Eyes
“An animal’s eyes have the power to speak a great language”
I have this cat.
Or rather, there is this cat who has chosen to let me think he is mine. When in actuality - he has chosen this place, and this time, to rest his paws. And for that, I am grateful.
For you see, he is a wild thing - a predator with a fluffy tail and a penchant for cuddles and ear scratches. He is quick, he is clever - he is sassy and savage. His paws are adorned with ten knives, designed to rend flesh - or gently plunk a dead thing in offering, at my feet. A legitimate Bad-Ass of a cat.
But one of the most remarkable things about this cat - are his eyes. The are arresting. They compel you to not only look and marvel at their beauty - but to question and wonder the language that is simmering within their depths. He is a commonplace cat - comprised of smoke grey shadows, ringed in the color of fall and etched softy by the deep of night. It is his eyes that are memorable. Not only for the color - the promise of spring on a cold winter’s day - but the language for which they speak.
They speak of the balance needed to slink between shafts of wheat. Stealth and silence incarnate.
They speak of the tension between the hunter and the hunted.
They speak of the fervor of the chase, the fierceness needed to leap and the ferociousness needed to close in.
They speak of the peculiar relationship between blood soaked paws and and sun warmed whiskers.
They speak of the trust given in order to cut briars and matts from tender skin and taunt hair.
They speak of the faith in the hands willing brave the sharpest of teeth to pull thorns from pink paws.
They speak of the boldness needed to fuel curiosity and the dangers of complacency
They speak of the knowingness of more, and the awareness that knowing is just ‘round the bend.
In short - they speak Cat.
