Le Chat

Out the door to take my morning stroll, and there's my cat in her usual spot on the walkway. I freeze. She freezes. We stare at each other. I step forward. She bolts for the driveway and hides under my car. This happens every morning. It's our thing. 

Now when I say "my" cat I don't mean she belongs to me (if a living thing can even belong to another living thing) or that I'm her caretaker or that I even put food out for her like my Korean neighbors who leave piles of dry food on the sidewalk like trail markers at Angeles National Forest, the kibble eventually getting wet and dissolving into a vile tri-colored mush. No, this is my cat because she lives most of her life in MY yard. I'm not using "my" as in my pet but "my" as in my  plumber.

I don't know for sure that it's a her, but it must be because our interactions are so male-female. I guess they are also cat-human, but I've had a lot more experience with females than felines and this feels right in that wheelhouse. Very first grade crush, her coming around then running away whenever I try to engage. It's not like I want to pet her, because I'm allergic to cats (women, only certain breeds), but why does she have to run from me with such distrust? Am I just your standard strange unknown human or does she sense something dangerous or creepy about me?

To say she makes herself at home in my yard would be an understatement. It's more like she allows me to come and go when I need to. Often, she takes her afternoon sun on the ledge of my living room window, and if I'm laying on the couch reading we will just gaze at each other for long periods from a foot away, a pane of antique glass the only thing between us. I'm not sure what's going through her head, but I'm thinking, "So you're gonna just stare at me with those intense cat eyes as if you grok the entire essence of my being and then when I open the door you're going to run away like you don't know who the hell I am?" I actually think this. I want to tell her "You should be nice to me. I have two credits on the last Puss In Boots movie." 

She's white with brown and black blotches. She's not skittish, she just has certain rules of engagement and she's serious about them. Actually, I think she likes to feel like she's getting away with something. I totally relate to this. Doing things is fun, but doing things you're not supposed to do is more fun, and nearly getting caught, its own sickening joy. She gets off on being startled, and big bad wolfing me even though I have never huffed or puffed at her once. What's interesting about the whole thing is the feeling of being known and yet completely unknown. That is the truth of all relationships, for no matter how close you are to anyone, whether by soul, blood or circumstance, they always remain in some way mysterious. They are them and you are you. This cannot be changed, and one of the joys/horrors of falling in love is the illusion that it can be, and then the harsh reality that it can't. Being in love is not a sustainable or healthy state, but you can get some really good poems out of it. Bad poems too.

Is it a blessing or a curse, this desire to be known? Why am I always seeking acceptance and connection?  It would be so nice to just be in my body like she is. To lick my wrists and have that be enough. To be a cat.