Three Days of Gray

As if trying to redeem itself, the last day of February dawns clear, filled with sunshine and something very like warmth. The cat sitting on the back porch railing grooms itself and yawns, taking the day for granted as it stretches in the sunlight. The dogs erupt out the back door and the trespassing feline makes a startled leap and disappears under the deck in a flash of calico. The dogs stage their usual ineffective pursuit but the cat is fleet of foot and agile - she moves like liquid lightning and leaves them in the dust - her dignity is slightly ruffled by this less than lofty retreat but she is still graceful, emerging victorious in the front yard and taking up a new position on the roof of my car where she curls up into a ball and immediately falls asleep.

Things at my friend Michael's are less peaceful. After a week in Dallas, he returned to his house and new cat, surveyed the scene and immediately picked up the telephone, bypassing the niceties of small talk to begin the conversation with a harried "COME GET THIS THING!" I sighed and calmly told him no, you let him in, you deal with him. After several minutes of ranting and raving - this call's main complaint seeming to be the cat's determination to trip him by twining around his ankles - I explained about separation anxiety, about the need for a clean litter box, about an animal's need for affection, about feline behavior and attitude. Meet him halfway, I advised, Learn to live with him by watching where you're walking, by paying attention. Make a small effort to understand him. Living with a cat is an adjustment. There were un-veiled threats about barn cats and microwaves, muttered warnings about devil cats and cats who refused to abide by the rules, cats who interfered and got underfoot and upset the natural order, cats who failed to appreciate their good fortune, cats who - simply stated - behaved like cats. Having heard it all before, I listened as patiently as I could, hoping that this extended vent might wear itself out and fade away. Through it all, I could hear the cat in the background, his loud meow's coming through the telephone lines clearly and coherently. It was more than I could say for Michael.

I'm struck by the thought that those of us who are wound the tightest unravel the fastest.