birthstone: A black diamond (I don't actually know what my birthstone is, but I think it would be something as unique and incredible as a black diamond, don't you? Let's just use it as an apt analogy, okay?).
Astrological sign: Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights. Because shut up.
Likes: Cat food, other food, meat, going Outside, reading, Wuthering Heights, sleeping, pillows, blankets, laps, all people, every person, children, people coming over, getting pets, looking in the mirror to behold my own beauty, being beautiful, style, being stylish, love, hope, anticipation, gifts, beauty, poetry, my cool attitude.
Dislikes: Um, bad hair days?
Relation to the prison guard: See my origin story above - don't make me type it out again, please, as my paws have become painfully sore. I need to go get a manicure now.

Four cats, two dogs, one prison: another way to name hell.

Lucy Says Happy New Year and Resolves to Fear Less

 

Did you hear that? I think it was a firecracker, which seems to be shorthand for the most terrifying thing happening in the sky that is larger than all of us and will probably consume the world so that it's our own blood that shimmers across the horizon in nightmare arcs of red and more red yet.

I see why they made a shorthand for it, haha.

But seriously, folks, it's 2013, and I, Lucy, am here to wish you well. I wish you wellness, I wish you health, I wish you safety.

Safety from every scary thing like mail/maulmen and murderous delivery folk, dogs with teeth sharper than your own, loud noises, very loud noises, very very loud noises, thunder and lightning, debris falling from outer space and flattening you on the sidewalk, thorns in your feet, unexpected noises, expected noises that don't go as planned (like a burp you thought would be maybe subtle, but is in fact resounding), broken bottles in the street, cars driving by your window, unsavory characters walking or rollerblading or biking or skateboarding by your window, dogs off leash, very tall people, mayhem in the streets, etc.

There are so many things to be afraid of. So many things to guard against! And here I am and it's 2013 and still I'm listing them, going over their every detail, the fear not just imaginary but cerebral, imbedded in my cortex.

It's funny but I think the thing I ought most fear is not, as FDR famously said, fear itself, but rather it's myself I think I fear truly.

Who I am. What I want. 

I look around and imagine myself invisible, safe, but there is no real safety in invisibility, is there? There is only falsity - the faux-dog who fake-licks your face. Who fake-barks because she is fake(?)-afraid to be herself.

That is, I am afraid of myself truly. What if you don't like the real me?

What if you reject me? The letter the mail/maulmen brings a letter of final notice, of get-the-hell-out; the thunder and the lightning seeking me, Lucy, me out of all the creatures in the world to crush and to grind to bits; loud noises actually a harbinger of death; or loud noises actually death itself, not stealthy or skulking but stomping towards me, Texas Chainsaw Massacreesque. Really it sounds ridiculous when I say it this way.

Funny how feelings and logic don't always align. Often don't.

And yet there is a knock at the door and everything inside me turns to ice. How difficult to not react in terror. How difficult to just even picture myself sitting here, quiet, letting it alone.

Well, have you guessed it? What this is, I mean, and what my New Year's resolution is? 

I want to be less nervous. Less scared, less attached, less worried, less over-thinking, and more resolute, more loving, more compassionate, more trusting, more able to listen, more patient.

To take a moment before responding to breathe and consider my options. To maybe sometimes choose to be still instead of reacting. I want to remember there is no difference between my head and my heart and my body. I want to be genuine. 

It's been such an amazing year with my Slippy and I have much (much, much, muchly, much) to be grateful for. This fear cannot rule me. It can't - in each thought, in every action I banish the tyrant Lucy who doesn't trust herself and invite in the Lucy who does; who is willing to wait. Who will stay.

The Lucy who would hold a potato chip on her nose without whining. That's the dog I want to be this year.

Well, that and a more potato-chip-eating-dog in general.

