I have no idea what you are doing today, but I know what you will be doing tonight and that is not sleepingβ¦because this week we are having a little fun and looking at cursed feline relics. If the long weekend carries you to a quaint small town and you happen to stop by an antique store, donβt say I didnβt warn you.
The Staring Contest
The first sign that you are fucked is this look. Sheβs either judging you or trying to cast a spell. The Nancy Drew books on the shelf behind her head tell me sheβs a reader, an aspiring detective, or a creature who will use her knowledge to do something horrible and bury the evidence. Blink or donβt. Youβre losing either way.
The Catnap
She could be feigning sleep, patiently waiting for you to walk by so she can reach out and swipe at you. Or she could actually be asleep, but even then odds are she is dreaming of destroying you. The point is, she passed out on a pile of serving platters and Syroco-style mirror frames, beneath a conspicuously labeled Monet print, so you canβt look at any of these items without disturbing her. Worth a mention: she is wearing a pink bow, so she may be a vessel for an angel cat and not actually a curse-bearing old toy. Do you really want to find out?
The High Roller
No, youβre not reading that price tag wrong, friends. This beauty in a blue bowtieβwhich nicely complements her eyesβcosts $115 and has champagne taste in handbags. The tag suggests she is from the 1970s, so she is ancient, which I took to mean she probably knows how Iβm going to die. At any given moment, I expected she might open one of those vintage handbags and offer me old medicine or perfume, maybe a baggie of catnip. Probably a good window decoy for delighting strangers. Not so great if you arenβt keen on those twisted whiskers.
The Portrait
Dorian Gray has nothing on this hellcat. The less I tell you about this one the better, but I bought this painting ten years ago. One of those βwalking home and saw something outside the antique storeβ finds. The moody background. The pupils pointing in different directions. The freaky stare that suggests, βI am at the function, but I am not really at the function.β I displayed this feline in my office at my last apartment. No surprise that when we moved into the house, I put it in a closet and left it there. Iβm torn between between the instinct to let go of things I donβt want or need and accepting that this curse may be mine all mine.
Cat People
Iβm going with the original 1942 film, which is a noir about a woman who believes she is descended from people who turn into killer cats (panthers!) when desirous moods overtake them. Which presents an intimacy issue in her brand-new marriage. Moody and atmospheric, with a deeply unsettling pool scene that I canβt help but see flashes of in later films like Gremlins and It Follows. Much of the dread it inspires for me comes from a chilling blend of animal instinct and family curses. This is a film that slinks and lurks, filled with hisses, shredded fabric, and shadows.
The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov
A stranger comes to town and that stranger is the devil. Heβs taken a professorial human form to test the limits of the peopleβs godlessnesss in Moscow. A Soviet satire. A reckoning with religion and faith. Also, a love story, ars poetica, a book about art and censorship, a supernatural tale. Plus, a giant black cat named Behemoth who walks on his hind legs, enjoys vodka, and casually slips into human form sometimes.
Cat Brushing by Jane Campbell
Letβs end on a high note with not-so-demonic felines. The stories in this collection have an understated eloquence to them. They're wise and beautiful, filled with meditations on growing older, womanhood, desire, love, loneliness. Sedimentary and sturdy, with the kind of patient noticing that transforms even the most ordinary moment into something worth revering.
Weβll be back next week with a process note. Until then, I hope you get some time to luxuriate in some sunbeams.
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