Cat Women

I am currently reading Cat Women: Female Writers on Their Feline Friends, a collection of non-fiction essays written by women writers in tribute to their cat companions. Megan McMorris edited the book. It's an enjoyable read, both funny and sad, depending on the fate of the cat. I chuckled over Fat Annie, the cat Barrie Gillies kept assuring her tolerant but allergic new husband would die soon anyway because she was so old. By the end of the essay, the Gillies family expanded to include a baby, and Fat Annie was still going strong at 20.

Emma and Moby Dick

I haven't been reading much fiction in the past few years. I started Emma by Jane Austin sometime last year, I think, and still haven't finished it. I already know the story from the Gwyneth Paltrow film, but I liked the movie well enough to want to read the book. However, since it's not urgent that I finish it right away, I only read a chapter here and a chapter there. I'm up to chapter 32.

I've owned a copy of Moby Dick for about two years but haven't read it. I've read parts of the book before but decided to purchase it thinking it would commit me to finish it. It didn't. It's not the easiest book to read, after all. Yesterday, though, I had the sudden urge to pick it up again. Maybe because I've been to the shore a few times lately. The sea is on my mind.

I read the first chapter last night. "Call me Ishmael." One of the most famous first lines of a book almost sounds like Ishmael is an alias. Ishmael has a melancholy streak. The only thing that alleviates it is going to sea. "This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship."