a story using only words from The Cat In The Hat
My mother was gone. It was a bump on her head, a big bump. I did not know; mother did not tell me. When she did, I fell. “No,” I said. “No, not you! Do not go!” But there was no way. She sank fast, that was good. I let her go.
Then one day I saw Sally. We went out for fish. I had cat fish; Sally had something funny, with a big tail.
“What is that thing?” I said.
“This?” A bite. “Fish!”
“Good?”
A shake of the head. “No.”
We sat, said nothing. I should be back in the house. I looked down.
“What is it?”
“You know. Sad.”
“Have your cat fish.”
“I should. But it is no good. And my milk too.”
“You and your milk!”
“I like milk,” I said.
“Not now!” Sally said. “Here. Look at me. Hold my hands.”
I did it.
“Tell. All of it.”
I said all there was to say. The bump, the bed in the home. My deep shame.
“Shame? Why shame? You did not do a thing.”
“That is it.”
I have to say one thing here: it is not fun to be with me. I like books and things. Tame: that is I. I get no kicks, fly no kites, play no games. Hops and pot are not my things. If you are here, I want you to go away. So what should this dish, this fox want out of me? I sat and picked at the fish and looked at those hands, so white.
We said not a thing, we two. And then: “What now?”
“I do not know. All the things mother had that I have to rid the house of: a ball, a little ship, a kite. Playthings, fun things from back then. I can box them up, and…and…give them away, to, to, to…” And then I shook.
“No, do not shake, you.”
“So how do you do it?” I said. “You do something all day, do you not? Have you made it big?”
“No.”
“So what then?”
“Tricks.”
“No!”
“Tricks! Lots of them! Things are not a ball, you know! I do a trick and…and…and then I wish I could shut down. I get high as a kite on pot. But a new day can do no good. I wish that I could stop, but I can not. Another day, another trick—like a net, a big bad net, and, and…and there is not any way out. And you think this is fun, I bet. I bet you like to see me look this way, like a fish—a fish that jumps in the sun, a fish cold with fear, a fish on a hook.”
“Not so, not so!”
“What do I do? I hook and I hook. If some cat should say jump, then I do so. If his will is that I hop, then to hop is the thing. Bent to his will: that is the thing. Go down on some cat and then get him out of the house. In, out, in, out, in, out—what would mother have said? Run away! But to what? Look—you like this, to look at this, this mess?”
“Oh, not—”
“A cat could pick good fun tricks, but cat after cat will take tricks with this mess. Call them Dear, make them a cake. Play house. ‘Put that thing in here, you rake, you!’ A little bump, a little thump, then they get good and gone. This will be my down fall, you know—all in all this is a kind of game. Oh, the…the…”
“What?”
“Something. Have your fish. You look a lot like your mother. The look you have. The hat. The hat and the…something.”
I should not have a hat on in here. I like the hat so… “This hat?” With a little tip.
“That hat. The one like the hat your mother had. Do you know Mat? The man I have? Did have, that is. He would play with you, that one! Box, fly fish, fun fun fun! He said and said, but hear? Not! Shut up, he said. He saw red, that one!”
“You can pick a cat.”
“Can I pick you then? We can have fun—a little bump and some thumps? Can you ball?”
“Sally!”
Sally sank as she sat, like a bad cake. Said, “You make me down.”
“Not that! Sit up!”
“Why?”
“We can ball, and fast!”
“Can we?”
“We will do the can can!”
And so, away.
Then, at the house: “Put on mother's new gown,” I said.
“Not—”
“Yes,” I said. “Now.”
Sally did, then let it fall. I got wood.
“Oh my,” I said.
“I like to be wet.”
“I see.”
“Oh, you!”
We did it then, in the hall, near the fan. I gave it to her like she asked—fast and deep. The things we did— I bit.
Sally said, “Hit me!”
“No, I cannot.”
“Do as I say!”
I did it but I did not like it.
“Oh, oh! Now! Now! Now!”
“Not yet—”
“Come!”
“No!” I said, but I came. “Mother! Oh, Mother!”
And then the cold came up. “Sally? Sally?” She said not a thing. Something ran red.
I do not know what I did. I did not know what to do. My mind was a mess. Mother's gown was pink and wet. I shook Sally. “No, no!”
