The cat of very little brain…

…very little ears and a sweetly strange personality. Sometimes Ninnie comes down from the attic where she plays with lizards

and sits on my desk or telephone

until she falls onto my lap

or rolls onto the floor

or just tries to grab my attention.

She prefers to read sideways

but I draw the line when she tries to remove typos with her claws.

A haibun for an adventure

Yesterday, the Ninnie cat ventured forth in the dark. She boldly went where Ninnie rarely goes for fear of things that go bump and bite. Usually silent, we heard her growl and hiss beneath the window, a scuffle then the thud as she ran (she thuds). I flung open the window and called, but she didn’t reply (she’s a cat of sorts) and she can’t jump so high anyway. Fearing the worst, we grabbed flashlights and ran for the door. She was on the porch, still growling, staring into the night. The flashlight showed the terror, the wild beast, unperturbed beneath the window where I had hung, shouting—a hare.

Night fears hang

invisible threads a veil

to common sense.

Ninnie

Today is world otter day. I don’t know any otters, but this little cat, daft as a brush, a sandwich short of a picnic, bonkers, batty and totally à l’ouest as we say over here, is as sweet as any sea otter.