I like to think that the Grey Cat
sulks when his mistress leaves us. Otherwise I am left with the
impression that he blames me for her absence. I get the accusing
look from him. The unblinking stare with questions.
I'll offer explanation but he knows I am lying. Nowhere in the panoply
can he find a reasonable explanation for why I am preparing his breakfast
beyond the certain knowledge that I have done away with her. Left
her parts somewhere for consumption at a later time.
So I leave the kitchen to let him sniff his plate. Then when he
knows I am not looking he might even try eating some, if only so that
later he has something to regurgitate on the floor by my chair.
Of course, when the Grey Cat is alone
with me, it is an opportunity for him to return to that place he came from
so many generations ago. Independent, free spirited, prowling the
kitchen table, drinking from the kitchen sink. Awash with
hormonal impulse he'll dare me to deprive him of. And when finally his
mistress does return from the dead, she thinks the Grey Cat is ignoring her,
because when she returns he suddenly takes an interest in me.
But I am only a cog in the machinations of the
Grey Cat's mind. Pretty soon there is cooing and other unseemly
displays of forgiveness and welcome home. And while I am often
thankful that we are not doggy people, it more often strikes me as peculiar
to find myself thoroughly attached to so dreadful a character as the Grey