But this was always the way, you know. Things got away from me, that is all.
Now I sit. I hold the good book. I think of the fish we bit. I look at the wall.
Mother in a box. Sally in a box.
I, in a box.
All in a box.
- J. Robert Lennon
Thursday, September 13, 2007
J. Robert Lennon: The Cat Text
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
16 comments:
oh no you didn't.
yes!
I did. All my students are doing it too, for class on Tuesday...
Skoog, I am sure you have something...
I'm trying to come up with something good. Talking with my students about this exercise, one of them suggested rewriting/translating the end of the Ihe Iliad (funeral of Hector) using only words from Cat in the Hat. But I've noticed the favorite Seuss text among high school students is The Lorax, so perhaps the Lorax.
There is something so unsettling about this. I feel tainted.
But I like it.
Reminds me of a piece I once wrote for a long-defunct online humor site... and even more relevant now, in these times of trouble for Britney.
ed: the difference between The Cat In the Hat and The Lorax, for this exercise, is that the former was written specifically to include 200 words that first graders should know. So it has a good section of the language, and it's an interesting exercise in light of that. The Lorax will probably contain some more interesting words, though.
From Wikipedia: "In an interview he gave in Arizona magazine in June 1981 Dr. Seuss claimed the book took nine months to complete due to the difficulty in writing a book from the 223 selected words."
thanks - i needed a reason to smile this week!
The Creative Writing students of Idyllwild Arts Academy respond:
Bennet:
What kind of book
There was sun- she was out in the back, with that book in her hands. She put her book on the wall, and bent to pick up the red box kite. She looked at me, and sat down near the mess I had made of the string. Her hands made the string tame, then the tail, and I looked down out of shame. I bit into the cake she had made for me, picked up my milk, and looked at her some more. The kite was on top of the wall, now, and she had the book with her.
Her hands make a cup, go down, there, where I can not see them, with the book. I saw her hands come up, now rid of the book; why do they shake like that? I see her rake and run her hands back, pat the new home of the book, and stop. I look away. I hear her stand, take a step. “Oh,” I hear her call out, and I look to see her fall. There is a thump, then there is my thump after it, as now I am near her. I hold her gown in my hands, with her cold and that mess of string and this is not funny.
In that bed of and red and white and pink things, with all of that wood and one pot and the sun, and the shine of it, with the wall where my box kite and the mess of strings had sat–– in that bed, with my mother now in it, with her book in it with her––
but, well, how far she should fall and not know it. My kite and my mother and her book, there for some fox to find when I do not look for it. I am gone from here and do not come back, like my mother’s playthings and my toy.
More Idyllwild Arts Creative Writing responses:
from Will
Sally, My little cupcake
Why did you rake your mother’s thumps?
Oh, they fall like Red fish, little dots she sat on the mat.
let us away from house of shame.
packman eats the sunny something
It is not day now dear, back in high home
He asked for a book, I say “mother is gone”
“good” he says “She always had bumbs.”
so then we play some gave tame games made for fly kite
and fox box. our playthings they are.
Now game is gone down the hall
hit by bad man another bad ball cold and fast at his back
fell on his hat. well. his hat is now pink strings. on his sad white and red head.
got to hop out, gone is the good
mother be gone, and now him too.
bad man has to give fear his hands on his bat. jumps in his new kicks out of house in deep red.
RUN! JUMP! JUMP! JUMP!
out of Pat thump!
dear, there was dear with jumps.
some of them have dots.
some of them not.
I bet bad man will make not dear and not dot dear, after we have gone.
two strings we went on, top of the sunk. milk shake cup in the sunk, sun in the top up.
trick us little strings. fell into the milk shake.
wet tails we have, we did not go down. hold on to wood
bite into milkshake
out of the wet. wet cats we are.
bad man, stand top up. he has to see us wet cats. he saw us like hooks on the somethings.
bet he could not see wood.
big run. no bed, up all kinds of books
if he will come hands on bat bent at hats
we ran ran ran. another pat thump. day has come
no who one here. WereTooFind?
kind of in net. were to go?
wall all around bad man with the bat
bet he is after me in mind
wish I had a back door.
shine on pack man stand on the top!
bad man with the toy bat can hear me think
any one out there?
not day be here soon.
