On flat caps and cat flaps

These days we are rapidly closing in on the summer solstice. It's just around the corner in fact. We are celebrating it tomorrow evening by erecting a tall bonfire and burning our favorite hex at the stake. It's an old venerable tradition in this part of the world. Until some german dude not long ago spoiled the party by claiming there's no logical connection between a sunken ship in the Baltic sea and the weird old lady selling eggs and potatoes from her patio. We don't wish to argue with him, but his assertion seems bold and totally out of sync with our traditional ways of preying, persecuting and executing.
Anyways, on account of the warm summer days recently, we've kept the terrace door open during the entire day. This way the cats come in and out of the garden without needing to push open their cat flap. It's a small improvement admittedly, but one that may make a difference to the felines involved. It's hard to ascertain though, since comments have been scant.
The hipsters are long gone, we are told, and so are the flat caps that good people used to wear on the left bank while painting yet another masterpiece. But cat flaps remain useful as soon as the weather turns and the sky falls.These warm days are just a brief intermezzo between two dark ages. Enjoy them whilst you can!
   

The catified home

I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul 

Jean Cocteau

To elaborate on mister Jean Cocteau's sharp observation, it could be maintained that a home with cats is indeed visibly metamorphosed by its feline lodgers. If you will recall how in the novel Great Expectations the old Miss Havisham's house has been spiderized and dustified by the sheer passage of time, you surely can appreciate what happens to a home with cats after a while - the home simply catifies... It starts growing fur, talons and teeth, two pointed ears and a big tail, roving in the dark every night with burning yellow eyes and chasing away the neighboring catified homes.

Well, that might be a slight exaggeration. 

The truth of the matter is, a home with cats will catify at an alarming rate, unless you do something about it. A catified home's defining feature is cat hairs on every surface, be it the floor, the carpets, chairs and tables, books on the shelves, curtains and electronic devices; nooks crannies and cavities, them all puffed up with hair like a cushion with feathers. A catified home will in addition contain different kinds of cat remnants and residues such as dried out puke cakes, old corpses of rodents and birds in various stages of decollation and decay, vestiges of vintage pee spray on the floors and walls and many other wee surprises. So it is really up to you how much you enjoy the visible soul of your home, monsieur Cocteau.
You know what - just leave it to the maid.     

  

Cat Poem by danish poet Søren Ulrik Thomsen

16 years ago I was handed a cardboard box
with an amber coloured cat
that is lying again in a same such box
with which I'm cycling through town
on my way to a garden in Brønshøj
where I'd have to bury this animal
never to be re-encountered

according to dogma
because it didn't possess a soul.
What was it then that I read
in her green eyes
when they looked and looked into mine
as if she too
had a query to me?
While not fooling myself into believing
I'm getting closer to the answer
in writing these lines
if perhaps because I hope
they will be read
also at the point in time where I shan't be seeing Kiss again.