The hot busy landscape,
or should I say 'bodyscape',
is furry, dirty white and restless . . .
And the hot pavement below it,
or should I say the metalscape below the bodyscape,
makes for a warm, safe haven from the angry world . . .
But its sharp spiky antennae warn of dangers,
and also of possible warm treats and meals,
and long loving relaxing pats
if you will ignore the nagging voice that go with it . . .
But how silly to imagine you can just swat dangers
with that long, thin, dry whatever?
And how foolish to imagine our strengths
or even to imagine dangers and threats
in our wildest dreams . . .
. . . when all we needed was to relax
and enjoy whatever fate will bring us
and leave all the dangers for fate to handle . . .
. . . as we merrily tread lightly on our journey
with no excess baggage of angst,
bizarre expectations, silly judgements
and veiled threats.
I know how Petrocelli feels.
This freedom loving stray cat we chose to adopt and feed on our roof has chosen to freely come and go, hated all the attempts I made of grooming yet hungrily lusted for my gentle loving touch on a body swathed in love bites and wounds from fierce battles with other stray cats. How could I not understand that independence and freedom that I have also chosen for my own?
I know Petrocelli well.
We bond our fate and path together.
For Lisa and her MacroMonday.
And for Gattina and her Cats On Tuesdays.