More on Cats

Seven years ago I invited a cat into my home; a sincere invitation at that. The first few years the cat and I lived a friendly existence. The cat played, rolled over on command, and became an enjoyable companion.

I like cats. They are an interesting species. The question often is, "What do they do?" Dogs hunt, herd sheep, find fugitives, and many other useful things. Of course, there are some breeds of dogs I cannot bear. They usually fall into the Chihuahua category. They yap noisily, become domineering, and are, to me, generally unpleasant animals. Also useful are horses, the other domesticated species people respond. They can pull things, carry people or other loads on their backs, race around an oval (we can bet which one will win and make lots of money—that is useful). But cats, they do not do anything. They do not herd, hunt, carry things on their back, or race. Generally, cats sleep, eat, puke up hair balls, and use a litter box (if they are kept in a home). I do not think I have ever seen a cat do anything useful. I know there are exceptions. There is a cat that knows when people are about to die. Occasionally a cat will warn sleeping house occupants that their home is about to go up in flames, but I think that is rare.

Well, anyway, the cat that came into my home seven years ago at least rolled over on command. Not anymore, however. The cat does nothing on command. In fact it is the other way around. I can hear the animal meowing loudly when the cat thinks it is time to eat, which is all the time. The cat, these days, makes all sorts of demands and sees me as an interloper. That is the part that bothers me the most. Rejection has been a principal part of my life. In high school I think I held the record for being told to take a hike when I asked a girl for a date. In my life I think I have sent out over one hundred resumes and curriculum vita in search of meaningful employment. Most of them did not generate a response. Some generated a polite letter of rejection. I can understand all that and it is a part of my past I do not need to dwell on. What I cannot understand is how it is possible for the cat I have invited into my home, the cat I feed, and the cat that shares the comforts I provide can reject me.

That is exactly what this ungrateful cat does. Every time I entered into the cat's space it leaves the room. All I have to do is look at it and the return look says, "Who are you and why are you here?" Now I ask, "How would feel?" Or, let me ask this, "Is this the ultimate rejection; being told by a cat to get out of my space?" Alas, I think the cat has trained me and herded me into a corner. Maybe that is what cats do.