
In the Company of Cats
Moments of silence
I don’t do crowds well. A bit of a hermit am I. Solitary. Except for the company of cats, that is. And birds. And plants.
I have whole conversations with my succulents, praising them when they produce those great arching blooms, as pink and plump as a baby’s fingers, sprouting from concentric rings of green flesh.
I like people. Don’t get me wrong.
But the songs, the whispers of the muse, are drowned out in a crowd.
I can’t hear the sounds of my own words.
No, give me the ultra-sonic speech of Bisou, my “soft-focus” kitty, who glows when the sun slants just so, or the husky request of voluptuous Uma, demanding to be loved, or, at least, to be brushed.
Or the mockingbird singing — why do they do this in the wee hours of the night? I can only imagine he’s guarding his acreage. But maybe, he’s just delighted with his own voice.
It’s in those moments of silence, apart from the crowds, when the melody of the world somehow trickles into my ears, and also into my dreams, filling them both with the harmony of nature’s grand symphony and the conversation of cats.







