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What do you see when you look into your kitty's eyes?
I like to sit and look into Cherokee's eyes and wonder what's going through his mind. For those of you who are not familiar with Cherokee, he is a classic brown tabby who weighs about 15 pounds or so. When we adopted him from the shelter last summer we took him to a local vet for a checkup. She said Cherokee looked to about ten to twelve years old and in good health, except for some arthritis, for his age.
From the beginning he has had a certain dignity, perhaps because of his age, perhaps because he is becoming increasingly crippled by arthritis and no longer frolics like a kitten, thereby giving him more time for contemplation.
Pussy closes her eyes and purrs, with just the tip of a little pink tongue showing, when I look her in the eye. Samantha stares back with the vacant gaze of a space cadet. Her right eye wanders to one side (I fear she is blind in that eye), and the other can't seem to decide where to look. It's like trying to have a serious discussion with Marty Feldman.
Cherokee looks right back at me, but if I move to one side, his eyes continue to stare straight ahead, Sphinx-like, as if he were either looking into the future at something I am too dimwitted to perceive or looking back over a life full of events and perceptions I can't even imagine. Or maybe his mind just wanders and he forgets what he was doing, as the elderly are prone to do; I can relate to that.
Cherokee is ever hopeful, undaunted by disappointment. When we first got him he slept with us at night, but because of allergies (mine) we had to banish him from the bedroom. Although he hasn't been allowed to sleep with us for the last seven or eight months or so, he still follows me up the stairs every night, lurching painfully from each step to the next, until he reaches the bedroom door, where he sleeps on the floor until I get up in the morning, then follows me back downstairs. He always greets me by rubbing against my leg and purring.
Often I'll look up from whatever I'm doing and meet his gaze. I can get an affectionate look from any of the critters just by paying them some attention or petting them, but Cherokee doesn't seem to need a reason. That gaze always seems to me to be full of love. I don't know what I've done to deserve it or earn it, but I see it and I feel it a dozen times a day.
And I love him right back.
Editor's note:
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