"...when the story of the hero's wound is made part of the story of desire, when the weaving activity of the soul, the work of memory and imagination, the weaving of one's story, is informed and suffused with hero's violent spiritual flame."
"Sing, sweetness, to the last palpitation of the evening and the breeze." -st.john perse
...my cat died a week ago.
I had my cat since she was a kitten, and we lived on a acerage for her first ten years. She was a great hunter, would bring me daily mice. I remember the first year she caught a bunny, l tried to save it, put it in a box with grass and left it on the porch overnight. The bunny never lived. My cat would kill and eat bunnies, would eat the whole thing, skull, bones and would only leave the stomach. Once she played with a bunny for hours it seemed until finally l had to kill the poor little rabbit. I think my cat was delighted with this, licked my hand as if l had finally learned what l had to do to eat. I never took my cat to a vet, saved the one time to get her fixed. The one time she got really sick l just put her on my bed for a week feeding her with dishes of milk and soft stuff. I never named my cat, l couldn't think of a name that didn't sound stupid...so l just called her beauty sometimes, fathead when l was mad at her. She always slept with me, under my arm against my chest, didn't matter when l slept, she just would come and join me. She stopped killing things after l returned from prince albert. I had left her with a friend of a friend for a year while l was away. She was so sickly when l got her back but the first night back, it was as if we had never been apart. She was very sick the last two or three weeks before she died. She stopped purring. She stopped eating. it makes me cry. Amy and Mike helped me look after her, they loved her while l was away. She loved them. My cat was so beautiful.