Mom changed her password again but I figured it out.
How did I figure it out? I can read her mind. Today I’m going to share a great feline secret. Cats, you see, are telepathic. There aren’t always a lot of thoughts to read in the average two legged, usually boring stuff like buying food and going to work and when the mail is coming, and hardly ever anything about mice or birds, but we can read them all the same. That’s how we know it’s time for bed, or time to get up, or time to go to work, or come home, or when our two-legged isn’t feeling well.
Mom is somewhat smart sometimes. The other day I was worried about my friend Thomas. He wasn’t in his usual spot in the window and every time I tried to talk to him I just got hurt-sick feelings. And then he went to The Vet. He even stayed away overnight! Feeling what he was going through made me feel pretty bad myself. But Mom figured out why I was sad, and she came to talk to me. She petted me and she told me Thomas would be okay.
Sure enough, a couple of days later, Thomas was there again, looking out his window at me. Our front windows are kitty-corner from each other, so we can see each other to talk. He gave me the slow blink to let me know he was okay. I purred and purred. Mom saw me looking and purred too, in her own way. Even Thomas’s Mom and Grandma were happy! I heard Mom tell Other Mom about it.
Mom did such a good job worrying about Thomas and understanding me that I figured I’d give her a break and write a blog entry for her.
Our girl Nezumi really did act sad when Thomas was sick. Was it a smell? A half-heard conversation? Simply his absence in the window, that really is kitty-corner from us? I’m not sure. I do know that she was moping for a while, and really did perk up when I told her Thomas was being cared for and would be okay. He needed a night in the hospital but he’s back to his old self again.
On another occasion, I had a very old dog. She was mostly blind, mostly deaf, and was at that sleeping-most-of-the-time stage. We loved her dearly but she was nearly at her end. One night, she woke up from a sound sleep, barking with all her old fervor and running to the back of the house. All the doors were closed. I went out, because it seemed she was barking in the direction of the chicken coop. I opened the back door, ran the fifty yards or so to the coop, and found raccoons attacking the hens. How had the old dog known? Closed doors, closed windows, senses nearly gone. Yet, she knew.
I could go on with stories of how my cat Orion used to wait for me, looking to the east, when I was away to an eastern part of the state, several hundred miles away. Or how he always knew when I’d be home, and was there to greet me, even if I was early or late. Keen senses? Perhaps. Who knows?