The Silence Of The Cat

I came back from doing my radio program and the cat was waiting for me on the rug. Not on the wall-to-wall carpet, but on the extra rug I put down to keep the person under me from hearing every step I take. It’s where she sits or stretches out when she wants her twice-daily treat. One around noon and the other around ten or eleven in the evening.

She says nothing but just looks at me. Often, she does not even make eye contact and just lays there waiting for some refrigerator action.

Speaking of which, this cat can sit and look at the fridge as if staring at the thing will cause its door to open and, presumably, the cat food can to march out. So, stare she does. Eventually, I get around to going where no cat has gone before: pulling on the handle and opening the door.

Later, she hops up to her perch on top of the entertainment center, sometimes to sleep and sometimes to quietly watch what’s going on. She sees all, but she makes no comment on the action in my room. When the day comes that she can speak with us, I’d like to be first in line to find out what’s been going through her mind all these years.

Everybody has a story.
Bernadine Mooney passed away last week. “Many children will remember her as the little old lady who would slip them a dollar during the sign of peace at St. Vincent’s Masses.”