Today II: The impossible cat, and me
She sit by the window for a long while, grooming herself occasionally, brooding. So I went on about my chores; vacuuming the floor - while blaming Meow for her abnormal amount of hair fall - , drying my hair, and brewing coffee.
She started pacing and meowing, asking someone to open the window screen and let her out. So I walked over.
“You want to get out?” I said, “fine, are you still mad at me?”
She looked at me hopefully, for a second, then turned around and put her back to me
“Suit yourself,” I said.
(Now she has given up and went under the sofa, to groom herself even more, I guess.)
The coffee machine was ready. I’d used up the last grain of our coffee, which I just grounded yesterday, but it still couldn’t fill the filter. I know I have a smaller, single cup filter somewhere, but can’t be bothered to look for it. So I pressed hard and pre-soaked.
Meow had not improved her demeanor. I walked over, and we revisited the discussion. Nothing changed.
I held my hand out, without bending down, and said: “C’mon, you know you’ll have beg if you want out.”
She examined my fingertips carefully, for a few seconds it almost seemed like she was going to give in. But then a gust of indifference clouded her eyes, and she averted her gaze.
So I turned away, too.
"Whatever, I’m not giving in first.”
The measuring cup filled up quickly, the tails were thick and aggressive. I thought I was going to stop at 1 1/2 ounces, but it went up to two before I could clean away my thoughts and focus.
I’m always doing numerous things at once, I’ve discovered. At that exact moment, I was supposed to (a)kept a keen eye on the coffee machine, (b)remember to check the milk for ice crystals later, (c)beware if Meow was going to cause any disaster for revenge or other incomprehensible reason, (d)compose descriptive sentences in my mind, and (d)trying to ignore the chaos in my life.
Anyhow, the acidity was off the roof, crema was the thinnest I’ve ever seen, but the aroma was rich and pleasant nonetheless.
(The afternoon shower is drumming up its bestiality. Now Meow is hidden behind my cello, just one meter away.
What is she doing?)
I tested Meow’s maturity once again while I was waiting for the steam wand to be ready. Spooning out crystallized milk from the pitcher and crunching them in my mouth (it was quite delicious actually, why hasn’t I thought of making milk sorbet?), I stood beside Meow, and looked out of the window with her.
“What about it?” I said, “you’re such an impossible cat.”
Anyhow, the acidity was off the roof, crema was the thinnest I’ve ever seen, but the aroma was rich and pleasant nonetheless.
(The afternoon shower is drumming up its bestiality. Now Meow is hidden behind my cello, just one meter away.
What is she doing?)
I tested Meow’s maturity once again while I was waiting for the steam wand to be ready. Spooning out crystallized milk from the pitcher and crunching them in my mouth (it was quite delicious actually, why hasn’t I thought of making milk sorbet?), I stood beside Meow, and looked out of the window with her.
“What about it?” I said, “you’re such an impossible cat.”
“Petty.”
I held my hand out again. She deliberately averted her eyes. She turned away and brushed her body against the window frame, then turned back again. Pretending to be unaware of my presence, she brushed her head lightly against my fingers and walked away.
Right, very convincing.
“That’s not enough, you know,” I said, getting up and going back to the kitchen.
(She’s still in there. The thunder is getting louder and more violently. It’s starting to startle me a little as well. Meow must be scared. I walk over and give her my hand. She sniffs me lightly, then turns away, retreating deeper into the corner.)
The milk frothed perfectly, I thought, I'm getting better at this.
After lightly clocking the pitcher on the countertop, I poured it into the mug and watched it sank into the dark; I watched the richness blended in and filled up so gently and lovingly, until the thickest foam alighted, daintily on top, and snuggled the rim of the mug.
(What was that? And I thought I wasn’t afraid!
It’s so silly to be afraid of thunder.
But before I could register any rational thought I was already screaming uncontrollably, hands over my ears as tight as clamps, and shattered by the primal sound.
Please, o please, never do this to me again.
I should go check on Meow.)
So I climbed on a bar stool with my coffee and started typing. I couldn’t decide where to begin, but started clanking away anyway.
(Thank heavens, the storm is leaving.)
I held my hand out again. She deliberately averted her eyes. She turned away and brushed her body against the window frame, then turned back again. Pretending to be unaware of my presence, she brushed her head lightly against my fingers and walked away.
Right, very convincing.
“That’s not enough, you know,” I said, getting up and going back to the kitchen.
(She’s still in there. The thunder is getting louder and more violently. It’s starting to startle me a little as well. Meow must be scared. I walk over and give her my hand. She sniffs me lightly, then turns away, retreating deeper into the corner.)
The milk frothed perfectly, I thought, I'm getting better at this.
After lightly clocking the pitcher on the countertop, I poured it into the mug and watched it sank into the dark; I watched the richness blended in and filled up so gently and lovingly, until the thickest foam alighted, daintily on top, and snuggled the rim of the mug.
(What was that? And I thought I wasn’t afraid!
It’s so silly to be afraid of thunder.
But before I could register any rational thought I was already screaming uncontrollably, hands over my ears as tight as clamps, and shattered by the primal sound.
Please, o please, never do this to me again.
I should go check on Meow.)
So I climbed on a bar stool with my coffee and started typing. I couldn’t decide where to begin, but started clanking away anyway.
(Thank heavens, the storm is leaving.)
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