Ah, to Sleep!

Have you missed me?

Well, given this horrible weather around Richmond, I've been taking part in the time-honored tradition of napping, one of God's gifts to us all.

Now, I know that many of you Puritan types think that naps are just sinful, a waste of precious time, when so many more important things could be accomplished. I'm sorry you feel this way because you are missing a very important part of the day -- that relaxed, drowsy, lazy period that should be savored to its fullest! Felines natually particpate in this healthy habit (our version of meditation), but perhaps you humans could learn from us on this one.

Hem had this part right, too. The guy knew the value of a good snooze and he sometimes slept on the second floor of his writing studio in Key West -- because it just felt so good to take a little shut-eye in the afternoon. Then, after a drink or two when he woke and wrote some more, he couldn't quite balance his way back across the catwalk to the mainhouse -- and had to stay the night. . . where he slept happily, I might add.

So -- time for me to move on to my ELEVENTH nap of the day, folks. Ta ta!

"I love to sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?"
Ernest Hemingway

Coming soon: two more S-related topics. . . .

A Hunting Man

Was it wrong for Hemingway to enjoy hunting?

As a cat, my immediate response is simply one word, PLEASE! Hunting is only natural, a function of being an animal, part of the biological blueprint.

But I recognize that humans have complicated this one. The further they move from seeing themselves as critters, the more angst they feel. Let me help here.

Firstly, Hem came by this sport honestly. He grew up in the woods and lakes of Michigan, where practically every male (and plenty of females) made hunting a way of life. He learned with his father; they hunted together; they ate what was killed. Although times have changed, let's give him that: he was a child of his era, 1899-1961.

Later, I admit, he did take the sport further to include hunting on safari, which many people consider an entirely different matter. This I can see. Sport is the point -- and we cringe when we think about the number of species that have become endangered through sport hunting. I understand why this is a delicate topic because I myself am an animal . . . and some people even consider killing mere housecats a sport!

But stop right there. Hemingway did not kill randomly on these safaris, nor did he do so without risking his own life. There is that. I'm glad this is no longer a popular sport, and I would venture to say that Hem would not continue the habit if he were alive today. But let's also remember that he was not alive when many of today's nature-related problems were known or discussed. I do not think we should judge him by our politically correct standards, do you?

So if you go to the Hemingway House in Key West and see the mounted heads and photos, try not to be too judgmental. Just look the other way and remember that our views of hunting are, like so many others, cultural.

"About morals, I know only htat what is moral is what you fell good after and what is immoral you feel bad after." Ernest Hemingway

True Identity

It's all about identity -- human life, that is. What's your name? What's your title? Where'd you go to school? Who's your papa? Where do you live? What's your sign? Identity is all of that but really it's so much more. There's a deeper part, who we know we are regardless of those details, the inner man, the true I.D.

In my case, that's Ernest Hemingway, the man, the literary star, the hunter, the lover, mas macho. He's an icon to some, a joke to others, but to me he's ME: I am the last living Hemingway, and proud to be.

So what if I happen to be in the body of a cat! In case you've forgotten, Hemingway liked cats, he adored cats -- just consider those six-toed wonders he brought to his Key West abode and let rule the place, even today. That's proof! He even brought home an Italian latrine (don't laugh!), cleaned it up, and made it a cat-only fountain. They have their very own, constant source of fresh, clear agua! No sharing with nasty dogs or drinking after humans. Respect!

Just because I look like a gray and white mega-cat on the outside doesn't mean that much. Many do see me for the sizable, lovable cat that I appear, but they don't often recognize that they are stroking true genius and manliness. I know it's hard to see beneath my gorgeous surface to man inside, so I just rub on their ankles, roar my monstrous purr, and circle back to my lady with loyalty. She rescued me from the D.C. pound and gave me a new home. She's my Hadley, my one and only true love.

Actually, she named me for another classic fat cat, Aristotle Onassis, nicknamed Telis. So close to accurate in spirit. Old Aristotle knew wheat it meant to travel the world, eat the best foods, enjoy a good hunt, lie back in the sun, enjoy the ride, and along the way find a beautiful woman like Jackie O. So I don't mind this misnomer.

But my identity IS larger, and I'm going to show you what I mean. Hem and I have never been much for playing small or unimportant. We know who WE are, and women love us! Just keep reading and I'll tell you more . . . .