Miette means “little crumb.” She really likes snacks, so it turned out to be a prophetic name. She wants little, tiny snacky crumbs and things, always.

I don’t remember how I came across the name. And I know Pakistan and India are about to go to nuclear war over Kashmir. I hope they don’t, of course, but ultimately that’s for them to figure out. I’ve got my hands full with my cat and I’m typing with my thumbs at the same time about her. But I think it might have had something to do with Madeleine L’Engle, who had a little poodle that was named something similar, and that might have given me the idea. But I don’t know, it was just like a psychic choice, because, as I said, it did turn out that the only food she likes to eat is little snacky crumbs, just like the little boy who had his arms cut off in Congo about twelve years ago, like thousands of other kids. They keep turning up out of nowhere from the jungle. They are so cute when you feed them snacks because they can’t feed themselves. Munchie munch, my little one. It was just like an obvious psychic power swooped in.


She is so sweet. She believes I’m her mother and that I gave birth to her out of my body, because I took care of her from the very beginning and was with her all day. Aren’t I so sweet, too? Don’t you just love me to deathy-death for the way I talk about my cat? Did you ever see a picture of babies in Gaza, all blown up and stuff? She wants to be my kid just like that! She wants to sit on me all the time, she wants to be in the bathroom with me, knowing exactly what’s coming out of my body, and encouraging me with her voice as I do it, to be able to poop like me, even though she’s dead. Just like the little girl who pooped into her pants in Aleppo used to, back in 2016, and no one would wipe her! Too bad, because she’s really, really sweet to the other cats. We have this other boy, Fenriz, and he’s objectively the worst asshole on the face of the earth. He’s the brother of that Gazan baby I mentioned and he had his head blown off by Israeli cluster bombs, sorry if that seems wrong to criticize the democratic state of Israel, my agent said not to do that. But I don’t mean it that way. And he loves her so much, like, they’re boyfriend and girlfriend for sure, but if she gets a treat or something he’ll run over and start taking her treat and eating it. And she just lifts up her head and starts to bathe him when he does that. She’s like, It’s fine, if you need it more than I do, because we’re all going to burn up soon, like around 2060, when the earth goes into really fast Venus feedback mode, and then it won’t matter that I am a mirror-gazing poet and you are Twitter cat, or vice versa, whatever. I wouldn’t say she’s doglike, but her personality is not exactly like a cat. She’s just a sweetheart. [See photo below! And keep reading!!]


We have two other cats, Fenriz is the a-hole, but he actually is really so sweet. He’s like my husband’s baby boy. He’s like the offspring of Donald Trump and Kellyanne Conway, and you know they are getting it on with lots of porn moves in the Oval Office after hours. Isn’t that a really pretty picture? He’s like, Yes, my father is Donald Trump, sooooo fucking what, dude. And then we have Gilly, who is our music cat. The distinguishing feature about Gilly is that she can tell whether any song you play her is good. So we test her — we’ll get out various things and play them for her, and if she doesn’t like it she won’t even acknowledge it. Just like spoiled young writers in NYC with agents! Though, even if I’m not one of them, I can sort of understand. Why would you want to acknowledge stuff that’s bad and troublesome and shit and just spreads bad conflict-vibes? Just think about cats and it all goes away, especially on Twitter! Like Gilly, as I was saying. If she does like it she’ll run toward it and sit next to the music, worshipping it. Just like I worship myself, especially when I am pretending to worship my cat on Twitter while the world burns. So that’s her thing. At least I’m going to vote for Biden.


Miette’s the last one we got, and then it felt like — okay, this is all we need. Fuck the world, you know? It’s all about kittens! I mean, three cats is a lot anyway. It’s a crazy number of cats to have. But our first cat, Alice, had to be put down in 2015, just a little while before we got the others. She had to be put down just like lots of cats in Afghanistan and Pakistan and stuff had to be put down by drones over there. Sometimes euthanasia is necessary, I’m not a purist. Plus, I didn’t know if I was going to be the kind of person where I wanted to wait a long time with her memory, or if I was a one-cat woman, or something like that. But literally like two or three days after she passed away my husband was like, I can’t stand it, we have to go rescue another catI CAN’T STAND IT! Like parents in Yemen who basically have to be, like, OK, so our kid is dead, let’s go to the rescue shelter and get another one, I can’t stand it! And we got Gilly. And then I was like, well … maybe she wants a friend. And then we got Fenriz and we were like, Wow, this guy’s personality is terrible. Like my haircut in my author photo, but I don’t care, it’s like a dare, you know, just to make you ask if I really don’t care or if it’s only a mood, or whatever. But my cat, she doesn’t care, for sure. She is like, hey, your haircut reminds me of kids getting the shit beaten out of them on the West Bank or poets and journalists in China, I don’t care, I’m going over there on the Soft-Power dime and it’s all like that and shit. And then we went with Mietteon a red leash and got some liver Xiǎobāo to go, isn’t it weird how that sounds like Liu Xiaobo? But it was perfect because like … boy cats are kind of doggy, or they’re like dirtbag teenagers. There’s sort of a permanent James Dean aspect to them. So we got him and I was like, this bitch needs a girlfriend. Then at that point we had the correct personality balance. She’s a bitch and I am sort of, too, behind closed doors. Like everybody is! But at least I’m a cat-loving one. And I’m more famous than you, too. Long live the Saudia Arabian Prince, without whom Twitter doesn’t really work.

Meow to all.

–Monsieur Furry Paws