Introduction

While my interest & concerns seem to flit hither and yon, from digital art to pondering the meaning of the word 'Pagan' to the best way to get a good, clear tone from a shakuhachi, it seems that the unifying theme of my existence is cats. That may seem like a logical leap, or at least a metaphorical stretch, but it's the plain truth.

I have seven of them; six live inside, the seventh, outside. The six inside cats are, in descending order of seniority: Ozymandias, Tristan, Minnaloushe, Grimalkin, Springheel Jack, and Gummitch. The seventh cat, Pyewacket, lives outside because he is an antisocial agent provocateur. Anyone who knows me would think that being an agent provocateur would endear Pye to me, but he's a whiney agent provocateur, and that I can't abide.

Grimalkin served as the visual inspiration for the like-named character in Nine Lives, Many Masters. Her generally loving and overly enthusiastic nature wound up informing her namesake, who became much less catty as the strip went on. Ozy likes it when I play didgeridoo; I think he considers it a giant purr-stick.

Minna, my feline leanan sidhe, accompanies most everything. As soon as I take out a flute and start blowing, she is there. When I meditate, she is there. When I write, she is most certainly there. When I'm lucky, she perches on my shoulders and purrs. When I'm unlucky, she sits in front of my monitor or digs her claws into my lap while I'm trying to meditate.

I learn a lot from them, from watching their relationships and power struggles. They keep me sane and entertained (much more effectively than TV, which I eschew.)

I promise this won't be a series of Cute Cat Stories (tm), but I have to give props to the pets. They'll show up, now and again, in anecdote or artwork, but mostly, I'm going to be talking about spirituality, aesthetics, and taking occasional arrays into politics. And showing, as well as telling.