Old Cat

The old cat lay in its warm spot on the grass.

Its fur tattered and patched, teeth mostly broken or gone.

It rarely bothered to get up anymore. Its spine hurt with age. Its back legs barely worked through the pain of old injuries.

The others would go and rub against the small girl that stopped by everyday to pet the strays on the lot. 

It just ignored her through its crusted eye.

Wondering if the old woman was going to come by to feed them today.

Laying there, waiting out the remaining days in its little patch of sunshine.


Lately, when I finally get settled in to start writing, I’ll have my coffee on my desk, right where I like it. Nestled behind my computer screen, its handle just barely peeking out into view. The kid is at school or, asleep or, otherwise pried from the YouTube dispensary. The terriers have been walked and fed. The cats have gotten bored with my existence and wandered off to take a nap or find some small creatures terrorize. I rest my fingers on the keys, take a deep breath and, in that moment will realize I don’t have my damned glasses.

I wear glasses now. Only for reading, so far, and I’m able to get by on a cheap set of cheaters that I bought at the local Y’all-mart, at least for now. This appears to be yet another symptom of my progress into my forties. Along with the greying hair, the widening midsection, general fatigue, numerous aches and pains, and increasing sense of dread and anxiety about what the future holds. Apparently I get all of that, and I get to slowly go blind as well. For as long as I can remember I was the only person in my family that didn’t wear them. But, I guess I wear glasses now.

When I was younger I often secretly wanted to wear glasses. Thought they’d make me look distinguished or, more intelligent or, dashing or, some shit. Since they have become a necessity they seem to be intent on making me look like a doddering idiot. Whenever someone tries to hand me something I need to read things, look at some inane image or video on their phones or, sign some random invoice; and I have to figure out what the hell I did with the damned things. I spend several minutes patting myself down and, reaching into pockets. Then, once I have secured the fact that they are not in my immediate possession, I have to go through my mental atlas of places I may have set them down. Are they in my purse? Did I leave them on the back table? Oh good god… I hope I didn’t leave them at work/ home/ any-of-the-other-various-locations-may-have-visited-today!

Realizing once I get home at midnight, after having been up since 5:30 in the morning, and am going to do it all again tomorrow, that I my glasses are sitting in their little brown slip case on the shelf in kitchen at work, is a major bummer. In exhaustion all I can do is sigh and tell myself, “Well, I guess I won’t be looking at any shit for next several hours.”

It really is the petty complaints, and grievances of my life that are going to drive me mad.

Happy Monday.

P.S. : To be honest I really do look pretty good in them. You know, distinguished and shit.