mooney

vignettes: of a cat

Mooney has an oval quality to him, like mung bean: sweet and squishy. His jelly paws stretch perpendicular, reaching outward to the sky. His eyes now lay in cornered wait—generously patient and dressed in emerald.

A delightful homecoming. Gallops like a horse, pauses, stretches midway, left jelly paw forward then right jelly paw, Mooney slithers towards me with his nose tucked high in the sky. Presses forward with his hind legs and now upright, front paws tucked, he resembles a meerkat.

Mooney plays tug a war with the bee, his favorite toy of all. Boxing, one one two. One jab one. His predator eyes, like an arrowhead—in the dark, what a foreboding and beautiful creature.

Occasionally he sees me as prey. Dilated obsidian disks. He compresses his body, statued by the entryway. His eyes follow my gaze left and right, precisely pressing further into his silver coil. Launching without further thought, up he goes, five feet above ground. Terrifyingly he lunges towards my face.

Nomenclature: Mooney boi. Mooney man. Mega Mooney. Mister Mooney. Moon Moon.

His softness resting on cloud. Paws curled up into a ball, in lettered wisps. His body, like an accordion. His belly—my world.

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Note: I write about Mooney the same way I would sketch him on a canvas, in small feathery strokes. I watch him like one does a cloud. Never still, constant movement, requiring me to look at him more than the paper. I wonder if that’s what art is about: noticings before the art takes form. Sustained attention at the thing being described, the inspiration—the muse.