Yesterday was certainly eventful: I made scrambled eggs for lunch and there was a cat fight in the attic. The cat fight took place after the scrambled eggs. I liked the eggs better, but in its own way, the cat fight was also exciting.

A small cast iron frying pan, slick and shiny-black from use. In olive oil, some onion, tomato, and a fresh yellow pepper from the backyard simmered together until partially softened. A little salt, pepper, and crushed dry purple basil. Two eggs. A small amount of sharp cheddar. The result: a moist, heavenly, flavorful concoction that was so good it was almost painful to eat. A quick wipe with a small paper towel and the pan was slick and shiny once again. Simplicity � sweet, aromatic, spiritually and artistically satisfying simplicity.

A little calico that befriended us a couple of months ago had her kittens in the attic. Less than a year old herself, she�s a brave, intelligent creature that purrs so loudly we can hear her several feet away. We haven�t seen the kittens yet. And as protective as she is, we probably won�t for some time � if they survive. One of the fathers dropped by yesterday with bad intentions, but the calico shredded it in the area above our doorway, drove it out of the attic, and then shredded it again in the driveway and sent the intruder running. Then she saw big harmless Joe, our old cat and her friend, and because he resembles the other cat to some degree, she shredded him. Poor Joe. He didn�t fight back. When the calico relented, he sat down under our van. Soon the calico joined him. She apologized, and the two quickly made up.

Now I am looking for a profound connection between the scrambled eggs and the cats in the attic. Something universal, something subtle. What if the cat fight had happened before lunch? Would I have still scrambled the eggs? Or, if I hadn�t scrambled the eggs, if I�d made a ham sandwich instead, would there still have been a cat fight? And what would happen if I scrambled eggs again today? Would the cats go berserk? I don�t know. Maybe I should just move away. Come back in twenty years. Find the house overrun with cats, and a stranger standing at the stove using our little frying pan, totally out of his gourd, saying to no one in particular, �Are you ready for your eggs, my dear?� Yes. That makes sense. That�s exactly what I�ll do.

Also by William Michaelian

Winter Poems

ISBN: 978-0-9796599-0-4
52 pages. Paper.
Another Song I Know
ISBN: 978-0-9796599-1-1
80 pages. Paper.
Cosmopsis Books
San Francisco

Signed copies available

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