SOMETHINGS FOR THE WEEK END:
It was election day in many places this past Tuesday. Here in Washington state we had a vote on whether or not to label food that has been genetically altered, that included pet foods. Although there was overwhelming support for, the big business interests came in and spent millions of dollars from out-of-state to make sure it did not pass.
As I write this we are still awaiting the outcome but it is not looking
good. This same thing happened in
California a couple of years ago.
Almost 70% of voters were in favor of the labeling but the big organisations like Monsanto came in with money and it was defeated. So, how's that corporations are people thing working out? Great if you're a corporation I guess...
To learn more about this and other food related issues, check out: www.fooddemocracynow.org
Next: Voting rights!
Please people, FIX THIS! It will be the undoing of what is left of our democracy. OK, enough politics.
My human came across this amazing poem in The Big New Yorker Book Of Cats and just wanted to share:
by: Alastair Reid
Propinquity is the province of cats. Living by accident,
lapping the food at hand, or sleeking down
in an adjacent lap when sleep occurs to them,
never aspiring to consistency
in homes or partners, unaware of property,
cats take their chances, love by need and nearness
as long as the need lasts,
as long as the nearness
is near enough. The code of cats is simply
to take what comes. And those poor souls who claim
to own a cat, who long to recognize
in bland and narrowing eyes a look like love,
are bound to suffer should they expect
cats to come purring punctually home.
Home is only where the food and the fire are,
but might be anywhere. Cats fall on their feet,
nurse their own wounds, attend to their own laundry,
and purr at appropriate times. O folly, folly
to love a cat, and yet
we dress with love the distance that they keep,
the hair-raising way they have, and easily blame
all the abandon litters and torn ears
on some marauding tiger. Well, no matter;
cats do not care.
Yet part of us is cat. Confess-
love turns on accident, and needs nearness; and the various selves we have
all come from our cat-wanderings, our chance
crossings. Imagination prowls at night,
cat-like among odd possibilities.
Only our dog-sense brings us faithfully homeward,
makes meaning out of accident, keeps faith,
and, cat-and-dog, the arguments go at it.
But every night, outside, cat-voices call
out to take a chance, to leave
the safety of our baskets, and to let
what happens, happen." Live, live!" they catcall.
" Each moment is your next! Propinquity,
propinquity is all!"
Have a great weekend!
Noodle and her crew