Back to the cat-god

Egyptians believed that cats were gods.  Edgar Allen Poe attributed to them strange powers.  They are associated with witchcraft.  In my life I have come to see that cats do seem to have certain powers over us.

I don’t know whether there is also a horse-god or a dog-god, or a wasp-god, but I do know that my present experience of the last 48 hours leaves me wondering whether the mother of that kitten I abused in college, now dead, left a lasting spell on me.

He was abandoned by the side of the road, a stray, but of noble bearing.  His mother didn’t leave him there, his owners did.  I wonder what happened to them?

I have been up for the last two days with unbearable discomfort in my crotch–I have bad nerves in my clitoris.  This comes partly from injury but also partly from consequently masturbating.  The masturbation got out of hand during my life.  I masturbated next to that little kitten.  Now my clitoris, already damaged, is keeping me up at night.  A terrible bout with it last night, queasy all day in that area, now it’s after four in the morning; after sleeping most of the day I stayed up late, and then still couldn’t sleep.  I laid down and did stretches to soothe the area.  Now I have taken extra Klonopin and taken my m0rming meds, which include Prolixin and Lamictal, a neur0logical drug.  These help the feeling of confusion in that area.

I was thinking, I wish I could go back.  To before I had the abortion and went away with my husband; but this leaves my son stranded.  I’m thinking now, I wish I could go back and not do that stupid and unthinkable thing with a little kitten.

Dumber than dirt.








Sex with cats


To use the words of Job, I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes.




Those poor cats

Poor little animals

Caleb the warlock did this

Tracey T. the slugger saw it

And now I see it

And now YOU see it






I don’t know why this happened.  Yes I do.




Someone’s going to want to kill me.


Now I know why zero psychiatrists within a 25-mile radius will see me.


I’ll die without my meds, or be placed back in the state hospital.  Or jail.




I was just a little animal myself so who are YOU to throw a stone!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!



About Donald Trump

My son and I watched the end of GOP Day 4 last night, after speaking at length on the phone.  I went to his place at my mother and Dad’s house.

I was impressed!

I thought that Trump was a loon at first, but in the clips and footage I’ve seen more recently I could discern his keen mind and last night I saw a very human, very improbable, in this day of t.v.+ hi-tech, very valuable person (obviously! how many billions?)  I thought, this man is like a Lincoln, or any other president of olden time, a common man with a mission to become President.

I can’t wait to see him trash Hilary (uggh.)

Figured (what I Pondered)

Got the whole sitch figured OUT.

The girl dreaming of going out forgetting to put her underwear on, was the inner me.  I’m older and wiser now, and dream with my pants on.

My mother had the same dream, don’t know whether she shed it as an adult, or not.

My father has Asperger’s syndrome, which is attenuated autism.  According to my recent new therapist (whom I have had to stop seeing because she couldn’t tolerate my coming in without a shower,) who was the one who said this about my father almost immediately. She is extremely intuitive and a gifted therapist, and I had enough of her to finish my psychoanalysis.  She said Bill Gates has Asperger’s also.  So I didn’t mind mentioning it to my mother and Dad.

So I call them.  My mother, on the other hand, is a psychopath.  In all seriousness, this does exist.  Her brother was odd, over-emotional, and was hospitalized throughout his adult life.  She, on the other hand, laughs inappropriately, often, and also cries inappropriately, not knowing why.  I believe they both suffer (past tense for my uncle, he passed away at 50) from “English brain rot.”  Something bred in all that fog and dew.  And rain, rain, rain.  In my mother’s case, hitting up against America at 20, and then saddled with two kids, and having an ego, and trying to defend it, it turned psychpathic.  I have a mixture of their symptoms; my brother and sister both escaped the Asperger’s, my sister has some of the psychopathy.  Overall, with everything taken together I am probably a sociopath.  A curable one.

Anyway, in addition to all this, or possibly because of it, they never learned to distinguish animal “mating” from human sexuality.  This would be a philosophical matter with my father, who saw us as humans as entirely a progression from the ape.  But I don’t think they really understood about human courtship, about higher love.  I think that they were doing it like animals when they made me.

I take my brother’s abandoned rape attempt when I was about 12, looking back, as instruction in human mating.  My brother is very human.  He taught me how to have sex,which I would need to know.  As far as Seiji goes, it didn’t seem strange or bad to me at all, at the time, what I did.  Mating like animals turns into sexually inappropriate behaviour with animals.  And in the end I realized, in leaving off posting yesterday, that it wasn’t ever really about Seiji, it was about going out undressed that destroyed me with the Dove crowd and everybody else too.  These things get around at Hutton, an intensely social place (like many universities.)

Problem solved.  I don’t know what anybody else thinks but as far as I think, I am reinstated into the human family, and I can go where I want.  Which was the issue all along.  In my ill, paranoid, and dislocated condition NOBODY would have me.

My son and I had a good talk last night.  We talked for the first time.  It was wonderful.  What could be better than this?

I remain ecstatic.

My vision is complete.AdobeStock_67872745 (1)_1







This may be the last post I write.  I’ve come to the end of it.  And it’s all about a cat.

