There is something about a bathing cat. So fastidious, she cleans herself by inches, often taking her bath in a puddle of sunlight. Her face is a study in Zenlike focus - she is serene, intent, and she puts all of her being into her toilette.
A kitten, however, is a different story. She begins well enough, with the best of intentions, but her tail will twitch so that she must chase it round and round until she falls over onto her side and catches it with her front paws. After rolling onto her back, wrestling it a bit, and administering a ferocious bite or two, she will catch hold of her back paw, with her front two, pull it forward, and begin to wrestle it. She may notice it's not clean and begin her bath again, but soon that tail begins to twitch and she must chase it down and pounce on it to teach it a lesson.
Sometimes, I feel as though the world is holding its breath, as if any motion on my part profanes the sudden stillness around me. Sitting beside the open window, I felt a heaviness in the atmosphere portending storms or imminent historical events. Nothing moves outside - even the chirring of the insects is noticeably absent. No leaf flutters, no blade of grass flashes pale-and-dark Morse, no bird hops from branch to branch seeking six-legged sustenance. My very inhalation seems an intrusion of sound and fury.
Puppies, kittens, children and other young animals have no middle gears - they are flat out until they stop. Sometimes the stop comes in the midst of their play. I remember the Evil Genius playing until he dropped, toys clutched in each hand, more toys scattered around him. Rook, the kitten, is much the same - she scampers about the house harassing the older cats, galumphs up and down the hallway at top speed, hurtling around corners and over laundry baskets, stray shoes, and the odd foot or two. She rolls around with they little toy mice that inhabit corners and under-furniture spaces, and chases her own tail until she keels onto her side. And then, suddenly, she will let out her squeaky little mehehehow, clamber up onto my chair and flop down against my leg or crawls into the space made by my lap and the computer, and she's dead asleep in moments. I envy the profundity with which young things sleep - it smacks of innocence, trust, and faith that they are safe, protected in their slumber. They know the world will be there when they wake, and all will be right in it.
How many adults can say the same?
Quote of the day...er...week...umm...hey, look, a quote!!
"...besides love, independence of thought is the greatest gift an adult can give a child." - Bryce Courtenay, The Power of One
For old quotes, look here.
For old quotes, look here.