Talking to Braille Kitty

I have always prided myself on being able to talk to the animals. I saw Dr. Doolittle when I was a kid and though I have zero recollection of the movie itself, I have practiced talking to all my animals. Growing up on a working dairy farm gave me many animals to talk to, and talk to them I did. I even talked to the chickens, which I thoroughly detested. Life was rough for me, but the animals gave me a gift. They responded to my incessant chatter with lowing moo's, offended bok-bok's and excited squeals.

All this confidence in my ability to talk to the animals was blown to smithereens by one cat. Sammie was an odd kitty, seemingly she was personality-free for a good couple of years after I adopted her. Then one day, my then-husband went to sea, and Sammie emerged from herself. She wanted to cuddle, and play ball, and watch TV upside down on the couch with Jesica and me. I was stupefied. All this talking to Sammie, and apparently I wasn't understanding what she was saying. She didn't like the man I married! Sammie lived a good life after that, because shortly thereafter, I disposed of the man in question. A few years later I met Ronnie, and Sammie fell in love too. A man she liked, well he must be perfect for me.

The revelation that Sammie didn't like my ex sent me back to Square One with my animal communication. I was never blessed with the ability to communicate in other-worldly fashions, so I was forced to hire this talent out. One of them said my cats heard me talking to them, and that they laughed at me. I was not surprised to hear this at all. They ACT like they are laughing at me.

Enter Braille Kitty. Roxanne speaks in Clawsanteeth, an ancient language devised by devious children of Bast to communicate with their idiot owners. I have tried to explain to Miss Roxanne that I do not need to be spoken to with such force, but it has fallen on a laughing kitty's deaf ears. Everything she needs to get across to me is spoken using tiny sharp teeth and four sets of double-pawed claws.

I have marks from head to foot from these chats I've had with Roxie. I bear embarrassingly long ugly red welts which require turtlenecks to conceal. Scratches which itch and burn, puncture wounds in various stages of healing in perfect kitty paw patterns and gashes which seep blood and range from my neck to my knees. She's a tricky one, this kitty. She wants all the attention, chatters away non-stop looking for it, and lures me in with that cute "pet me" look. (I fall for this every time.)

When it's time to eat, I am notified by the biting of the toes, or the nose, if I am asleep. When it's time for me to let her through a closed door, a sharp slash to the hand occurs. Time to play? Any of my flesh is fair game, especially the tender top of the foot flesh. I am not allowed to watch TV without paying attention to her, nor spend too many minutes staring at the computer screen. Explaining to my friends why my hands look like I was assaulted by The Slasher, which they were, is an exercise in lying. There was the Horrible Dishwasher Incident where I was attacked by the silverware caddy. Another day, I fell straight into a vicious rose bush!

One time I tried to make coffee before feeding her. She reminded me that I was remiss by jumping from the floor and implanting every single claw she had deep into my derriere and both thighs, where she hung on for dear life until I detached her. This was no easy feat, she has many claws and I did not wish to enhance the agony by allowing her to reposition herself. I am this cat's slave, and whatever she wants, I do it. Willingly, but in fear.

Roxanne is now about 3 and a half years old or so, and like Sammie, coming into herself a little on the late side. She has been with us a bit over a year now, and she has established her tiny self firmly as the alpha kitty, boss of Niko, Leo and Me. Ronnie is a whole 'nother story. She loves her person, none other than Ronnie, lover of dogs, ignorer of cats. The more he ignored, the more she loved. She has trained him now, and he talks to her as she talks to him. He reaches down to pet her without a thought, and lets her in and out of doors as she follows him around the house. Ronnie has never been the recipient of even a single tooth dent in his flesh.

*sigh* Lost another one.