Posts Tagged ‘photography’

yep, that’s all that’s left, the head of the shiner.  i showed him no mercy either- what’s the point? sink the teeth in and get it over with. it’s who i am.
my person caught a bass. it was a good size fish, she’s done better.   but so what? she was also catching shiners and as long as i’m thrown a fish, that’s all that matters.
there were lots of birds in the yard today,  i could have had my choice; dove,     woodpeckers,  
blackbirds,    crows,   mockingbirds,     cardinals,  
etc etc.  and the things i love to give a run for its’ life –   – ya, squirrels -“go ahead and make my day”    a cool cat named eastwood said that.
the fishing was good tonight, though i had to share fish with the heron.   but i’m not complaining, life is good when humans glorify cats as pets, makes it real easy to stare at my human and control her at will. too easy being me – ROAR-I’M RINGO…  

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ROAR – I’M RINGO and i’m salivating for birds! look at em out there – so close for my entertainment –  so near and yet so far.  maybe i just need to inch a little closer.   if i just close my eyes i become invisible

i poetry by one cool cat – entry two


i love their wings
i love their sings
i love their feet
and when they tweet
i love their nests
in lo trees best
i hate the feathers
and wet weather
i love them near
arms length my dear
so i can hold em
and mold them
and bite their heads
until their dead
then eat the meat
which tastes so sweet
and crunch the bones
my skills I hone
and suck the blood
cuz ‘i’m a stud
oh for the rapture
of an avian capture
what the heck
did you expect
a sonnet
don’t count on it

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Inertia! That’s Frankie sitting in that chair, she’s the queen of inertia.   Here’s a picture of her at a party recently, she looked so dead that even the party people were taking photos of her and she never woke up once.     Inertia can kill a cat! But I’m Ringo, ROAR,    I think on my feet unlike Frankie there.  She still has all her lives left and she’s an ancient,  but she’s a risk taker, I like that, She sits on a chair and dares that male crane to come and peck the crap out of her, and does she look worried, no –

She’s lazy and will avoid moving unless motivated,  a hurricane would have to blow her away to get her off that chair, or a good meal.  But what does she know of a really good meal? She thinks bagged, dry cat food is gourmet – HA!

I’m Ringo, ROAR, I have been run over and had a couple other brushes with death,  just call me Kryptonite Kat – I have enough lives left to kick some cat ass when I feel like it!

Getting back to those cranes, they are tall and fully block the sun when they stand near me. I have had a number of run ins with those birds, they think they can put one over on me, but I’m just too stealthy  for those bird brains.  Here’s some past moments of cat/crane encounters:

my old buddy Church, cool in the face of grave danger!    Here’s my tete d’ tete.   

I should have jumped on his back and taken a ride!  

That just looks like they had me cornered, I slipped out from behind.     I have had more crane encounters than I care to count,  and I have never ever tried to go after one of their babies either, I have standards. ROAR – I’M RINGO!

As for inertia – I am guilty from time to time, but Frankie is so much better at it… 

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Entry One –  Cat Hurl is Only Green Art

industrial gags
wide mouth and toothy
hurling out
sloshy swill
down the inside path of the human’s couch

it’s beautiful the way my puke
glistens in it’s alchemy
grass and
fish guts
infused with the hairs of past winter’s coat
bundled like a hairy sausage
the package slides down
smooth as rancid spumoni

i watch my cat-chum wrap
pass along the arm and
settle calmly upon the cushion
grass and fish scale confetti
a fine collage of dadaism
it will dry
long before the human arrives
the sheen will be lost
the colors  might fade
but the smell will only ripen
the aroma will acquaint
the human
to it’s latest work
of cat art

i call it a ‘ringo pollack’
cuz of the fish
and i’m using natural materials
to produce
a collage
and lasting  visual imprint
upon fine suede just for my human

and i will wait by the door
for the sound of the key
and run out as ferlinghetti should have said
the ‘cat’ trots freely in the street

by and by i will come back
to be fed
and petted
and possibly chastised
then forgiven
my work of felinese art scrubbed clean (again)
these humans –
every one of thems a lousy critic…