The Scarecrow is not Afraid

Some people have (unjustly) accused me of being a "fradie-cat," and a "nervous Nelly." I'm not sure what a Nelly is, but I can assure you, I am not one. I am a Lucy, a Scarecrow. My job, you see, is to scare off, not to be scared myself.

It's just that in a world where thousands of refuges seek shelter from violence in Syria. Where a Batman screening can be the scene of murder. Where a Google News search of "fear" results in 3,230,000 links. Where a search of  "injured results in 43,300,000. And a search for "death" results in 130,000,000 that I just don't necessarily feel okay with the door unlocked, yanno?

So, yeah, I'm cautious. Cautious about who I tolerate standing within 100 feet of the house (the prison guard and her boyfriend), who I befriend (Mr. Pawsley), who I open the door to (no one).

What? You think the mailman, excuse me, the maulman, looks so innocent, but what keeps him from blowing a heart shaped hole through the front door? What keeps him from barging inside and taking all that I love?

I'll tell you what keeps him from doing that. Nothing. Except me.

I'm vigilant. Some might say hyper-aware (actually they say hyper-active, but I like to think they just don't understand words and therefore choose an inaccurate synonym. Lessons on connotation, anyone?). I have a job, a duty; I have a noble calling, friends, and it is to protect.

Would that I were the police! Oh, happy life, that - when I might pull you over, reader, for each infraction. Where I might cuff you, stranger, and lock you behind bullet proof glass. Where I might sleep with a weapon by my head.

Allow me to paste the entire Emily Dickson poem "My Life had Stood - A Loaded Gun" here for you to ponder a moment:

My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun –
In Corners – till a Day
The Owner passed – identified –
And carried Me away –

And now We roam in Sovereign Woods –
And now We hunt the Doe –
And every time I speak for Him –
The Mountains straight reply –

And do I smile, such cordial light
Upon the Valley glow –
It is as a Vesuvian face
Had let its pleasure through –

And when at Night – Our good Day done –
I guard My Master's Head –
'Tis better than the Eider-Duck's
Deep Pillow – to have shared –

To foe of His – I'm deadly foe –
None stir the second time –
On whom I lay a Yellow Eye –
Or an emphatic Thumb –

Though I than He – may longer live
He longer must – than I –
For I have but the power to kill,
Without – the power to die –

This poem speaks to me of the emotion surging through me when I hear the barest footfall approaching my prison-house. The anger and resolve that wells up within me. Did I have purpose before this?

And my smile, reader, please take note, is most certainly Vesuvian. It cracks my face open like a sun.

Why am I telling you this? Perhaps to keep you away, to keep you out, but it's also in answer to Slippy. Did you read our last blog? The one about vacationing? (Well, and then there's also this.)

Well, if you didn't or if you've forgotten, in it Slippy tells me he loves me and I find I cannot quite reply in kind. I give him a tap dance routine, an "I need time," etc. etc. kind of thing.

The thing is?

I don't need time, not actually. The words are recalcitrant - this is the connotation I want - they disobey me. I can't quite say to him how I feel, so I say nothing instead. Coughing, I lower my head, make excuses, all while loving him, loving him. He who has given me reason. It is for him "the mountains straight reply."

My "empathic thumb." My "yellow eye."

This searching, unending, drowning kind of love where I find myself stricken, tears rolling down my cheeks as I watch him chew grass or chase Mingus. When he pisses on a fire hydrant something nameless is tapped into life inside me; it's like a universe of butterflies alighting on my liver, long golden rays of sunlight, warm sand on my belly, water in the morning, a hand on my forehead, deep silence of time passing; it is the sound of singing, bells ringing, rain storm, wind through trees, lightest kiss; it is the turning over and over of everything I believe in until there is nothing save his little gorilla's face; his floppy Mr. Pawsley ears.

But I can't tell him this with words. I say it instead with my actions. By keeping us safe and safe and safer still. I will protect Slippy from danger.

And I will scare off that horrible mailman for good one day.

