Careening and Sleeping

My daughter has a cat named Cannonball. Cannonball is a Maine Coon cat, which if you're not familiar with, looks like something with eyes that moves around on its own and cleans your floor. When it is not sleeping.

Cat names can fit the cat. And while the word cannonball can give you an image of an explosive projectile, it can also bring to mind an inert stack next to the courthouse cannon in the village square. Like most words in a dictionary, there are a few meanings. And a few images.

Cats have been on my mind lately, ever since I read Margalit Fox's obituary on Karla Kuskin, a children's book author and a poet, who passed away a few weeks ago. The prior posting refers to this.

We've always had cats, and our current one is named Cosmo, an orange tabby from the shelter. He is like what every poem about cats says. "Careening and leaping...then 20 hours of sleeping." He looks like a perfect idiot being distracted by descending dust mites, but then, we probably look like complete idiots to him when we go to work. I think we enjoy each other's presence because we make ourselves feel better when we compare ourselves to the other.

I'm sure there's a poem somewhere that describes my daughter's Cannonball, but it would naturally have to say nothing, because he does less than little. But what he might lack in being kinetic, he does act as a cerebral catalyst every time I see him.

The "coon" part of his breed's name is well earned. His tail is like that of a raccoon's. And when he's swishing around the floor I always think my Davy Crockett hat has somehow come back and attained legs.

For anyone not old enough to remember, the Walt Disney Davy Crockett series was tremendously popular in the 1950s, and had a good number of little boys across America wearing fur on their heads. A raccoon cap, with a tail dangling down the back.

I don't know if there was a PETA then, but they would now be apoplectic if they were faced with a population of boys who were now wearing fur. (Key chain rabbit's foots were very popular then too, and were dyed into many colors. I had lots of those, but no keys.) I don't remember hearing any protests. The only protests likely came from kids whose families didn't get them a Davy Crockett cap. It was a fad, and didn't last too long. But I do remember running around with that thing on my head, and having it on the bed post at night. At least we didn't ask Dad for a rifle. Yet.

So, every time I've over my daughter's and Cannonball comes swishing through the living room (which is hardly a guarantee) I think of my Davy Crockett cap. I know we grew into the generation all the adults seemed worried about, if they weren't already scared to death by then. And if most of them were alive today, they'd probably tell us they are still worried. But they're not here, and we are. The difference is I'm not going to worry.

Well, not too much.

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