In lieu of an essay…
Something I wrote four years ago today, and forgot all about. I have too many half-finished posts in the queue, and hope that posting something will remind me to post more.
O that we now had here
But one one-thousand dollar Dyson
That do but sit in shops!
What’s she that wishes so?
My Inner Chorus? No, my fair voices:
If we are marked to sneeze, we are enow
to use a Kleenex box; and if to breathe,
the Bissell work’d, and I have hope of savings.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not Dyson more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for tech,
Nor care I if cats leave grit upon my floor;
It yearns me not if cats dust bunnies leave;
Such outward things dwell not in my food.
But if it be a sin to detest sneezing,
Mine is the most offending nose alive.
No, faith, old self, wish not a better vacuum
To clean the floor, to hold all dust bunnies
In momentary sway. O do not wish for more!
Rather proclaim it, Chorus mine, to the cats,
That they that hath no stomach to this fight,
let them depart; their dinner be delayed
and place for hiding be under the bed:
We would fight against dread dust bunnies
And grit that kitty cats have left behind.
Today is called the feast of Adalbert.
She that shall clean this day, and essays mark,
Will sit in bathtub when the job is done,
And rouse cats from their tidy hidey-holes.
She that shall clean this day, shall bite her tongue
For surely when the vacuum starts the kittehs
Will cry, “The Monkey is Mad, so say we:”
Then like unto a cartoon of Chuck Jones
Will lose control of limbs and silly seem.
I bite my tongue: for mocking cats is cruel,
And they’ll remember not the ravages
Against the dust and hair: only the noise.
Familiar in cat minds as Monkey mad
driving the beast, killing the dust bunnies,
Singing and cleaning, Boots-cat and Rosie
Left in their hidey-holes swearing all cat-swears.
This story shall the poor cats tell to all;
And Bishop Adalbert shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world
But they in it shall yet remember:
Those cats, those fearful cats, those martyred kittehs;
For those who hide and plot revenge on me
They are my kittehs; be they ne’er hungry,
This day still tempers plots of vengeance:
Wrought carefully in closets deep
Plans for hairballs and poo unburiéd,
To make their hatred clear lest Monkey dare
To clean the house upon a Saturday.