The Dogs' Vacation or Les Chiens des Vacances

It's the summer and we want to travel. We want to see the world and we want to see it now in a car that could take us places without flying because probably planes would be very scary oh hello this is Slippy talking if you didn't realize that!

And I'm Lucy, the Scarecrow, Hater-of-all-Delivery-People. Where did we get these incredible chairs you ask? And where, exactly, do we think we're going?

I want to go to to Iceland and also fishing in Maine I would like to drive to India and also to Berlin I want to see people who are happy doing things they do in life and I want to learn other languages like French maybe and I want Luco to not come because he would be in the parlance of our times a wet blanket yes that is a Big Lebowski reference I just watched it and I love that movie like my golden heart shining in the afternoon sun.

Really we aren't going anywhere, however. I imagine you've already gathered this, reader, from the fundamental fact that these car seats (they are actually van seats if you'll excuse my being technical) are at present located in the living room.

But I think that doesn't mean we can't imagine we're going someplace like I'd go to Georgia and New York and eat barbeque and street food like falafal and roasted pecans and you and I Lucy Lucy could have a wonderful time of a vacation and think beautiful things about each other like I'd say you are a great driver, Lucy! So steady on the road and never getting us into accidents! You're really good driving lulls me into a sleep where our bodies entwine in persimmon fireworks of salted meatiness and we shimmer on horizons of hotdogs and juiceboxes for an eternity together which is to say I love you love you!

These seats are comfortable, I'll grant you that, Monsieur Pawsley. And my dreams are rather alike to yours. Although mine also involve us chasing mailmen down sweltering interstates and shooting their mail trucks up with high density explosives. Would we snack on a mailbag or two? Probably.

And in my dreams, Slipper, you are there with me, which is to say (resignedly?) I probably love you too.

I know that word resignedly and I need you need you need you to take it back and rephrase please or I won't let you come with my on the way to Colorado and skiing in the Rocky Mountains is most likely if we also inter-tube down a whitewater river and then I'm off to California to savor the flavor of the finest of the dogs' wines and if you are resigned then you can't come with me I want your heart smoldering like those dynamites how you said with the mailman!

Also how can it be resignedly when I see your eyes burning behind my eyelids as I slip and fall into the sweetest deepest slumber of my life cuddling next to you always near you tasting your breath that's how close you are and in my dreams we're already on our way to the tree-lined streets of Boston and we're already on our way to Paris and Mexico City and we're down in Torres del Paine National Park hiking and finding lovely flowers tasting their petals together drinking tamarind soda and laughing at each other in sudden and ferocious joy.

And also take back probably and say definitely without a doubt for surely sure with zero hesitation.

I need time to be sure I feel the same way, Pawsley. I'm not blowing you off. It's just. I've been too often hurt, you know? Why do you think I'm so paranoid about everything? I had a rough puppyhood, to put it mildly, and I'm not trying to be a victim here, but you need to understand that these things take time.

Basically what I'm saying is that at this point, I'm really only ready for a pretend vacation with you. I'm not about to dump all my dog treats and food bowl and dogs' clothing into a bag and jump into the van with you to travel god-knows-where. I'm just not, okay? Try to respect my trepidation. My feelings.

Think about it from my perspective. I can't tolerate further demolition to my heart. Interstellar blasts of pain and rejection. Let's take our time, okay?

How about we make believe we're on our way to Miami, eh? For a day trip?

I can't have only half of you I already gave you my whole heart I'll wait until you're ready but I don't like it I don't like it I don't like it I would never hurt you like biting into the soft flesh of a lizard's belly I would never could never oh not to you my Lucy Lu.

You sing in my heart you sing me to sleep with your lullabies of rage sure but also with your lullabies of compassion which I know is a well inside you bubbling over I know this and I can't not love you and your face your sharp pointed nose.

Let's just take it one day at a time, okay?

Okay but only because I want your all-the-days regardless.

