Home » cats » My Muse, a cat called Linus

My Muse, a cat called Linus

I am recovering, not only from mental ill health, but, like the rest of humankind, from life, itself.
Almost two years ago, my pet dog died. His heart expanded and broke into the ether with his spirit…as did my own. His passing left a void in my life and a sense of quietness in my house. Somehow, I broke through.
In the abscence of dog-kind, a ginger cat became a regular visitor. She accepted our offers of love and affection, and any remnants of salmon we chose to offer her, lapping-up the milk of our humankindess, like serendipity’s Queen. The void narrowed and the house began to purr. I had touched love, again and yearned to touch more. However, Chloe was a visitor, she did not live with us!
Linus arrived via our neighbour’s sister in a cat carrier. A scrap of black kittenhood, his eyes were different colours, like Bowie’s and he liked the sound of his own voice. Part gremlin, part woolley monkey, he was wholley pussy, inside. Immediately, his disposition and behavioural quirks fascinated me. It was joy at first sight. Linus soon became part of our life, the days structured around his meal-times and sojourns into the outside world. One day, a neighbour informed us that Chloe, our ginger cat visitor, had failed to come home. She had fulfilled her destiny as a healer and was never seen again.
Historically, muses were often maidens, fair, or gentlemen, broard and strong. My own muse had become a cat, small and sleek, who seemed to have re-written the dialogue of my mind; an idea (recovery) had been anthropomorphised in feline form. Thus, I re-formed my literary technique and now, encompass the language of the heart in my written interpretations of life of the mind.


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