Kitty-Comm
I sit forward on the edge of my desk chair as I type. Most of the seat is taken by Howard and Blue, who are purring up a storm in advance of a late morning nap. These cats purr very loudly. The Lovely Linda -- their pseudo-mom -- opines that any animal rescued from the humane society knows it got out with it's life. It mighta been by just hours, or certainly days. Hence, they are very grateful. This may not be the rule for every one, animal or person, but it certainly offers a reasonable explanation for our two kitties.
It's particularly noticeable for me (1) who never had a kitten, and (2) whose last experience with a cat was with a creature who purred once, but we think that mighta been by mistake. He was not from the humane society. But these kitties are happy and trusting and they sound it. Their purring comes through the bathroom door, where they are kept in for the night. And they purr whenever they are picked up. Apparently they often purr just because they're in a delighted frame of mind.
Not to make more of purring than is due, but it's one of Nature's few sounds of pure pleasure. When these two kitties purr together, I sometimes hear the sound of a boat creaking with the tide against the dock. Or the main timbers of an older building leaning with the wind. Or a small plane, not in a hurry, buzzing in the distance. They lie entangled on my chair, purring until they relax into the arms of Morpheus.
Linda says Howard is my favorite, and I only half-heartedly disagree. Blue is a marvelous creature, bright, warm, and sleek, but truth be told, he's not as close to me as is Howard. Indeed, I had an instant connection with Howard, from the day I met him. It was at Linda's secretary home, which is operated as something of a half-way house; they take in dozens of cats-'n-dogs from the humane society and find homes for them in the community. Amidst a sea of some 15-plus cats, Howard had a connective spark with me.
That spark has continued to glow. Blue will be off sleeping in the garden, and Howard will show up, articulating a soft meow to get my attention. I lift him up to my lap, then slouch down further in my chair. He climbs up on my chest, sometimes putting his head against my neck, sometimes parking on his side and looking at me, as though he's trying to understand who/what I am. He knows I'm trying to communicate in his direction.
Cats operate at a different level from dogs, and from people; they can communicate telepathically. I once drove from Mill Valley to Monterey with four cats, each in an enclosed cat box, a hunnert 'n sixty miles. The only time those cats said a word -- and when they did, it was all at the same time -- was when I cast my (non-verbal) attention toward them. When I didn't think about them, they were silent.
That's what I experience with Howard, and more. He looks at me in such a trusting way, I'm almost embarrassed to think of him as a kitten. Giving him due credit, though, I know he doesn't take it personally.
And that's SetonnoteS...I'm Tony Seton.
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