Looney Meets Crazy
A black cat sits quietly writing a poem about why she meows so loud at night. “Yeah, that’s me, dear reader. Stop staring.” A couple of bob-haired librarians tried to throw me out of the reading room, but I warned them with one of my favorite screeches of the night, hissing the words, “You don’t want to mess with my master as he’s powerful and… tough to spot, being invisible and all.”
Still, they kept dragging me toward the entrance by my tail and with one gargantuan swing, the two of them sent me flying… screech and all out the door and a bounce on the sidewalk. “Damn… that hurt I blurted out at the homeless guy who offered me a ride in his shopping cart up north along 5th Ave. I meowed him a thank you and jumped off at Central Park
In the park, lying low in the bushes I eaves dropped on a couple of pigeons garbling freely about their own vexations. Bread crumbs and bagel crusts were getting scarce they grumbled. Then, there was that moment when I, and my feathered friends, all paused to watch a most perplexing display of looneyism.
There she sat on the park bench, or perhaps she meant it as a perch, as her legs were tucked under her moo moo. So fastidious she was cutting her silver curly hair with the most exacting pair of imaginary scissors while viewing herself in a compact mirror from her purse. People watching… a NYC special.
I chose to leave my meowing tendency for the little lady to myself, but later that night, back on the 15th floor window pillow that gave me satellite views of 5th Ave (a cushy gift from both my invisible master and the blind millionaire whose hospitality was second to none, not even the clear eyed previous care-givers down the street.) Yes, blind Harry tried to stop my screeching (I especially like to sing it out opera style at times) with his demonstrative white cane, but not even his careful sneaking up kept him unknown. He had a wheezing sound when breathing, no matter the situation.
Having given my vocal cords some exercise, I lay slumped on my pillow gazing down on the honking taxies and chewing on a pencil. “Yeah… why not?” Because I often harmonize with the cabbies after Harry takes out his hearing aids and retires, it seemed like a good time to get the library incident off my mind, so… Meow-screech, honk, honk, screech-a-screech, honkity-honk- honk. And on it went. And… I finished the poem before dawn.
They say NYC has everything… well, almost everything. One thing is plentiful; surprises. Some rational, and many down-and-out looney. Definitely worthy of some storytelling.
It's a wonder that all of the pigeons in NYC don't have white bill disease from eating all that white bread with no nutrition. Most every bird knows that they must eat whole grain seeds and not eat bleached flour no nutrition grain like malnourished humans.
Cats and birds should be smarter than their lazy masters.
Ron