Two unrelated notes:
First, a friend I had not seen in some time stopped by unexpectedly yesterday, brought my way by funeral ashes, iPhone issues and a failed GPS. I leave you all to figure out what that says about my life, but it turned into a delightfully unexpected late afternoon/early evening.
Second, I am sorry to report to you that this house is currently filled with Unrequited Love.
Said Unrequited Love comes from the Little One, who adores, but adores, tgregory3
and wants to sit on his lap and be held in his arms. After all, my brother does wonderful things like walking around and cooking fish and sometimes even – try to restrain your admiration – putting a cat up on a window so that the cat can look at squirrels and birds. Alas, although my brother is willing to occasionally scratch the Little One's head and back, this is not a mutual love. He actually – I hesitate to reveal this to you – prefers the other cat
, on the false basis that the Grey One is prettier and more importantly quiet and does not yowl all the time and does not try to climb on him.
To repeat, this, alas, is false. Well, only partly false. It is true that the Grey One does not try to climb into his lap, since the Grey One rarely tries to climb into anyone's lap. (She has started to climb into mine, always, without fail, when I'm on a typing roll and have finally realized how a particular scene, poem or essay should go, standing right in front of the screen and daring me to pay attention to words instead of her beauty, grace, elegance and sudden need for adoration and belly and chin scratching.) Her general response to the presence of strangers – demonstrated last night – is to find a small dark corner someplace so that no one will be blinded by her beauty and so that she does not have to suffer looking at other people. (I am gathering.) Also, convince them never to return again by deliberately missing the litter box. (It's deliberate. She knows where the litter is, she does not have an infection, but she does know that this is an effective way to punish me since it so obviously ticks me off.) And she is certainly a remarkably beautiful and elegant cat of high breeding. (You can take her word for it.) And considerably smarter than the Little One – probably the most intelligent cat that has ever owned me. (Having figured out the bathroom faucets, she has begun watching me and my brother in the kitchen. This is not going to end well.)
BUT SHE IS NOT AT ALL QUIET.
Trust me on this.
As soon as the house has been safely cleared of other humans, it begins. Quiet chatter at first, leading into full fledged rants. This cat may genetically
be only half- Siamese, and show very little of this in her face, but her vocal cords are entirely
Siamese. (I sense the biologists amongst you questioning this statement but it's entirely true
.) She has been known to howl for hours on end. Hours. Over what, I can't tell you. Presumably the sad state of the universe.
Until someone else arrives, at which point she goes utterly silent. And the Little One, who is mostly quiet when no one else is around unless he sees an outside dog or cat to sit on, starts his howling.
Which means that no one, but no one, believes me when I try to say that actually, SHE'S the loud one. Oh, sure, people have heard her howling in the background when I'm on the phone (she disapproves of phones, although sometimes she will hide under the bed in her disapproval) but they assume that she's the Little One because he's the one that will be vocal when they stop by. Sigh.
In the meantime, my morning has been filled with howls from a frustrated Little One, since my brother – prepare yourselves for a terrible shock – has insisted on doing yard work and house repairs and even reading a book all without the help and company of a cat
. (The book reading was particularly egregious since, as we all know, a cat can always enhance the pleasure of reading a book by putting a helpful paw right on a page, or, as I have discovered to my distress, a Nook. Slight digression: yes, a cat paw on a Nook will flip the Nook forward several pages, and it is my current belief that the next generation of the Nook needs to learn how to distinguish between a human finger and a cat paw, and I don't want to hear that this is physically impossible.) Horribly distressed, he came over to curl up beside me, and seemed comforted for a bit. And then my brother – prepare for an act of infeline cruelty – STOOD JUST OUTSIDE THE WINDOW and didn't EVEN reach through the glass to pet the cat. I know. I was shocked too.
This is why my weekends so often seem long. On the bright side, the Little One has made friends with the puppy next door (although, in sadder news, the puppy has not yet been successfully turned into a pirate. I understand children are continuing to work on this.) So some love continues to grow.
Excuse me. I see the cat needs more comforting.