More IAA CW, this one from Shane:
Mother's
A ball in a box bumps my cup, bumps my books, bumps my can, and I call for my mother. "What will I do?" I asked my mother. She had a fox in her hands, and put it near her head. It bent like a fish hook. Mother said, "My big man with big hands, have you gone and said good day to my new man?" I shook my head, and she said I should go.
I went to the man in the bed with a dish of milk for the cat. I sat the cup down, and went back down the hall, away from the new man who got a gown for Mother this last day. To play with mother is my wish. I like home a lot. I want to play house with Mother. A thump made me run back to the new man in bed. I did not like this man. "I want to make him fall down, step after step after step," was all I could think about as I went up to the bed.
"Two of us?" he asked.
"No," I said, "One."
I picked up a rake that was near my big hands and I put it into him. Deep. He jumped and kicked and shook while fear went cold. His head hit my rake. And another. And another. "Is this fun? I think it is funny!" My new game gave me my dream house with Mother. It did. I bit his head, and then I could hear a high call, like from a kite, or kites. The two asked me if he had bumps. I looked, but all I could see were red wet dots.
The thing was cake. After all, I always knew I would be with Mother. My thumps down the hall from hops were good. I had gone all the way down the hall when my mother came out in my way. My hop hit her, but she did not mind. Her look was sunny, like strings playing something good. She had the white gown on, and our shame went all pink, like how we tell things we should not, and play tricks that go "Plop," and make a mess on the mat. Mother said I was Mother's toy, and she could show me her pink. Mother was too tall for me to put my hands on her head, so she put her hands on her hat and put it on tip-top of something big. Then, she saw my wood, and bent down, and looked. It was all I could give her. I do not know where to get a gown. She picked me up, and put me by the wall, and I told her to shake her thumps. She did, and I did not mind at all. She got down and gave me head. I was almost high, I had to fan my pack with my hand, it got so good. I saw her stand, and that was bad because it was that good. Her white gown fell down, and we went out of the hall, into the bed. I had gone with her, and now we fly up away from the house, near the sun. There was no net.
My hook went into Mother, her hands let me know where to go. It went fast. My prick would hit, then hold, then jump back, and again. I sank into her, my ship sunk, and I got some tail. The tip of my trick felt near, and I went fast, fast, until she said, "Come!" and I came in her. Step. Step. And run. I ran to my toy box, and shut it. Can Mother take something more then that from me. It was good. I ran back for another one. I think it was a sunny day.
Idyllwild Arts Academy Creative Writing Department presents: Lida!
Cat Has Always a Good Dish
Bump. You play funny game with your fish. It jumps away. The white wood went wet. Why would you be sad when the shame came? The fish can fly. Not all hands put a hat on a hook. Here I have a fox. Fox is not a cat. Cat has always a good dish. Sun shine to the top of nothing. Stop your mind near to the red tail. As I said, the fox is tame. She picked the pink things and a sunny ship. What is sunny ship? The ship with one wall made of sun. I do not like fall. I jump into dots. It is fun. Fall is cold. I got a cake. I gave the cake to the cat that is not a fox. The cat is not tame. It kicks me out of my ball. I want a new mat. Now! Kites do not have hands. They would but they do not. The cat fear kites. The kites fear rake. The cat hit kites with a rake. My fish jumps into a cup. You can call when you find your fish. It sank in deep. Milk is in the cup. My cat sat near the cup. I want to help her to find the way how to jump into the cup. She is too big. So, she went to bed. Hops are good. Thump. She made a sally. Oh. The fox is not gone. It is back with a bow. After all and always the kind fox come back. Hear, I hit his home. Not house but home. I asked if any fish hear. He shook his head, no. Good. Another bad book. Good fan have fun and go fast where the fun is from. I hear about Hold. Her mother is a lot like a man. Say something. So, you should show me your tall tail. It is red.
And here's Emma's
Cat Box
At home books are tame, but here a cat bites and here a day is always gone. The funny mother of new things tells of the shame, the cat with a big cup of milk. He little likes his new toys, he wants fish for playthings.
“Me, my mind is something of a toy,” the mother tells us. “My head is not sunny.”
If I fear this cat all could be gone for good. I will be here, too, and my mother will come.
