We talk about my cats, 15 years old, aged, sickly, how I’ll handle their certain fate. We talk: she, my 77-year-old mother, and I.
Spitball Army
Fire all of your guns at once and explode into space.
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3 responses so far ↓
1 bureaucratist // May 18, 2010 at 10:43 PM
Spitball Army, will you please be quiet please?
2 spitballarmy // May 19, 2010 at 1:43 AM
That’s funny, B. When that title popped into my head, I was thinking of the Murakami book (What I Talk About When I Talk About Running), which is an obvious riff on the Raymond Carver works to which you refer.
The new Carver anthology put out by the Library of America is very nice, btw.
3 bureaucratist // May 19, 2010 at 9:45 AM
Carver would appreciate that post, I think. It perfectly encapsulates your mother, her cats, and certain aspects of you, in extraordinarily few words.
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