For the past few nights, Leonard (pictured above) has posed in the echoing stairwell yelling “Raúl! Raúl!”
I know he can hear me. “Leonard, shut up! It’s three in the morning!”
“Raúl!”
“Who are you talking to?”
Long silence. Then, he answers in his most sarcastic tone, “Raúl.”
It must have been a stupid question.
I’ve been living with cats for a long time. I understand they may reside with us but theirs is an alternate reality. I’ve learned very little that I could claim as fact because others who live with cats have different experiences.
Even cats who aren’t as loquacious as Leonard are strange. Sophie (pictured below) rarely says a word but she is a thief.
Since her early kittenhood, she has kept a stash of stolen goods under my bed. All the stolen goods were formerly mine, of course. Earrings, ponytail elastics, small pieces of objects. Occasionally, she presents one of these items as a gift to me.
It has taken me fourteen years to understand that each theft is a result of her dissatisfaction with the service in my house. Each return is probably motivated by pity because I see no evidence that she has ever released a grudge.
Why do I live with creatures who steal from me and scream for Raúl in the middle of the night?
I don’t know sometimes. Maybe I’ll ask Raúl tonight.