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   Roar I’m Ringo, non-domesticated cat, handle me wrong, pet me one stroke too long and I won’t think twice about biting you.  Despite what Abbe says, she’s NOT my owner, that’s a hairballed lie, I’m my own cat — she is just an old lady who thinks because she has me vaccinated and feeds me that I am one of her possessions, one of her other domesticated, dust collecting cats bending to her will. She could not be more wrongo! I use her for food and a dry place to sleep when I feel like it.  Call me what you want, I’m ionocat-clastic, breaking down stereotypes of what a domesticated house cat is ‘spose to be– it ain’t me babe, no no no, it ain’t me babe, it ain’t me you’re looking for babe, thank you Bobcat  Dylan.     
    Those two old house cats of hers aren’t even worth bothering with, first of all they’re both cat-a-tonic. Frankie’s 17 in human years, which makes her ga-zillion in cat years. She sleeps most of the time and when she’s awake she bitches, (no insult to the canine readers out there.)  If I’m within ten feet of her, she ‘s a damn banshee, she screams like she’s going to kick my butt,  but it’s quite the ruse, she’s all noise and no action,  like those cat nip toys with the squeakers – gotta press em before they do anything, ya might say I’m a ‘presser’.  Frankie’s fast with her paws, tries to scratch my face when I tease, but she has no claws and no one has bothered to tell her that. When she smacks me, it’s all I can do to keep a straight face, it’s just my sarcastic side that makes me fall to the floor my side and pretend that she has drop kicked me with the force of a  steel-toed boot.     She thinks she got the best of me and  I let her think it, what the Hell’s wrong with that – she’s old? Her and that stupid stuffed chicken always keeping secrets – can you imagine confiding in a stuffed chicken? I’m telling you, both the cats and Abbe have brains like that stuffed bird.
    And then there’s stinky Sealy, she’s the same old age, a ga-zillion-plus. She walks like something alien or maybe more like the vet left a thermometer up her ass. She smells like a sulphur cloud — she is one pathetic looking feline. Maybe she was a real shiny pussy in her day, but her prime is way past – she screams louder than Frankie.  Luckily I don’t have to see her much, she’s reclusive, keeps her cat hairs and furballs and stink in the back bedroom.      
       I did have a kin spirit when Abbe moved in here about 6 years ago, Flip was the boss cat where I was brought to live next door with Kristi , Andy and Drew. Flip was older and would put me in my place, but he passed away years ago. Then I met Church when Abbe moved in, he did look exactly like the cat in Pet Cemetery! Church was a cat’s cat!  I had his back, he had mine. We would spend hours on Abbe’s back porch swapping cat tales. I had respect for old Church, but last year the dude-cat kept losing weight   and one day, he was gone– never saw him again.  He was like me, born feral, though he was adopted years before I was born. He kept showing up to eat the cat food with Sealy and Frankie in the mid 1990’s before they moved here and Abbe took him in. I was much younger when Kristi found me hanging around the building where she worked, point is, me and Church were not born in a cushy home for peoples entertainment, we were woods raised and then adopted by people who think they own us. Why are humans so possessive?
    Church would stand up to dogs, raccoons and was a fine rat-ter. We both might have been technically ‘clipped’, but we both remembered what it feels like to have real balls! He was a fine representative of our species.  RIP Church brother-cat!  
    So what’s the need for a catblog? Maybe u need to see what life for a REAL cat is like, I’m not one of these indoor, spoiled, pampered puss types, not those cats you see on leashes or even worse, in strollers! No, I’m 17 pounds of Hell, a bad ass, the neighbors call me Psycho Kitty.  This is one cat who wants to give it to u straight, telling u the cat-tales that are my life.  
     We’ll start with this morning. I decided to come in just because I can.  I sucked up for a while and let Abbe pet me, then I     vegged out in the middle of the rug — I do it because it bugs the owner, it puts her into a psychological tizzy trying to figure out why I never sleep on the plain part of the rug, I do it just to stump her mind with questions of the arcane.  She gets a charge of of it, thinks it means something, talks about it on her Facebook page, but it doesn’t mean jack, I just happen to like sleeping where I choose and I choose the center of the rug, so what?  
