I am cheating, and the Hierophant, were he to exist, knows.
Yes, I changed that date setting.
Yes, I am trying to make you believe that I actually blogged last night, when I really didn't.
You see, my miniature Hierophant turned nine months old today, and he hasn't let me sleep much.
But I do believe you knew that already: I'm thinking you do read this drivel after all.
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I try to con Don Meow into doing things my way, but his little innate wisdom doesn't let me pull anything –fast or slow– on him.
Those little baby pup seal eyes look at me with a clean slate-mind behind them. He is clean and pure, even if foul things come out of that little bumhole.
In his little innocent way, he is a bridge between something beyond me– something beyond words and something stronger than feeling or duty. It's something that Herr Meow used to be able to do, with his own formerly baby-seal-pup-eyed stare. Now he speaks and squeals and demands and understands– he has fallen from that suspended state of babylike grace. This does not make him any less exciting or charming– it just makes him be on the long road to adulthood.
It also makes him fun, and sneaky in his own way. He now understands what it means to lie.
Don Meow looks on, and his chubby little hands of doom– grasping everything with vise-like grip until it's destroyed– reach out for us. He smiles when he smiles and in between he drools.
And all along, he smells like that soft, sweet, innocent babyness that is so new it hurts a little.
