My Cat

As I write this morning, my cat, Shayna, is at my feet. My heart swells with love for this furry little creature who has shared our home with my husband and me for the past 15 or so years, but I resist reaching down to pet her.

You see, Shayna’s taught us that she’s not at all crazy about being hugged or even petted.  She’ll never sit in our laps.  We feel lucky if she deigns to rub against our legs.  Even so, she loves hanging out with us—propped up on a nearby pillow, stretched out on the couch next to us, or sometimes, just curled on the floor across from where we’re sitting.

There are times I long to sweep her off her little feet and cuddle her in my arms.  I know that’s not at all what Shayna wants, and so I resist doing that most of the time.  Every once in a while, though, I can’t help myself.  I scoop her up and nuzzle my face in her fur.  She humors me for about a minute before jumping out of my arms and walking out of the room.  And then we both proceed about our businesses as if nothing out of the ordinary just happened.

“You can’t help that. We’re all mad here.” — The Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland

“Of all God’s creatures, there is only one that cannot be made slave of the lash. That one is the cat. If man could be crossed with the cat it would improve the man, but it would deteriorate the cat.” — Mark Twain

“When I play with my cat, how do I know that she is not passing time with me rather than I with her?” — Montaigne