The cat murmurs--one of those long, rolling, sentence-length utterances, full of inflection. Is it a complaint or a comment? I truly wish I could tell. In one sense, it seems odd to have the capacity to speak in such continuous bursts, and then not have it be understood.
I mean, does anyone understand what she just said? Would another cat have comprehended and translated? I mean it. I’d like to know. And part of me would really like the key to cracking the code.
I wouldn’t feel like such a schmuck then when I ask: "What?---do you want to go out?" "Are you hungry?" "Are you lonesome?" And she finds it necessary to repeat the same sentiment--only the third time with a guttural fury in her throat, as if she were now, mentally, stomping her feet to express her impatience with my stupidity. Like, she can understand me; why can’t I understand her?
I’m suspicious that it has mostly to do with a lack on my part; that if I’d listen better I’d actually get it more often.
I was watching a person with their dog in the park the other day. You could actually tell, by the expression on the dog’s face and its whine and accompanying pawing at the man’s leg, it wanted to leave. The single bark when the man stood up was an emphatic "Yes." We do OK when we speak the language.
But I think cats are God’s gift to man; a reminder, to point out and prove our basic and total unconsciousness......and we don’t even know enough to be embarrassed.
el gato!! nice one here dude. gee, you used to be able to understand after a little ganja and zin.
cats over dogs if only for their ability to flip the middle finger to humans rather than slather the lather with their "oh boy, oh boy" fawning.
Posted by: jim Lynch | February 13, 2010 at 07:03 PM