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She’d rather have a cat.

Jul 12, 2008 Pets & Animals

Early evening Florida light streaming in through the dirt-stained glass of our kitchen’s double doors. Since it’s summer, Florida’s early evening light generally tends to waddle from bright through clouds, or bright yellow sun though clouds. It’s a particular shade of the sun too that you don’t see in the morning or afternoon due to the angle of things, all the shadows are long except for those in the kitchen. Electric lights above chase them away.

My cat comes silently stalking from around the corner with her tail straight but for the very tip, which always quirks to the left or suggests the shape of a stretched out question mark.

If I am at the kitchen window she will wind around my legs and make a high pitched, short kitteney sort of meow at the window. If I am not, she will make the same sound and then tilt her head over a dainty shoulder then up, expectantly at me.

I pad over in my bare feet and scoop her up from the bare terrazzo floors, letting her front paws dangle over me left fore arm and letting her tail and butt be supported by my right.

She’s tall enough to look out the window now and her pupils grow predator-huge. Her tail starts swishing back and forth, thumping over my stomach and hip as she stares at our back yard. Some times there are birds or squirrels and she’ll lift a paw excitedly to the window and chatter her teeth to make little purrrt-mew-meh-mew-mew? noises at them. Some times, there’s nothing in the back yard but she still watches it like it’s the best thing evar.

She’s warm and heavy in my arms. I always take the time to remember how pencil-thin and skinny she was when we got her from the shelter and compare it to how round, sleek, and solid she is in my hold now. She’s incredibly smooth; I imagine this is what silk or satin might have been created and fashioned after and her fur is always spotless. I am probably messing up the seven hours of licking she does every day to get her fur to lay just so but at that moment I don’t care and she doesn’t appear to, either.

And then she purrs. It’s not a loud purr like our other cat Raven, who sounds like she’s swallowed a diesel engine with some wheezing. Flora’s purr is deep in her chest and belly, more often felt than heard. You have to be very close or it has to be very quiet for you to hear it. She purrs and it travels up and down my arms, rumbles ticks lightly against my chest and that is when I wonder if this is what true peace feels like.

There are no expectations. There are no arguments. There are no judgments, she doesn’t care if I’m lumpy, having a bad hair day, or forgot to brush my teeth after eating something heavily sprinkled with garlic. There are no misunderstandings, no heated words by mistake, no yelling, no expectations, no broken dreams, no self-hatred or regrets. She is not human, there fore, I have no faith to lose in her.

People often wonder why I don’t have friends or wish to go out or wish to go through the rigmarole of finding them–I think it’s because I’d much prefer my kitchen window and the rumble tick of a contented cat.

Tags: Flora, Pets