Return of the Cat

Oh, my paws and whiskers, I say with surprise as the Cat Who Used To Live in the Garage and who I haven't seen in months, strolls casually out from under my car, takes up a position near the front steps and begins to groom herself.  She gives me an over the shoulder glance - indifferent and possibly a little bored - and I notice that except for a newly notched ear, she looks reasonably cared for and healthy.  She makes some remark to the tabby who is half asleep on the air conditioning unit but except for a slight flicker of one ear, the younger cat doesn't reply.  Taking my concern as their due, neither acknowledges my presence in the least and as I pull out of the driveway, they both go wandering off, important cat things to do, I'm sure.  I've been ignored by better than the likes of you, I call to them cheerfully but they pay no mind.

I've always been intrigued and attracted by the independence and naturally scornful nature of cats, envious even of their casually cultivated indifference.  When people discover that in addition to three dogs, I also have four cats, they tend to look surprised before asking the inevitable And they all get along?  After so many years with a houseful of animals, I've become accustomed to the question and will generally answer with a smile and a More or less but it's complicated.  If I sense genuine interest, I may elaborate on my theory of attrition and how it's not working as well as I'd imagined (so don't even think of asking if I want one more!) but usually I just end the conversation by saying One for every day of the week, you see.....and move on.  Serious animal lovers tend to nod and smile back with that peculiar empathy that we have for one another, but more often I get glazed eyes and an expression that seems to indicate pity.  All that's missing is a sympathetic tsk, tsk.

It's no secret that I've always preferred most animals to most people - anyone with a lick of sense would feel the same - after all, it's the only reasonable approach to actually living with people since we are all, to one degree or another, mad as hatters.  I find sanity and simplicity in the way animals cope with life.  They're not concerned with politics or skin color or jury verdicts or education or health care or civil rights or jobs.  They're isolationists.  They don't worry about being seen in church or whether the police are their friends.  They don't carry guns.  Their problem solving usually means a nap.  Their dependence on me gives me meaning and a reason to get up in the morning and there are times when I strongly suspect I need them more than they need me.

Even so, I think to myself as I try to get all seven fed without screaming, one or two would've been sufficient.
I really had no intention of allowing myself to be overrun for so many years but overrun I am - and despite the looks I sometimes I get - I'd still rather have them than a whole host of well behaved husbands, docile roommates or well mannered children.