Carrot is an orange cat. He is not named for the orange root vegetable. He is named for Terry Pratchett’s character, Captain Carrot of the Guard.
And the black cat, her name is Angua (not Angela), named for his partner, a werewolf woman, also from the books. Their cat sister, a stripey gray feline, is called Ruby, who is a troll from the same set of Discworld books. Ruby is the small one, fitting for a troll.
Carrot is a ribbon addict. Obsessed. He hears the ribbon drawer open from across the house. He runs to the location at the mere thought that he might get to bite one, lick one, swallow one.
He went too far. It wasn’t a gift box ribbon though. It was a sewing ribbon that he thieved from a Covid mask. He swallowed all twelve inches of it. Another victim of the virus, he was hospitalized, had a major surgery, and now has a matching stomach wound to mine. And some of the same limitations.
I don’t feel like licking my wound, or jumping. So those are different for him. He is wearing clothes rather than the cone. Still a symbol of shame, “the cone of shame”, he doesn’t love his onesies.
So why does this household have two “people” with major surgeries and major scars down the abdomen? What is being said here? My first google search for the spiritual meaning says that our abdomen is where we process our reality, where we learn to move things through. I synopsized. Carrot has to be an exclamation point, because he doesn’t care what we think about his spiritual meaning. He lives his spiritual meaning in every moment. Humanly, I do the same thing, but the mind and emotions and interpretation give an illusory experience that cannot relate.
There are signs. There are flashing neon signs in the form of stitches and wound packing and doctor visits. Carrot and I are doing the work. We are doing it for reality, for the Truth of all things. May no one need to join us. May this “be enough”.
micheleplumbstowell.org 