The creature snoozing a few feet down the hall from my "office" has a battered nose (from picking fights with her sibling and who-knows-what inanimate objects). She is also absolutely filthy (from having free run of the fenced-in backyard). And the last round of shots at the vet and a switch in kibbles has only slowed down the tendency to pull out her own fur. Yet she will survey the living room--front paws daintily crossed--from her perch at the top of the stairs with what can only be described as a regal attitude. She is--and always will be--my "Ladykin" or "Pretty Lady," even when grubbier than the "Peanuts" character Pigpen. Which means that she will live a life of ease and plenty that billions of human beings only dream of. (Doubtless, Her Ladyship thinks it a mere fraction of the homage due to her beauty and charm.)
Granted, I was raised with cats and have been tolerably well trained by them. My husband was not. Yet Her Ladyship--battle-scarred, dirty and considerably thinner than she is now--invited herself into our home. The first news I had was my husband calling me to know if I wanted a cat because there was one on the couch beside him. In minutes, the self-proclaimed "dog person" had become her willing minion.
Now, I don't imagine that we all can con--errrr, I mean charm--others into catering to our every need. Nor do I think that one cat "proves" a point about humanity in general--namely the idea that how we perceive ourselves affects how others perceive us. But the adage that you can learn something from everyone doesn't necessarily stop with two-legged critters. At least not for me.
