Reindeer For Rent

I am thinking that if Santa Claus needs any new or additional reindeer, he should consider the young’un cat. As can be seen in the photo below, the young’un cat’s eyes are extremely googly; they put out plenty of light, and are not bound by space or time. Paired with Rudolph, there at the head of the team pulling the sleigh, the young’un cat would guarantee that Santa would never get lost, no matter how much fog or liquor he might encounter.

Further, I believe that employment would be good for the young’un cat. For he needs something to absorb his energies. Other than this sleep-deprivation experiment he has embarked upon. With myself as the subject. No matter when I try to sleep, he eventually turns against it. And then works diligently, until it cannot be. He has decided, for example, that whatever portions of my body are covered with hair, he may assault, as I sleep, with his claws. My scalp is now so routinely excavated that I am thinking of hiring him out as a miner.

Because his excavating is always accompanied by operatic wails, I think I may hire him out as a musical miner. I have not heard miners emit sounds with this volume and intensity since those Welshmen in How Green Was My Valley.

I have also begun referring to the young’un cat as The Dream Crusher. This is because of late I have been gifted with extraordinary dreams; while there is a method I use to pull dreams into the waking state, most often these days that process is derailed, when the young’un cat decrees that my skull should be employed as his dartboard, or elects to eagerly ride his tricycle across my forehead.

I tried minutely tracking his schedule, and then sneaking sleep into those windows when he is usually not around, busy as he is running the world outdoors. Even though those windows are not exactly convenient for me. Situated as they are, say, between 1 and 5 in the afternoon. Still, I was trying to be accommodating. But no such luck. Recently I had been asleep but an hour, there in the ridiculous mid-afternoon, when he arrived from outside to screech into the Carmen while hurling himself against the sliding-glass door.

It has been my experience that young people of all species are against sleep. When my daughter, today a well-known award-winning deviant, was wee, she was violently opposed to me sleeping. I favored naps; she favored the abolition of naps. I finally figured out that, there on her worldtrack, when I closed my eyes, she disappeared. And this was unsettling for her. As it would be for anybody.

Her thinking here—about my closing my eyes resulting in her disappearance—was the same as when a child puts her hands over her own eyes: what this accomplishes, of course, is that one can no longer see the child.

Finally my daughter proposed a compromise: “You can sleep,” she said, “with your eyes opened.”

I tried this, but it didn’t work out. My friend Zack, on the other hand, was an expert at that sort of thing. He had to be. Because he suffered from a peculiar problem with his eyelids: they were delivered by the manufacturer in a size too short to completely cover his eyes. So there was always light, and other annoyments of the world, leaking in. As a result of this condition, he preferred to sleep in rooms that had been delivered unto complete and total blackness. He devoted much time and energy to scouring his sleeping quarters of any and all sources of light. Some people thought this was because he was a drug person, which he was, but the truth was more profound and disturbing. He just couldn’t get the light out of his head.

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6 Responses to “Reindeer For Rent”


  1. 1 possum December 24, 2011 at 2:55 pm

    Merry Christmas, Careening Weirdsmobile, with a rose.

    Naps remind me of the best times in life. Quiet. A long sofa with a snuggy blanket. Ann no wee ones or young’un cats.

    • 2 bluenred December 24, 2011 at 3:02 pm

      Merry Christmas to you, too, oh wise and kind marsupial.

      I have the long sofa, and the snuggy blanket. I also have the young’un cat. I am endeavoring now to view all things positive, and so I figure the sleep-deprivation experiment will eventually result in my walking around in a fog of hallucinations, brought on by a permanent dearth of sleep, and that these hallucinations may very well prove superior to the “real” thing. : /

  2. 3 sally December 30, 2011 at 2:43 pm

    oh, oh, I am way behind on my favorite blog. (Actually, it is the only blog I allow to hit my email list.) So here I am, feeling left out. I love the tale (tail) of your young’un with the googy eyes. He makes me miss cats desperately– but I did have a young’un grandson (a wee one) here a few days –pure joy though like your young’un, this wee one reminded me of how much I missed the “wonder” of sleep deprivation– the hallucinations and weird dreams it can provide — fodder for my never-to-be-published novel. I do have insomnia and that helped me create another never-to-be-published novel sitting in a drawer — dully born from life’s everyday miseries and delusions., thus it lacks something. And, bluenred, are you not working on a novel? Yours would most likely be published. As I recall you type 42,000 words p/m –as do my dgtr & son. I do a hot 19 words p/m and must look at the keys! It takes a long time to write a chapter — and the re-writes are slower. Anyway, hug the young’un for me — and also your deviant dgtr to whom you obviously gave great genetic magic for words and for marvelous and fanciful illusions. I feel she has no need for the sleep deprviation or the insomnia on which some of us others often rely — later namaste

    • 4 bluenred December 31, 2011 at 12:36 am

      There is still fast typing. But what is important is what is typed. Not how fast it comes out.

      I don’t think you should perceive your novel as “never to be published.” I think you should think of it as “already published.”

      There is no novel-writing coming out of this gnome computer at present. There are, however, five non-fiction titles in various stages of becoming. These will emerge in the fullness of time. As will your novel.

  3. 5 sally December 31, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    Oh — I am excited thinking about your five non-fiction titles in “various stages of becoming.” Your incredible ability to play with words and the wild dancing of your ideas should be exposed to the world. I will keep writing and eargerly await the emergence of your words from their cocoons. Meanwhile, I envy the energy and the independence of your young’un of the googly eyes. Big Dog Romeo– did I tell you his name was changed from Oakley to Romeo because as a pup he loved nosing crotches –still does — ! whoops –where was I? Oh, I adore Big Dog because he has incredible manners (except for the nose stuff) but what is it about cats? Maybe it’s things like my Cinnamon always licking the tears from my face in days of sadness. (And don’t tell me he was lacking salt!) xoxox


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