…the pleasure of living with a feline.
All of the reasons, usually given, for loving cats are correct, but I omit the real reason why I love cats. Envy.
I envy their ability to see in the dark things we barely see in the light; their ability to jump five to ten times their lengths, with ease and grace; their sense of independence; their ability to hunt and kill without mercy or repentance; their effortless beauty.
I envy their curiosity; their soft, warm bodies, which does not change much with age; their ability to give love unconditionally; their suppleness. How many people can lick their chest, stomach, bottoms of their feet, rump? I envy their skill at bamboozling even the hardest heart into accepting them, and secretly wish I could come back as a cat. Personally, I would love to sleep anywhere, anytime, and for sixteen-hour stretches, die and return eight more times.
Until then, a cat owns me. She accepts me as I am. She respects my personal space, time, idiosyncrasies’ and expects the same courtesy in return.
Ditto, is her name, and she adopted me at the Los Angeles Equestrian Center. Six weeks old, and recently orphaned (mother got “carried-away” by a coyote). She looked me over and decided that I would “do”. A fierce huntress, with a stubborn independent streak (don’t fence her in), wild, capricious, and provocative. She wanders freely through the backyard her green eyes alert and sleek body primed for assault or escape. However affectionate, she is fundamentally feral.
This year we are celebrating eight years of peaceful co-existence. Not many human relationships last that long today. Just another reason to be envious.