Fran, my blog coach, sent me a link to this:
I don't know why it's so hard to look away; or turn it off. I watch and wonder if the cat's owner stood the cat up, and took the picture -- undoubtedly, it's not the first time. The cat knows it's doing something very special. And nothing that it does, indicates that it's been trained -- that the cat is waiting, expecting a treat or reward.
There's a sense of authoritativeness ... hard to believe, hard to accept ... the cat is so strong, silent, and in control. It's beautiful.
I know from our dog and cat (long gone but not forgotten), that your pets do -- or maybe they don't -- really understand what they seem to -- but they speak to us.
We had a Lhasa Apso. I named him Teechi, the idea being that our dog would teach our son some of the facts of life. And our cat, Helpy, would teach him other facts of life, as did the various fish that lived and died in our three tanks. We even watched one of them give birth -- suddenly there were more than 45 tiny Silver Tetra swirling around in the tank.
Facts of life: Things live, grow, and grow weary or older, and die. I loved to watch the fish. The one who was probably the most fascinated by those facts of life wasn't our son.
We had to give our pets away when we moved to Malibu. We lived there for nine years while JC was in the television series, "Northern Exposure," and "ER." I never heard about Helpy, but Teechi lived for about five years with one of our friends, and then -- our friend d said -- "he just didn't wake up one morning."
I still see him; I open the door and hear him; I remember things that I could have done better for him.
I see Teechi in the standing cat. Our dog, paws on my knee, looking up at me -- so alive and real when I say "Teechi." And of course, I find myself smiling.