Be thankful for the audience
July 15, 2009 (Wednesday)
Her name is Buttons. She is Teresa’s little bob-tail kitty cat. She lives next door to me. I first met her about 18 months ago, and she looked upon me with complete suspicion and, I guess, some fear.
Whenever I tried to approach her, she always turned and ran away.
But one day Teresa told me she was going to be away for a day or so and asked me to feed Buttons and Jim, her faithful dog. When I performed the chore, she came to the bowl, and Jim to his, their eyes meeting mine and almost speaking aloud, “We’re here. We’re hungry. We’re happy you’re here. Please fill the bowls.”
After that, she was not as afraid of me as she had been. And I could tell when she was a little hungry, because she would meet me as I drove up in the driveway, meowing a greeting, rolling over on her side and back again, as if to say, “You’re not such a bad guy, after all.”
I knew when she wasn’t hungry at all, because she would lie on her favorite step on the outside stairway to the second floor apartment, looking for all the world like the ancient Sphinx in the classic pose. Lying there so regal of bearing, she gazed off into the distance, like a queen musing over her many riches, wondering which jewels she might wear that day. I would speak to her, but her head would not turn or even flinch. She no longer feared me, but had no need of me at the moment. I could almost hear her say as I cooed kind words in her direction, “We are not amused!”
I love cats, because they take care of themselves. If they decide to let you into their world during their brief life here on this wandering planet, consider yourself fortunate. Royalty has shown you favor.