Yesterday evening, I started wondering about that and tried to figure out just exactly how many furbags would be clogging up the bridge until I got there. I stopped counting at ten.
I've had multiple cats in my household since I was eight and we lived in Japan with Siamese brothers, Scotch and Bourbon (not kidding, I didn't name them).
Cats, for those who live with them, are endlessly fascinating. From the first cave girl who pointed at a Saber Tooth kitten and said, "I want Fluffy!", mankind has loved, worshipped, hated and demonized cats. And after a few millineums, we still haven't gotten them completely tame. Even the most pampered of pampered cats will chitter and swish its tail if it sees a bird outside its window.
They run hot and cold. They love us. Now go away. No, I love you. But you can't pet me now. You may pet me later. Feed me now. No, I don't like that food. I want the other food. The one we are out of and you have to drive 20 miles to get.
And we jump through their hoops like the well trained monkeys with opposible thumbs that we are. And we love and adore them even more for their crumbs of affection.
But we don't really understand them. What is going on in their minds when they turn those big eyes with the ever changing pupils our way and do that slow blink stare. They seem like they know something. Good or bad, we don't know and they won't tell.
And I'm not really a crazy cat lady, but damn it all to hell, you can't tell me that Loki isn't thinking when he purposely carries his puff ball to a specific spot, sets it where he wants, backs off, then 'attacks' it from some angle.
And the mystery of White Cat, my wandering vagrant cat. Who showed up out of the blue a while back, claimed by the people two doors down. Yes, she wanders the neighborhood, but tell me, why, why is it that I never see her unless I've thought that I haven't seen her in a while? The moment I begin to worry about her out alone in this rough neighborhood, she shows up.
Just last night, I was looking at the pictures Jason managed to snap of her. I was mulling over blog ideas. Then this morning, I walk in the front door, to the kitchen and what do I see out my kitchen window?
Now, I know what you are thinking. It only seems like she shows up after I've thought about her because the coincidence makes it stand out in my mind. But that isn't it. Literally, the last five or six times I have seen her has only been the day after I've thought that I hadn't seen her in a while.
So how does she know?
She's not telling.
(I'm sure dogs are just as interesting, but having never owned one, I can't say and I'm not saying cats are better - it's just what I know.)
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