gatugala

Tonight I had a tiff with my cat. It went like this: “I see you love me and don’t want to stop kneading my lap.” “Meow, yes, I am very content right now. I’m rarely this content. Ppffffpmuuuur. mew. ” (My cat is probably the most vocal domesticated animal I have ever met, “Ppfffmuur” for instance and “mmMA”—with short “a” and more stress on the “M”.) “I can’t understand what you’re saying,” I think. The cat doesn’t say anything. As I email, etc., cat, “Gatugala”, whimsically decides to exchange my lap for the bed. That’s fine. I don’t care. I’m absorbed in my email. Then I turn around to see Gatugala, which means “giant cat”, licking her long languid leg held above her head as she intermittently glances at the ceiling and some unknown distraction. …I don’t appreciate body washing on my bed. I never have. It’s where I sleep and alone, no cats. I’ve been told this was the former bedroom of Gatugala’s owner, whereupon Gatugala took up residency and peed on the bed. Knowing this, I am not about to let this cat urinate in my room on my bed. I enjoy Gatugala and politely tapped her butt and rubbed her ears. “Giant cat…please get off my bed.” No reply, more washing of the underarm. …Sometimes indifference amuses me to no end. I enjoy zero responses and wonder in my brain, “what does it take to be the absolute center of their attention…only for a moment?” I rarely think this way about cats. Seeing as Gatugala is indifferent to where I sleep and what I say and how I feel, I screamed shrilly, “get off the bed!” …no I didn’t, but being much larger, I did press her body into the bed and she thought it unpleasant and didn’t want to lick herself any longer. “Did you hear what I said?” “…why am I talking to a cat?” She didn’t move. I think…she thought…she was entitled. “…why does it matter? why am I watching this animal watch me?” She swatted me. She did. Then to my astonishment, Gatugala, the cat I am in fact fond of, hissed at me. …Cats hiss. Don’t be alarmed. It’s no surprise. They’ve been hissing since they boarded Noah’s ark. It may mean general irritation at the sight of the floor or the water bowl or the fact that you are bigger and it must walk on four feet or maybe it’s a gloomy day, or it can mean stark raving madness. Gatagula is in love with me and has never hissed or tried to bite me. “…I have a relationship with a schizophrenic cat.”

Next day:
Today I got tired of the mewing and constant noise for…who knows why the cat sits in the middle of the room and thinks you understand it. If I move to acknowledge the drama and show attention to the demanding cat meowing it’s head off and looking only at me, if I say, “for crying out loud, what is the problem,” it shows me its butt and walks away. It never runs, but always walks aimlessly into all the furniture, rubbing its head and butt along the way. Today I was tired and chased the cat, watching its surprise, then desperate, sliding escape over the lovely wooden floors. We started in the bedroom doorway, skidded (and I loudly followed) through the endless foyer—passing the retiring sofa and watchful table lamp. The coat rack stood silent, the shoes motionless. She barely missed the dining room exit, lost control in the dining room, and plowed into the giant armchair before seeing deliverance flooding through the big, huge, divinely sent open window. I rather enjoyed the whole episode and turned and went back to my room. This evening when I came home from teaching, Gatugala greeted me with all the unconditional love in her schizophrenic heart, as if I had never been a monster. Maybe she is an amnesiac.