While perusing The Pioneer Woman this morning and reading her beautiful post detailing the close relationship between her and her Kitty Kitty I couldn’t help but be reminded of my non-existant relationshp with my own cat, Robert. For those who may need a recap, I have explained our decline in this post. The long and short of it is this: Robert’s a real jerk and hates us. The turncoat used our sympathy to bust him out of kitty jail and then proceeded to move out of our house, straightaway. He now lives with my next door neighbors and pretends we have no connection.
I had gotten quite used to his distance and reticence and until a couple of days ago managed to completely ignore his existence. Which is, after all, exactly what he wants.
But the other day something very, very strange happened. Something that has rocked my small world a bit. Something that I was not emotionally prepared for.
I came home from grocery shopping and was in the process of attempting to unlock my car doors (another story for another post) when I looked up and saw Robert perched on my front porch, staring at me. Peering through my soul would more aptly describe his gaze. It was as if he was trying to convey a message that his status as a feline wouldn’t allow him to verbally express. It was as if he was trying to tell me “Thank you.”
Thank you for caring for animal-kind. Thank you for making the decision to adopt an older cat in a frisky kitty kind-of-world. Thank you for making the effort to break through my encumbered soul to form a relationship. Thank you for bringing me into your home and further, into your family. Thank you for loving me.
I saw an opportunity which I hadn’t ever been allowed before. Robert and I were going to connect. And even more than that, he wanted to.
I set my groceries down and approached my wayward cat, reaching my hand out with loving care. Robert looked at my proffered hand and my excitement was electric. I had my cat back, for that I was sure.
He lowered his ears, closed his eyes and then proceeded to…hiss at me and manage a jump of epic proportions from my porch. I flipped around to see where Robert landed only to find him nose-deep in my rhododendron bush, in hunting mode.
It was then that I realized my cat wasn’t trying to connect with me at all. There was no gratitude pouring out of his soul. There was no desire for a relationship with his savior. There was no attempt at reconciling an unrequited love.
He was stalking his prey. And I had been in the line of fire.
I noticed this morning that Robert is back in his place of choice, the neighbor’s wicker porch furniture, snuggled deeply in his wool blanket. I attempted eye contact with him only to be shot down with a slight glance. It was over.