First of all, I see that my husband destroyed my character in all he did to me.  And for a moment this made me feel really sad–I’m mostly beyond all anger.  And then almost instantly I flashed in my mind to Seiji, who was named after Seiji Ozawa’s baton in a series of jokes that were going around my suite of roommates.  How callous was I? you might want to ask.  I think it was my idea.  But since I didn’t know anything about sex you can’t really blame me.  Sex was just a joke, and not a cruel one.  Or maybe I WAS cruel.  I don’t know.  I guess that’s where this kitten’s sad tale begins.

I thought of him running with my mother’s pet wild raccoon raised from a youngster, who used to suck on its own dick.  My mother thought this was adorable.  I tried to think of a word for how this makes me feel and I couldn’t get beyond kakthrowup.  Talk about inane sense of sexuality and insidious emotional cruelty.

Seiji was (like, later, Daisy) an obviously noble cat, a cat of fine bearing, I don’t see that he could be a purebred to be left by the side of the road like that, but he looked like one.  More than this, he was protected by a British Lord, and a “head boy” (which is the same as senior prefect at an American boarding school) at Eaton; both then Fresh”men” like me, at “Hutton.”  It is the British Lord who, through my latent British citizenship (or subjectship, I don’t know what the correct term for this be) that I worry about.  Last I heard he was a painter north of L.A.  He silently followed me, I am surmising, through my sorry career, giving a push here and a nudge there…for what happened to Seiji.  And what happened to Seiji, happened to ME.

Maybe it gets more complex than that.  I don’t know politics, social politics, and especially the politics of nobility and royalty in England, very well.  (I feel him, the British Lord, shivering with intense relief, out in L.A., or wherever he do be, still watching.  I have words for him that I cannot say here.  And wouldn’t, because I don’t know my place.

And I don’t really understand the ins and outs of this.  Before there even was a Seiji, or rather, an innocent little gray kitten that got stuck with that name, I went to the Freshman dining room for the first time, alone, and a gentlemanly looking stranger (the British Lord in question) sat down with me.  “You have a posh accent,” I jerked out to his first sentence.  He got up and moved away.

Was Seiji bait on a lure ?–I don’t think so but I’m just saying that maybe in the greater scheme of things it was quickly decided by the powers that be that I just didn’t belong at (Hutton) and that obviously I had to be gotten out or quarantined somehow.  This English gentleman and his girlfriend, an Italian princess, were there at a Halloween party where I was dressed as the girl who went out without her panties on (you don’t want to know; but I was naked except for stockings from the upper legs down, wearing high heels and a red cotton blazer.)  I was running for Dove Editor.  arggghhh!  The elegant young woman gave me her vote.  (arggghhh again.)  My high school, Wayland, was present in the form of an upper class”man” friend from their who had matriculated at Hutton ahead of me and her friend, not so much mine, who pulled me aside on the dance floor and informed me “You’re not dressed!”

I don’t know, I guess I’m not very good at telling who my friends are.  That’s where I was at in Maryland.  “Friend or foe?” I asked myself as I wandered through the supermarket with my little son.  How deep it gets.

I don’t know, there’s more to say but I have to ponder this.

On Another Note–an anniversary

My mom and dad’s anniversary falls in early August, along with my brother’s birthday.

I am usually aware of my brother’s birthday but always space out on their anniversary; I was always returning to school at that time in my youth.  As with my mother’s birthday, I was always returning to school for that too, I get left out even when I’m around now.

Anyway two years ago I completely forgot that it was their anniversary.  So it wasn’t consciously deliberate that that was the day I chose to or anyway, did, take an overdose that proved to be by far the worst time of it I had had.

It was a minor overdose I thought.  I lost control; I had been taking ice tea, and cigarettes, with a sense of helplessness:  I kept returning to the corner store to buy more and more.  Then I randomly grabbed pills that were handy and took some; it turned out that the tricyclic antidepressants are a danger to you heart, even a small amount.  So I asked about getting my stomach pumped (I remained fully conscious the whole time.}  The doctor said they don’t do that anymore, just charcoal, so I took the charcoal.

The whole episode was crazy and I became dangerously insane.  This I haven’t written about in detail here and I won’t now.

I’m just here to say that this is another bad anniversary, like July 4th, coming up, and I will be coping with it.  I mention the charcoal because it led to a crazy situation given my poor bowel function and there IS a cat element here, my mother’s/son’s cat Dapples, an orange, dappled tabby with no tail, and declawed, chose to keep company with me when I was sitting on the back porch of my parents’ home, late at night, smoking cigarettes, and about to start howling like an animal.  Everyone else and the other cat were all afraid of me.  (Dapples saved my life.)

No wonder the gallons of ice tea I’ve been drinking.  This is a morbid post, sorry, but I’m going to be dealing with this for awhile as I’ve been blocking it out until now, still on a trajectory away from it.  Unfortunately my son’s troubles began, as far as I can see, during a ride home with him from one of the three hospitals I went to for this one incident.  We had a conversation and he listened to me and he shouldn’t have.  About the girlfriend.  Oh God.  I know I can’t blame myself but I wish to God I hadn’t done it.  It makes me ANGRY at myself.

……Writing this post gave me a chance to repent of it.



I regret to inform my reader that Touch Not the Cat Bot a Glove, Volumes 1 and 2, have been removed from the bookshelves at  I have retired these books for private viewing only as they reveal too much, primarily about my parents but also about other old (one-time) friends and acquaintances.  Look for an edited version maybe 5 years from now.  (Remember the name:  Abigail McPherson.)

California, a Pro-Life Novel, by the same author (me) should be available in a few months.