I Let Her Walk All Over Me

"The problem with cats is that they get the exact same look on their face whether they see a moth or an axe-murderer."

Paula Poundstone

A week or so ago, I exited the hospital and found a ball of fur nestled on the top of one of my car's wheels. I wondered if I had unwittingly roadkilled anything on my drive to class that morning when the hairy lump uncoiled itself to reveal a Felis catus - that most liquid of animals capable of catnapping in just about any place on earth. It spotted me standing there and mewed to me in an as-a-matter-of-factly fashion. I think she was saying: "My car. I saw it first."

"Back off. Or I'll kill you. And your family."

"Sorry, I don't speak cat," I mewed in reply. She considered my words solemnly and returned yet another unintelligible meow. We had several more exchanges which - judging from her expression - must have made a lot of sense to the cat, but the meaning of our parley was completely lost on me.

"I need to go now," I finally said. "Get off the wheel or prepare to be puréed."

Silence. Her face said a thousand things, and none of them nice. I always thought a cat's expression is like a kind of Rorschach test in that we, the observers, supply the meaning - this tends to create the illusion that cats are intelligent and expressive. Dogs, on the other hand, have all of two expressions: "DO WANT!" and "I ate my own poop and now I'm sad."

With a sigh, I dislodged the kitty from the tyre, unlocked my car and sat myself in the cockpit but before I could close the door, the cat leapt into the vehicle and onto my lap, cool as you please. There's no limit to a cat's sense of entitlement, I tell you.

"You're mine now, hoomin."

"So... where are we going?"

"I'm going to walk all over you and there's nothing you can do about it."

Then, she started climbing up my upper body casually; claws out but not all the way. If I have to assume, I'd say that she does this on a pretty regular basis judging from her expertise in not poking me full of pinholes. In no time, she's perched on my right shoulder and had started rubbing her cheeks against mine, purring ecstatically like we've been the best of buddies for years.

"Pursue that fish cart, my good man!"

After several reiterations of her routine of clambering up and down me like I'm some kind of human doormat, I had enough and chucked the feline out of my car. She landed on her feet, as cats are wont to do and immediately sprang back in like a furry rubber ball. Toting her under one arm, I took her some distance away from my Vitara, spun her a bit, put her down facing the opposite direction and ran like crazy, hoping that the cat would be too disoriented to give chase.

When I got back to my car and slammed the door, I saw that she remained exactly where I left her. The little orange figure stared at me for a bit in that severe, flat manner all cats learn how to do when they were just wee little kittens. "I never loved you," she seemed to say with her cold, cruel eyes. "I was merely toying with your feelings, hoomin."

Then it started cleaning itself in a nonchalant fashion, as if I have never happened.

Happier times. Sniff.

Prefers dogs anyway,
k0k s3n w4i