       That stupid fox was running around like a maniac out there – I opened my eye when I heard him on the porch crunching down my cat food.  Hell, Frankie was just feet from him,  that fox looks emaciated, he could have run away with that old dame, Frankie. She could have died with a legend attached to her instead of a stuffed chicken- it  would have been epic, but guess what – the fox could smell  spoiled meat when he got near her, that must be why he thought the cat food would taste better.      The owner took that mangy fox’s picture, she’s always taking pictures, she takes mine too, have you seen any of them yet?
She’s always trying to bug me with props to make me into her art – I mean look at some of these photos she takes – does it look like I’m excited? Hell no, I’m trying to     sleep!  One day, I was sound asleep dreaming about chasing that shepard mutt down the road when she put a butterfly net over my head and I wake up and she’s snapping away! She purposely waits till I’m in a slug state before she unleashes these stupid stuffed animals and Kewpies, characters,      and worse, butterfly nets,  all over me.        And if that’s not bad enough, she has these photos hanging in public places!      She’s even got a website.  Thank cat-dom only service dogs go to such places and they are too busy guiding people or this could ruin my reputation, ROAR I’m Ringo!  
      I put up with it because she’s old and she’s just one of those meddling humans with all that raging human emotion that needs a domesticated animal to help tame her brain.  In fact, she’s way too emotional with that camera of hers,  I have seen her paw that thing like it’s real, creeps me out.  I hate hate hate that flash and so did the fox, he saw her camera flash and took off like a bullet was shooting at it instead of light. Dumb animal! Smart like a fox? I hardly thinks so from what I’ve seen. He’s come in the yard when I’m standing there and totally ignores me. I watch him too and let the nasty animal keep moving. I bet I out weigh him by about 8pounds – he knows better than to mess with me, I’m a cat, king of beast, that’s much better than a lowly little fox, I have lions blood in these veins – ROAR I’m Ringo! 
    After a morning and afternoon catnap, I wandered out and chased the new ducks to the lake, those mallards are wimps, kind of like Sealy and Frankie except they quack and like to swim and aren’t as gamey smelling.  I don’t bother going after ducks, but give me a bird or fish and that’s a banquet!        I thought I saw a frog in the grass, ever try froglegs? I’m not a fan of eating those reptiles, but I love to kill them justcauseIcan, Roar I’m Ringo!  
After that I just catwalked all over, now it’s time to go fishing, that’s the best time of day because I love fish, especially shiners! Tuna in a can? That industrial crap? That’s what my cousins, the preppy persians on the other side of the lake eat. Canned food sucks compared with fresh fish. This owner of mine fishes almost every day, even if the rain isn’t too heavy, I’m right by her side in case she catches something, then I have competition as sometimes that damn heron flies down for her fill too.    

             Have you ever seen a schizophrenic tackle box? Take a look,     along with the torture devices like hooks and pliers are cat treats and “The Glove”-  what the Hell – what does it all mean? Welcome to her life  http://abbesworld.wordpress.com! Maybe she can explain it- 
       I know what they say about feral  cats that live on the loose,  they don’t live as long as “home’mesticated cats, they get runover, large animals bite or kill them, but so what?  Domesticated cats don’t know what real living is – oh sure they find the occasional lizard on the porch, whoop tee do, I can do that all day long if I want. Those homey cats have had the wildlife bred out of them. Hey, if a car plugs me, well then, you can say I deserved it for finding that nice warm pavement comforting. Hey, it’s my life and I’m in charge not u.   Got a rod with my name on it waiting at the lake – Roar I’m Ringo – catch ya later …  

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