LezWrites 2016

At least two friends urged me to submit a piece to this year's Best of LezWrites show. I had a faint recollection of having tried unsuccessfully last year, but couldn't find any electronic paper trail.

This year there was a theme, The Body Politic. Turns out I had written a piece about bare breasts and the law against 'indecent exposure' using that very phrase. The submissions needed to be between five and ten minutes long, and that single piece was not long enough. So I combined it with two other faintly humorous pieces, making a really good transition between the second and third pieces.

After my submission was accepted for the show, I ran it by my writing partners, who pointed out the weakness of the connection between the first and second pieces, and another theatrical mentor, who noted that it ended a bit abruptly. So I did a bit more stitching together of the pieces. In fact, every time I looked at it or read it aloud, I tinkered with a phrase here or a sentence there.

Anyway, the time finally came to perform it last Friday, and it went over pretty well.

Fun With Misty (Miss Tabby, Miss T)

I have a wonderful new kitty. She is a small, soft, brown tabby teenager. The neighbor who found her on the street described her as a lap cat. She likes my lap well enough, but even more enjoys lying on my shoulder.

She was a sweet, cuddly creature for the first few days, as she was learning her new territory - my flat and the backyard.

Then she felt enough at home to graduate to twilight terrorist, or night-time nut. She runs from one end of my home to the other, bouncing off walls. When I offered her a toy to play with, she'd chomp down on it and munch till it was dead. Even when she was in my lap, stroking her elicited claw-tipped paws as often as purrs.

Almost immediately, she took up hunting duties in the backyard, slaying a rat and stalking birds.

This morning, however, she had brought a bird inside and was tearing at its innards when I got up to visit the bathroom, as if to chide me for being late with her breakfast.

And after eating the cat food I provided, she brought inside a partly killed mouse - injured enough that it wasn't running around, but still breathing. After thanking her for the gift and praising her prowess, I should've drowned the mouse out of its misery. Instead, all I could think to do was get it the hell out of my home.

I left it on my back porch, near the eviscerated bird. Bedarned if she didn't follow it outside and resume playing with it. In the absence of furniture to bat it under, she found a space between two boards to knock it into. So my next joyful participation in her play will be to fish it out with some chopsticks and deposit it in the compost bin. Oh boy.