Published on February 24th, 2016 | by Flipside0
Felix the Station Cat rejects Library Cats romantic pursuits
The recently promoted feline, Felix, has reportedly rejected the romantic pursuits of Edinburgh Universities very own Library Cat. The famed library cat, known to friends as ‘Jordan’ is reportedly heartbroken. Attempting to woo the Huddersfield dwelling Felix with a series of poems and a fair few dead song-birds over the last few days, his tributes have been met with apathy. One of the poems apparently included in the anthology of romantic interest the Library Cat posted was ‘Sonnets from the Portuguese 43: How do I love thee’ -Elizabeth Barret Browning (1850)
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight.
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, –I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Felix in turn has responded by calling the Library Cat ‘a bit of a sap’, and her reasons for the rejection are as follows: ‘he’s obviously a bit up himself, I think he needs to be less self obsessed and focus on his job. I’m a career women. Plus the dead birds he send down were shite’ and in turn has forwarded a poem by the Yorkshire dwelling poet Simon Armitage- It Aint’T What You Do, It’s What It Does To You:
I have not bummed across America
with only a dollar to spare, one pair
of busted Levi’s and a bowie knife.
I have lived with thieves in Manchester.
I have not padded through the Taj Mahal,
barefoot, listening to the space between
each footfall picking up and putting down
its print against the marble floor. But I
skimmed flat stones across Black Moss on a day
so still I could hear each set of ripples
as they crossed. I felt each stone’s inertia
spend itself against the water; then sink.
I have not toyed with a parachute cord
while perched on the lip of a light-aircraft;
but I held the wobbly head of a boy
at the day centre, and stroked his fat hands.
And I guess that the tightness in the throat
and the tiny cascading sensation
somewhere inside us are both part of that
sense of something else. That feeling, I mean.
In summery, cats are pretentious arty fuckers aren’t they? We here at Flipside aren’t exactly surprised…..