Sixth sense
She sits in the middle of the kitchen floor and her eyes are firmly fixed on an unseen spot on the white tiled ceiling. Her ears are moving back and forth as her lips, pulled back slightly produce a series of short sharp sounds. Carried by her obvious excitement I raise my eyes too. I scout the ceiling for a sign of hidden life but all I see are the brown spots reminders of last winters’ leak. I look back at her, now she is walking away, her magnificent tail wagging back and force and I swear I can hear her laugh softly “got her again, ha…ha.”
She whooshes from one side of the house to the other and all I catch in the corner of my eyes is a white splash of color. She jumps high in the air and lands on all four in the middle of the living room couch. Her soft coat all puffs up and her skin ripples slightly. By the window she stops abruptly, short of knocking her head into the glass, and prods the curtain slightly. Alarmed I look outside for the intruder. There is no one in sight. I swear I can detect a hidden smile as she curls into a ball in the middle of a nearby patch of sun light.
I watch her running across the floor playing with an unseen object then she stiffens suddenly and her hair stands up on ends. Her ears flat and pulled back, a grimace on her face, and I hear a low but clearly audible throaty growl. I search high and low, under the TV (fur balls) behind the door (dust curls) I move some chairs. She is following my actions with mild interest “humans,” she must be thinking “are so blind.”
Every open door is a challenge; she peers into the indistinct darkness or tries to crawl in. I nearly trip on her, in the middle of the night, sitting in front of kitchen cabinet pondering the mystery of the closed door. She is compelled to lie on the computer keyboard to muffle (I think) the voices calling on her. At times she is as fluid as liquid and other times clumsy and awkward. When I look into her clear blue eyes they seem to have endless depth with no bottom.
I follow her quick and changeable body gestures and mysterious moves, striving to understand her hidden language. I try to follow her eyes, glowing bright red when she is excited or sending golden arrows, reflecting the lights. Looking around with frustration I can’t shake the feeling that there are unseen entities all around me that she can see but I am too blind to perceive.
I'm never going to understand cats or, really in the end, people who choose to have them in the house.
ReplyDeleteThis is another of those pieces that deserves a wider audience (and certainly a more appreciative audience than a dog-fancier like me.) Even with my anti-feline prejudice, I recognize the fine quality of the work here--not that your work is ever anything but quality work, but you handle these short, connected pieces in a particularly 'contained' way, no thing straggling, nothing left undone or unsaid.
Let me put it another way: if I could write a piece about dogs that conveys my love for them as well as you convey here your love for and understanding of cats, I would be very proud indeed.