Picasso and Matisse - My two Burmese cats 3.

The Burmese can’t take it if you say no for something. And if there is something that he absolutely can’t bear, that’s not possessing all the nooks of the flat. My husband – as an unpracticed cat owner… ‑ though that he’ll be the one who imposes order on the tom-cats and he carefully told the little things that they can’t enter the bedroom. He took the kitties into his hands, sat down with them at the door of the bedroom and was explaining them the house rules from behind the threshold. The tom-cats purred and nuzzled happily in his lap, they were blinking gratefully for the kisses given on their bonces and despised the house rules.

The oral education seemingly remained ineffective; since the two tom-cats, despite the lesson, decided that it is nice everywhere but the best place is the bedroom – for sleeping, playing, eating – and they did accordingly. Further attempts were made by my husband, which aimed at keeping the cats under control. Since the tom-cats didn’t show any sign of willingness to obey the rules, the master of the house set new rules next week. The door of the bedroom must be closed all the time so the guys can’t get in! The door of the bedroom was kept closed all the time, the cats were always playing and sleeping in front of the door and anytime the door opened they, of course, sneaked in and stayed there…

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When All Seems Lost — and Even When It Doesn’t…

When All Seems Lost — and Even When It Doesn’t… As a writer, I read more than average. Not necessarily books that fall within my immediate interests, but rather those I can learn from, marvel at, analyze word by word, and sometimes even those that demand more effort from me than usual. That is how it is with Alice Munro. I bought my first book by her when she received the Nobel Prize. Then life happened, and the volume sat on my bookshelf—either I had no time for it, or it lingered somewhere at the bottom of my list of priorities. When I finally picked it up, I could hardly believe my eyes—or my reaction. First, I was utterly outraged; my blood pressure shot through the roof in an instant, and I almost started swearing in disbelief. I had barely skimmed the first few lines, yet that was enough to know: it was perfect. A true masterpiece. Excellence among the excellent. Every word reached the deepest layers of my soul. I was touched by its purity, its delicacy, the noblest simpli...

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Evening thought

Now and then journalists in search of copy ask me what is the most thrilling moment of my life. If I were not ashamed to, I might answer that it is the moment when I began to read Goethe’s Faust. I have never quite lost this feeling, and even now the first pages of a book sometimes send the blood racing through my veins. To me reading is a rest as to other people conversation or a game of cards. It is more than that; it is a necessity, and if I am deprived of it for a little while I find myself as irritable as the addict deprived of his drug. I would sooner read a time-table or a catalogue than nothing at all. That is putting it too low. I have spent many delightful hours poring over the price-list of the Army and Navy Stores, the lists of second-hand took-sellers and the A.B.C. All these are redolent of romance. They are much more entertaining than half the novels that are written. /W.S.Maugham/

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