Without thunder and lightening’s fanfare, the rain came with a suddenness and force that kept me glued to the window.
Curled in an armchair, I stared at the fat drops splashing into already swollen puddles. The torrent that had formed in the street left no prisoners behind. Almost a vibration, the rush of water falling in great quantities acted to cancel out the street sounds.
My husband was trying to talk. Nature’s show of force held my attention, I could listen, but my eyes stayed on the window.
He told me my inner cat was asserting itself.
Tucked up, relaxed, yet taut, my body was all stillful alertness.
Do we all have an inner cat?
Pettigrew, who is certainly a dog, does. At times he sleeps with no regard for the placement of his limbs.
Asserting his dominance, he stretches out his 57-pound frame to cover our full, three-cushion sofa: muzzle arched forward, tail extended straight he just makes it.
Yet he is also capable of folding his tail, paws, and head, spiraling his body like a snail’s shell so he fits snugly on just one cushion.
We embrace our inner cats and all the other elements: our unique mix.