On my mind: woman cave identity and cats…

So I’ve had a number of things on my mind since early this morning, the least of which involved the identity of a proper woman cave. If you search for woman cave on Google, you may find some interesting things.


Some of the posts have switched it around (“cave woman”), which may fit, depending on the person, but in my case was completely unsuitable. I found what I suspected I would in other cases: sewing rooms, exercise spaces in basements, and such. Not to say that these are not suitable or proper; they just are not my thing. I shake my head in dismay, wondering where my sister technogeeks are. Let me describe to you the perfect woman cave for me–for the full effect, imagine it being read by Rod Serling:

Picture if you will a room of average size, walls covered in bookshelves (which are of course filled with books); minimal lighting from a few mismatched lamps procured from yard sales and/or Freecycle; one of those fold-up wooden tables that have taken the place of the old metal ‘tv tables’ of the 60s–although one of the metal ones would be great; a laptop placed precariously atop the fold-up table; a comfy couch/sectional/chair; and a tv with its own home-designed surround sound system (not one of those things you get in the box with one subwoofer–what is that about?!–but the kind you build from scavenged audio parts, procured from various pawn shops at a great deal, that have to be tapped and/or talked to on occasion to work properly). Upon exit from said room, one is conveniently close to the kitchen and an exit to a patio with access to the southern California sun.

Now that is a woman cave. While the space that I have claimed is actually our family room, it does have some of these amenities. It is next to the kitchen and has access to the patio. The bookshelf is in the kitchen, so I can see it from the sectional, where I sit to access the laptop on the wooden fold-up table, while watching tv and listening to its sound through the homemade surround sound (thank you Christopher for your talent in this area).

So what does all that have to do with cats? Nothing, except I am usually forced to share some of my space with one of the three who live in our house (or whose house we live in, if you were to ask them). However, this particular thought about cats has to do with a specific cat. I shared my grief over Don’s death with my friend Christine in  a Facebook ‘conversation’ and she remembered when I cat-sat for him once. He had to go away for about a week on a band gig and asked me to watch Barge; the name fit because he was a big black longhaired cat. I like Barge a lot and was happy to take care of him for my friend. Christine fortunately has a better memory than I do–I have more dust in there than on my old 45s (it’s okay if you don’t know what they are…ask an old person who played music on anything that existed before a CD player…)–and reminded me of this experience. He scared me twice: once by showing up on the top of the refrigerator unexpected and once by showing up perched above my head looking down at me from my dresser when I woke up early in the morning. At least both times he was purring and quite content. When Don took Barge back home, he hid for 3 days; payback for abandonment I guess. As I read her reminder of my week with Barge, I had to laugh and felt pretty good about that. It was a good memory. Don and I used to laugh a lot about the ways of cats and I am sure he would enjoy the three we live with now. I’m sure we’d be crying with laughter over some of the stories I could tell, not to mention the ones we could make up after looking at some of the pictures of past and present cats, like this one:


Remember, nothing can soak up tears like laughter.

Tuesday, April 28th, 2009 Confessions of a Cave Dweller

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