Monday, December 31, 2012
To be a cat
It must be really nice to be a cat.
I think about it a lot, about the feline excitement when the humans open the front door. You put a paw out, and the tip of your nose out. Adventure is calling you; you stop to sniff it and feel the breeze of it in your whiskers.
The cat adventures that cats go on throughout the day; stalking through the neighbors' gardens for the scurrying, squeaking things to hunt. Pouncing atop fences and exploring, seeing the sights humans hide from each others eyes and all the secrets of backyards and under porches and inside garages. Wandering to the woods, and hiding up tress or under holes when strange humans and dogs appear, then back out, to stare cautiously and curiously at the dancing water of a creek.
The human is making aggravated human noises at you, as your wet nose and twitching whiskers are tasting the adventures before you. So you turn your lamping cat eyes at the human in pity, at the poor human things that never hunt and never climb or jump or pounce, and merely open your doors and cans. The human makes more noises and starts to close the door.
But you tense up, staring in to the bright light of the yard. You hesitate; crossing the threshold, again in to the unknown, leaving behind the familiar for the wide world outside.
"Cat, will you move?" the human yells.
And as the heros in the legends who received the questing call, reluctantly you leave behind your home; you answer to adventure, allow yourself to be swept in the hunting and prowling it affords, and wonder if you will return, later in the day, the same cat as when you left.