Retreats and My Cat's Backside

Writers need to be around writers.  They need to be around others as well, but few understand writers like other writers.  Sometimes at work I’m treated as a likable eccentric.

“You published yet, Rock?”

“Visiting your ghost tonight?”

“Hey, get this.  Rocky’s a writer.  Ooooo.”

It’s all in good fun, but to understand the magic of putting words together to create fiction or non-fiction or poetry takes someone who does it.

This past weekend, I attended a retreat in Greenville, California, about 2 hours outside of Reno, Nevada to meet some of my online writing buddies.  We call our online group the Wayward Writers and is composed of those of us who have studied writing with Ariel Gore.

I had an amazing time.  We ate and drank and discussed writing.  We wrote.  We ate and drank and discussed the problems of society, sports, entertainment.  We read our writing to each other at the Taylorsville Tavern.  We ate and drank and solved the problems of the world.

All of us jumped the writing canyon into friendship.

I worked some on my novel, and we actually wrote to a prompt.  Mine was “Your Cat.”

I only managed a couple hundred words in … oh … fifteen or twenty minutes, but included in this are three limericks and a haiku.  They suck, true enough, but here they are.

Don't read, though if you're easily offended.  The theme concerns what my cat does with his back side.

___________

Philosophical questions for the ages. 

When my cat has possession of my lap and wants to change positions, why must he present his ass to my face?

When my cat wants to share my king-sized bed in the middle of the night, why must he jump on me before jumping on the bed ... then present his ass to my face?

When he hides under the couch or the bed and I take kneel down to find him, why do his eyes proclaim, "My ass and your face, hoss."

After giving my cat a chase,

And running all over the place.

He hikes up his tail,

And without any fail,

Sticks his ass right into my face.

My cat don't give me no sass.

For buddies the two of us pass.

Partners forever.

With any endeavor.

My face and his tail-hiked ass.

There once of a man from Texas

Who wrote about both of the sexes.

And the ass of his cat,

And his face and all that

He needs to improve his reflexes.

A wanded feline

hikes his black and white manhood

Toward my startled face.

I have to say that his ass and my face equals a cat-ass-trophy.