Cats: Don't try to understand, just love them

Some nights when I come home, it looks like there are dead cats all over the house.

There actually are only two, and they’re not dead, just very, very relaxed.

Unlike the nights when they meet me at the door, or are busy playing with each other or are just busy ignoring me, there are times when they are lying in various states of relaxation, muscles melted into the floor, their bodies limp sacks of fur.

They’re usually on their backs when they’re in this comatose-appearing state, with their heads lolled in one direction or another and at least one leg propped up against a piece of furniture.

Nearly all of my previous living-with-animals experience is based on dogs. Dogs are easy to understand. They wag their tails, smile and make happy faces, their eyes glowing with love. Or not. It all depends on their personality.

Some just want you to bring them food and water, scratch their ears and then leave them alone. Others are frantic to play, anytime, day or night. “Throw the ball, throw the ball, throw the ball!” their actions scream at you.

Cats don’t wag their tails; they twitch them, which usually means they’re getting ready to pounce on something. They don’t smile, or make happy faces. They don’t bark.

They do, however, talk.

Tony (or TJ, for Tony Junior) sometimes meets me at the door talking. I can tell by the tone that he’s fussing at me about something. I check the water and food bowls, and if they’re OK, I just let him talk, and say, “There, there” or “I know what you mean” every little while, so he knows I’m listening.

Other times, I have a feeling he’s tattling on Lizzy, his sister. His voice takes on a whiny, complaining tone, as if to say, “And then she pushed me down the stairs, and ran over me, and never even said ‘Sorry.’”

Lizzy doesn’t say much, at least not to me. She doesn’t have to. She’s beautiful, so all she has to do is just sit around looking good and acting stuck-up and the world comes to her.

She’s well-dressed, too. Her fur is long and thick, and when she’s walking away from you, the black on the backs of her legs make her look like she’s wearing fancy, fashionable boots. Her eyes are gorgeous.

Speaking of eyes, why do cats sometimes look like lunatics?

There they sit, just staring, vacantly, at nothing. It’s not that intent stare they get sometimes, like they’re getting ready to attack something, maybe each other. It’s just different. Then, suddenly, they’ll snap out of it and wander off. Strange.

I still love dogs, always will, but the cats have made little fuzzy places for themselves in my heart.

And even though they don’t smile or wag their tails, there’s one thing they can do to express themselves that even dogs can’t.

They can purr.
———
Persinger is community editor for The Tribune. She may be reached at (812) 523-7063 or jpersinger@tribtown.com.