Isolation

Cat under a cold tin roof

An antidote for covid isolation

A cat is the perfect companion in this age of covid anxiety.

My cat is contemplative, like me. She looks out the window, lost in her own thoughts. I try to imagine what they are. Cleopatra? Catnip treats? Certainly not Covid.

She eats sparingly, like me. She is a spartan. She naps frequently, on the bed and on the sofa and in various chairs, like me.

She doesn’t read but she listens to me when I read to her, blinking her eyes from time to time which I’m told is a sign of contentment. I tell her there will no questions at the end so she doesn’t need to make notes. She keeps it all in her head. She keeps her own counsel.

Yet we communicate. I say good morning Bella Donna, and she replies succinctly in her own language. I ask her if she wants some special treats from the cupboard and her reply is more vocal.

If I stay up after ten o’clock watching a movie she jumps up on the arm of the armchair and puts her paw on my shoulder. Her message is clear: It’s time for bed.

So to bed we go and she curls up on the bottom of the bed, her body pressed against my legs. Ah, security. Warmth. Safety. Peace in the valley.


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