Sally picked pink kites with a red string. “Yes, I would,” she tells, when I tell of the cat and how we could box him up. “Then those bumps would trick me little.” Her hands sank to think that our last mother’s day would be shut out of our heads. “Sit, shut up,” she said. “Out in the hall with you.” She was gone when I came back, like mother.
Mother said to fish with a hook when big kinds of things and nothings came to call. When it was cold she said “In the house. Get a hat.” Our hands were red and cans of string did nothing for fun. Mother came, but went when she had to. I do not know where she is. I play in beds of wood and jump in the deep with ships.
And this one from Claremont Rob:
The Red Run Kite
A cake bump sun lit kites.
“We want wall” white say
“yes, I always bad.” Red run Kite says
Sunny shine gone.
“No see game, toy gone.” Red run Kite says
“We will hook, rake, shake, shame you with hand and kicks.” White say
With big bad wood tail kite come in deep hat.
“We think thing is little milk fish.” White say
“In games, I give.” Red run Kite says
Out plop wet dish on white.
“Got, you good pink shame playthings.” Red run Kite says
“We cold from shine in mess after thump trick you made.” White say
White take gown down and ran with well shook fear hands It look as a show of want, to tame the man.
“We wish out ship oh string bent bumps and bit bite dots on you mother’s” White say
“I hear some, tall hall mind picked for make of hops things in a no fly cat head house, fall from a too high jump you think of as jumps.” Red run kite says
Sunny fun go fan like a no shut book, who is mother, gave to day a new tip that from a top fell to rid a hold from a kind of nothing net to show a kind of red fox mat that be home for day.
“Another call to pot out lots of tricks these, they are.” Red run kite says
“We no pack funny think of those strings that them thumps out.” White say
White went hop up and sank to a ball of strings and did a bow into a can play box for the red dish.
“You kinds has at this stand something sad.” White say
“I pat your hands for their pick, but yet at last you know I will not sit, when my no stop tricks tell of now to then and here to there.” Red run kite says
From white, dear ball sat in sunny strings and looked to find his way.
“I do not stand a cup of books sunny to tip back so, if you have the will I saw, why out of all, would you hit me?” Red run kite says
“We take you to bed fast ball if he who tricks is not it is bent!” White say
Sally came, rid of her head, and two red woods strings came to shine and thump high from dots in her pink from the will of the ball.
“We asked how and what about a ball who wills to mess us away I know not.” White say
“If asked, how she was put out, it was not one of our lot, but came of one toy who had a hat on too high and fell down too fast.”
Were it any him, milk, he, she, or trick, these two let it be a game, so now it was a bet on who could think near the stop of fly from sally’s sunny red thumps.
These are great. I just assigned this to my CW class, only I took the 223 words from The Cat and broke them down into nouns/verbs/adj/adver to help the students a bit. We'll see what they cook up.
(Here is Eric O’Hanlon’s run at the Cat experiment. Eric is a student at Cornell University and taking my English 280 class. I am struck here—as with those posted—at how some of these experiments begin playfully but turn quite serious.)
We wish that we could run away. That is the way it is, but little good can come from what we want. We know not what we want.
Sally and I look away now. We are too sad to do any thing at all. Why? We are shut out. Some say that this came from fear, but this is not fear. Well, not all fear. We know fear. Funny…
I will hit my head. She will too. A fall, not little, would come with a jump. These no good head games always make for a fast fall. Things do not look like they did when we were little.
I want to give it a go. I have a red book here in my hands. I do not get it. See? A bum on my head and my mind will be gone, gone for good. I see Sally sit there with a look of shame. I see Sally shake. She and I ran here in fear, and fear can make us think. Should we play into it?
“Why are we here?” Sally asked. “We should not be here.”
I did not know what to say.
“Look at me!” she said and she shook me.
My head sank. I could not think.
“We should not do this,” Sally said.
I looked up. I saw something.
“We should not do this,” I said back to Sally.
Sally and I got down from our cold, high-up hall, and made it back to her home. She did not let go of my hand on the way. The hold was like that of a kite on a string, something tame with no trick. A funny, sad thing. The sun lit us up after all of this.
(George McCormick is a Temporary Lecturer at Cornell Universtiy. When not in Ithaca he lives in Cooke City, Montana, where he is lobbying to get the elementary school renamed Evel Knievel Elementary, after the local legend.)
Post a Comment