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The trials of Frida and Emily

Last June and July, when I was on the road with cat, and with Elaine, Elaine and I went to the Utah Shakespearean Festival. The festival has a year-round gift shop full of good stuff. I bought Frida Kahlo and Emily Dickenson, two magnet-backed finger puppets. When I came home to my new house I gave them a place of honor: on my refrigerator.



Toonces, the crazed cat, likes to jump on top of anything high, including the refrigerator. Unlike the other two cats, though, Toonces doesn't find that enough in itself. He likes to knock things over and, depending on the object, sometimes play with them. He has knocked my Ikea wooden artist's model off every high location I have put it. That poor thing goes sailing and slams onto the floor on a regular basis. Here Toonces sleeps while the wooden person kicks up a leg in celebration of the light shining on him, glorying in the height. He doesn't know that it won't be long before he hits the floor again.



It isn't long at all.



Toonces likes Emily and Frida even more, though. He reaches down, knocks them off, then takes off after them. The other day I found Frida on the living room floor.



They are back on the fridge but for how long? When I pulled one of them from Toonces' mouth I wondered, too, how long they can take it? Artists that they are, perhaps they accept that wanton, meaningless cruelty is part of their fate.

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