FELINE GRACE

The cat did NOT want me to move, she made that clear. Dogs communicate by sniffing rear-ends, cats use their claws. The cat was far too comfortable to even consider shifting. After she fell asleep I could have carefully and surreptitiously left the couch, but I did not want to disturb the warm vibrating furball in the crook of my arm.
A gracious animal, she often brought me mice. Not wanting to hurt her feelings I always showed keen and enthusiastic appreciation, quite unlike the other humans in the house.

It's the thought that counts, after all, and as felines go, she was a remarkably generous creature.
Very giving. A loving personality.


Earlier that day I had spent a while visiting an old friend at the retirement home. She also had a cat, although that particular feline did not like me so much. Cats are very territorial, and sweet little old ladies are always THEIR territory. One does not argue with a creature that expresses itself with claws. Consequently, throughout our long conversation, I was aware of baleful eyes glaring at me from the top of the cabinet. A large black daemon with a ferocious attitude is hard to ignore.
I wondered whether the next time I should bring a sardine for the beast.
Bribing it might work.

Once home, our cat welcomed me back. I desperately wanted to load up my pipe, but the cat demanded my attention. Without quite realizing how it happened, I ended up on the couch stroking her.
A very manipulative individual, that cat.

For the next two hours I remained on the couch, staring at my pipe and tobacco on the table, while the cat contentedly dozed. So much to do, so little time.
Why am I allowing this furball to keep me here?
But she's such a commanding presence!
Even if fast asleep.
Purr.

That evening, at dinner, the cat jumped on my lap with a nearly dead mouse.
I didn't say anything to the others as I didn't want to appall them.
As she smacked the rodent I petted her with my free hand.
Desperate to keep anyone else from noticing.
Head down, sweetheart, keep still.
Please, no crunching!

Afterwards I buried the deceased mouse under the red currant bushes. There was already an extensive cemetery there. Hundreds of little gifts for humans.
Courtesy of a very nice cat.


She left us in 1976.
Perhaps she found a loving tom and followed him home.
And lived to a ripe old age, surrounded by kittens and lots of dead mice.


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