What are you most sensitive about? 

Inspired by the recent QotD, I wrote a silly little Miao-poem on Prince Tantra's behalf.  Ideally, each verse should be accompanied by an illustrative photograph, but Vox photos are so hard to format that I'll skip that part.  It's silly, and it's the first poem I've written since 2nd grade (except for hai-kus), but hopefully it will meet with my feisty Fluff-Puff's approval.

Napping Purrfection

Prince Tantra is a sensitive lil’ purr
If things aren't just so, he will wonder
Why no one seems to love him anymore.
He’ll nurse his feelings, which you have made sore,
Thinking, When you walked by my kitty bed,
Why didn’t you stop to pet and kiss my head?
I chose my nap spot just for that reason
So I could collect my toll of pettings.
And why did you take Baby Lotus's side
When you know his antics I can’t abide?
Why did I get my fishies very last
When you served all my brothers their breakfast?
Am I not deserving of daily food,
Or are you deliberately crossing my mood?
Why are your eyes transfixed on the TV
Instead of gazing lovingly at me?
Am I not more beautiful than the show?
You have grown tired of me – say it isn’t so!
Woe!  my tail you have been neglecting
Even though all others are measly string
When compared to its luscious floofiness.
So I say you have been more than remiss
In expressing your love for me.  Is it
No wonder that I am compelled to hiss?

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Loreena McKennitt set the funeral song from Cymbeline to music.

09 Cymbeline

Loreena McKennitt

Now that spring is approaching, please remember to chlorophyll safely.  I received an email with a subject line to this effect in my university account.  It's reassuring to know that this important message was not blocked by our state of the art spam filters.

My begonia (rescued from irresponsible college students, and currently in the care of Mama Miao) knows how to chlorophyll safely while soaking up the rays of Rumi's devotional poetry.

Begonia and Poetry

Soaking up the sun

Prince Tantra quickly morphs into Tantroll when his chlorophylling activities are interrupted.

Tantroll in the Sunlight

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Inspired by IslandGirl and many others, I decided to find out which book I am.  I gave myself two tries for good measure.  The bunny-lovers will be jealous that my first result was Watership Down (which is at the top of my non-academic to-read list...).  I, too, am a bunny-lover, I have just never had the pleasure of meeting a house rabbit.  The second result is probably closer to the truth...  I exemplify the sick lit crit type who's in a constant state of identity crisis... and therefore constantly talks about talking rabbits.

You're Watership Down!
by Richard Adams
Though many think of you as a bit young, even childish, you're actually incredibly deep and complex. You show people the need to rethink their assumptions, and confront them on everything from how they think to where they build their houses. You might be one of the greatest people of all time. You'd be recognized as such if you weren't always talking about talking rabbits.

You're Pale Fire!
by Vladimir Nabokov
You're really into poetry and the interpretation thereof. Along the road of life, you have had several identity crises which make it very unclear who you are, let alone how to interpret poetry. You probably came from a foreign country, but then again you seem foreign to everyone in ways unrelated to immigration. Most people think you're quite funny, but maybe you're just sick. Talking to you ends up being much like playing a round of the popular board game Clue.

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Fluffy clouds resting
In a canopy of stars
Rumbling like thunder

Fluffy clouds among the stars

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What's on your "do before I die" list?
Submitted by Caroline.

Zig, zig, zig, Death in a cadence,

Striking with his heel a tomb,

Death at midnight plays a dance-tune,

Zig, zig, zig, on his violin.

The winter wind blows and the night is dark;

Moans are heard in the linden trees.

Through the gloom, white skeletons pass,

Running and leaping in their shrouds.

Zig, zig, zig, each one is frisking,

The bones of the dancers are heard to crack—

But hist! of a sudden they quit the round,

They push forward, they fly; the cock has crowed.

                                         Henri Cazalis

Saint-Saens- Danse Macabre Op. 40

Rachel Barton

Now that I've formally introduced Elder Brother Ramses, 2nd Brother Ping, and Twins Tashi and Tantra, it's time to meet Third Brother Mani!

Mani is a polydactyl ragdoll with dark chocolatey colorpoints.  He's cuddly and sweet.

He likes to yawn, head-butt, and sharpen his scimitars.  Around the house, he is responsible for washing the breakfast dishes and balancing the Miao household accounts.

Mani is by nature contemplative and enjoys composing poems like this one:

a little spot moves
blink, pounce, pounce again
sunlight on my paw

Contemplative Mani

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