This is going to be one of those long, awkward vacations, isn't it?

Please Meet Cousin Baby Jamie

I'm a doggy and I have a name and that name for me is Jamie. I'm a visiting dog of MR's family. These other dogs here, they call me Baby Jamie, but I'm either their age or older, so it's not really fair that they call me that; like they think I'm a baby, but I'm not. Have you ever had someone say something to you which is a thing that you're not, but they say you are anyway? That's what it's like for me, Baby Jamie, I mean: Jamie.

I would like to change my name to The Stud Jamie, but when I suggested that, they all (everyone!) laughed and chortled and basically broke my heart with their derision and my own misery which erupted like a disgusting boil.

Which isn't to say I cried. As I said earlier, I am not baby. I mean, I'm not. Look at my adult face. Look at these grownup, dewy eyes. I'm cousin Jamie. I'm a force of nature.

This is me Slipper saying hellooo because here you are meeting Baby Jamie the babyiest of all babies in babyville who sleeps with a blankie and a teddy bear and who snuggles and cuddles and coos his baby baby good mornings every morning afternoon night and in between times when his face scrunches up into a baby smile and a baby scowl he loves all hugs! Because he's a baby!

And like a baby here he is letting me eat all the snacks because I'm bigger and faster and more grown up in the way an adult is grown and can get to more food maybe I should've given it to him so he can get bigger and stronger but I was hungry when I was here in this moment in time and I couldn't imagine not chomping down on those little bison bits the meat pellets of deliciousness that I chew.

I'll let you talk to Jamie for the rest of this Internet post but remember I said hello to you and that I love you!

He calls me a baby?

You read that paragraph, right? I mean, the whole thing?

Okay.

Back to what I was saying. I'm Jamie, the Stud, a Force of Nature (it looks better capitalized, doesn't it?). Maybe I need more titles too: Jamie the Beautiful, Jamie the Interesting, Jamie the Wise, Jamie the Adorable, Captain Jamie of the Shining Seas, Jamie the Strongest Tiny Dog of All Time.

But I'm not so tiny. I'm bigger than many of the things like flowers, grass, leaves, sticks, Slipper's eyeballs, a frisbee, butterflies, and other things like that that aren't so big you can't fit them in your mouth.

My mouth is a cave I put things inside for later when I want to look at them again.

Also: I like beautiful things. I think people say weeds are weeds and not flowers because they are close minded. I think people say many things like that when they aren't thinking well.

If everyone was as good a thinker as me they would look at plants like this and think: ah, the beauty! Or in Slip's case maybe: I want to eat that!

But I've worked on not being close minded. I am Jamie the Wise, you remember? And I'm five years old or so. Ages and eons older than Slippy and Lucy. But not the cats - we don't discuss them - they have foolish cat-tendencies like not eating their own vomit and pooping all in the same place. Weird.

Call me Jamie of the Flowers.

I want to be surrounded by beauty. There is already so much pain and suffering in this world. I chase prettiness like some dogs chase tennis balls.

And I like to help people. To look in their faces and say to them, "hey, it's okay. You'll be all right." Because when I was little there wasn't someone there to say that to me, and I really want to be the one to say that to someone else who is sad or bummed out or who just feels so lonely they slouch and slink and hide behind their hair.

Slippy is right. I do love hugs. I am Jamie the Hug Machine. Jamie the Kisses You Can't Get Enough Of. Jamie Sunshine. Jamie the Doggy. The Doggy, Jamie.

And I'm your cousin too.

The Dog Contemplates Luco's Snide Remark of Yesteryear

I'm trying to curl up into a small ball. I'm tall so it's hard because my legs are long sticks that poke out away from me when I'm trying desperately to be tiny.

And this blanket isn't helping me either because I want to curl up so I can hide and the couch is tan "cappuccino" says Lucy and the blanket you can see it it is green and white and a lighter green than the other green.

