How do cats eat?

Bella meets Mamasan. Bella imitates Mamasan, licking her arms and eating without hands. I am not sure who is more fascinated: Bella with Mamasan, or Baba with Bella with Mamasan.

Am reading Louise Erdrich's The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse. Almost finished, entranced by her tender madcap love for human kind. Describing the reaction on the Reservation to a Native American nun who is believed to be a saint, Erdrich writes:

"People drew near. People gathered. They came by car and wagon, they camped by the door to the convent house. They brought their sick ones, the mad, the dishonored. They brought their too quiet, ancient, dreaming children, their screaming new babies. They brought their old ones, farseeing through eyes cataracted over with isinglass scales. They brought their nerveless husbands, their foolish and silly teenagers, their ailments and failures, and they laid them on the steps of Pauline's door.... They made a saint because they had to, in those times, in that swale of loss."

I love novels that take on miracles, sainthood, sex, religion, class, colonization, and dailiness all in one great swoop. This one reminds me of other favorites, Le Dimanche de la vie, by Raymond Queneau; The Enormous Room, by e e cummings; The Corner that Held Them, by Sylvia Townsend Warner; and of course The God of Small Things, by Arundhati Roy.

Taking a break from comments. Planning to catch up on the weekend.