Victorian Lady

While our other cat, Max had already been a character of several emotionally charged posts of mine, Masia seems to never evoke any commotion and, consequently, gives no reason to rejoice when a dramatic event is over. 

She is more like a quiet, steady glow that brings you warmth so reliably - you start expecting it and, to be honest, take it for granted.   

In this respect Masia reminds me of a Victorian-era lady, who was supposed to be talked about only twice in her life: when she was getting married and when she died.  

And like a Victorian lady, Masia is essentially feminine – practical, cautious and eloquently verbal for a cat.

She smartly spreads our attentions through the day – sitting on my husband’s lap through most of his working hours and sleeping at my shoulder at night. She jumps on my side of the bed in the middle of the night, smelling of fresh outdoor air, fir tree needles and grass (or snow in winter). And if this did not wake me up, she produces a short assertive ‘murk’-like sound to let me know that she has arrived and is ready for being hugged and stroked.  

As much as I do not like to be abruptly wakened up, I am never irritated by her maneuvers, as the very next moment my face is immersed in soft and fuzzy roundness of her belly. It purrs and vibrates, and I have a completely scientifically-unfounded feeling that listening to a cat’s purr through its belly is particularly therapeutic.

Another lovely trick of hers – to place the pads of her front paws on my face. They feel like tiny leather cushions. My husband saw us many times fast asleep together, with two little paws neatly pressed against my cheeks.  And though I am well aware of the sharp claws hiding inside those cute cushions, which she might unleash in panic (and panicky she gets easily from any abrupt or unfamiliar sound), I take the risk. A couple of scratches could hardly  damage much a 57-year-old face.

It is in Masia’s nature to trust no one, and I mean - NO ONE. Each and every situation she must explore herself and make her own conclusions, as to how safe the things are.

Only selected few of our family and friends have actually seen her.

When an outsider enters our house she is already in deep hiding. But we have noticed that through the years she made a huge progress toward accepting new people. For example, lately she started appearing in front of certain guests, if they were fairly quiet and after they have been in our house for couple of hours.

Each time this happens we feel proud that in our care she became so brave and worldly (from a wild and scared kitten she had been). We usually rush to explain to the lucky guest, what a transformation is witnessed here, though not always our excitement is shared.

We also shower the particular guest with sincere complements on his/her goodness, because we believe that Masia would never show herself to a person of questionable qualities.

 I suspect, though, that some of our visitors think of us as little-bit cat-crazy.  

As I said, Masia is remarkably vocal. To us she speaks in practically every other way but words. According to her shelter record Masia is a mud described as ‘black DLH’, where LH – probably stand for ’long hair’ and D – I have no idea for. But my theory is that she resembles Angora cats, which are renowned communicators.

Anyway, Angora or not, her intonations are so unmistakably clear that made me thinking of words as slightly overrated. We also noticed that Max who had used to silently tap on the window when wanted us to open it, eventually started supporting his demand with a meow.  Apparently this more efficient way of grabbing our attention  he learned from Masia.

There are skeptics who say that pets are easy to love, because they are primitive and we do not have high expectations of them.

Well yes, they teach us to be more accepting and less judgmental.

But the longer I observe my cats, the more I am convinced that in a stride to perfection they are way ahead of us: they have better sense of balance and danger, they see in the dark, they do not need to cloth themselves and their saliva is antibacterial. The list can be continued.   

Still we love them not for their perfections but rather for their vulnerabilities. It grants us the privilege of being their protectors.

Maybe God loves us the same way - simply because we are fragile.