Why do I want to hide you ask me? I was just reading Luco's blog and I came upon this one which I understood some more of the words than when I read it last time and it made me a shaking dog that can't really stand up and a dog that doesn't really want to look into anyone else's faces a dog who wants to hide and to not be seen by anyone of all the others in the house where I live and where I sleep when I am tired.

He writes "Suicide is too easy. It is ignoble. It is an act the dog might consider if the dog could become aware of his own existence in any meaningful sort of  way."

Which is meaning what? I know the word ignoble because I looked it up it hurt my heart like an ice cube pressed into my muscle fiber which burns and stings and is somehow cold all at once a thing like that that doesn't make sense that is so cold it is somehow hot and my face is burning and I can't feel my tongue in my own mouth and what does he mean when he says I might consider it?

Does he think I should?

Am I such a bad dog such a terrible entity (which means like a thing that exists which I do I do I do) that I am so stupid I shouldn't be here in this house wandering around with my long bent over legs and my drooling mouth trying to lick Lucy or whatever and how does Luco know when to say I should kill myself?

When or why or how or where or who so what does that tell me about him who I thought was my friend who I stayed with him years who I held onto him sometimes when he let me and him who I looked and looked in his eyes and decided not to eat him who is warm when he's sleeping and sometimes soft who wants to be pet but can't let himself who wants to love but can't let himself and him him him who writes and thinks these terrible things which I respect so much but don't understand so much sometimes but when I do again it's like the ice cube but all over me and he's the one saying I'm ignoble? 


That I should kill myself?

Maybe he didn't mean it. Had a bad day and thought I was a dummy creature with no feelings just cloth inside me but that's not true I have this horrible heart.

It's horrible because it's so strong and you know the word intense? And it beats and it beats and it beats and when I think of cheese it beats faster and when I think of Lucy the Scarecrow and hey Luco I thought you were my family but now and now and now you don't know me at all want to say to me these things like I'm a black hole sucking in all everything that was good and just killing it so I should kill myself?

Don't you Luco remember any of the times I licked you?

But I am aware of myself anyway which is different from what you said which I don't get because you're supposed to be so smart and here you aren't being smart because I know of a thing you don't know and my body gets hot in the sun when I lie Outside and look in at you with your pointed feral face and you want what I have maybe but you can't admit it.

Or you admit it but not really with some words that hide what you really mean and so I hide here in this curled up sad ball that isn't small enough because here is MR anyway taking my pictures!

I want to love more and I want to feel more sunshine and so even though I'm aware of my own existence in something that could probably be called a meaningful way no I don't  Luco want to die and I don't want to be dead and away from my Lucy and my Mingus and the other ones also who skitter through the house and who never say to me they'd prefer I was dead.

Because I can quote Hamlet too Luco I can say words from it like the verse that is my favorite: "Let Hercules himself do what he may the cat will mew and dog will have his day."

So but I understand if a better word for how Luco feels is jealousy and jealously and jealous but he should be nice to me! He should try to be.

Remember when we were a family and you didn't love me maybe but you didn't act this way? Remember when I was as good a dog as I could be? Remember when everyone says stupid things sometimes but maybe not that someone should kill himself because really that's going past some kind of a line I think which I know I don't know as much as Luco does but am I crazy?

Tell me am I?


It's just that I think of the taste of sand the grit of it in my teeth Lucy's sharp bark in the morning the songs of cane toads and delirium a flash of Mingus' tail as he whips around the hall the steadying pressure of MR's hand the cool of water and clouds whorling a hundred millions of things I want to still tell you and tell to Lucy who is my shingingest the green of the morning when it's hazy too and the sound of traffic every yell from a happy kid and babies screaming their little cries so distinct the taste of meat and the softness of it between my teeth when I bite and I chew and saliva fills my mouth so delicious.

And when I think these things? No matter what you think I'm worth?

Then I don't ever want to not be alive.