Slow Blink

Even after the haircut, still kinda cute…

Apparently, when a cat blinks at you, it’s a sign that they feel safe, content, and comfortable in your presence. Almost as if they’re telling you they love you. I’m not a cat person, though there’s a few I’ve met over the years that I’ve enjoyed. This past year, in particular, I became very close with an orange cat. Perhaps it’s because they’re (apparently) notoriously stupid, but he’d grace me with that sluggish squint every now and then - an incredible thing, considering the main role I played in his life was that of enforcer, pinning him down aggressively for brushings, nail clippings, and hair cuts. Quite forgiving, that cat. Even the one time, when we really had to have it out and he seemed almost physically hurt (never seen a cat’s tongue loll out of its mouth before…), we made up over a licky-treat.

Perhaps fighting was our bond, because we’d even play fight all the time, with him gently (at times) biting and scratching me with those soft paws - and all this despite him being a rather cowardly creature before I came along. “Shrimp mode,” it was affectionately dubbed, for he would curve himself like a shrimp and kick his back legs quickly. Ineffective, but endearing, and I hope he shrimps to this day, that half-fluffy gremlin.

Things were very cozy, indeed.

It’s interesting to me, the slow blink, because - despite the name - it actually comes and goes very quickly. It’s as transient as that which it seeks to convey. It’s amazing how one minute you’re safe, content, and comfortable, only to find yourself suddenly wide-eyed in surprise and terror. What you once counted on as solid and secure suddenly becomes foreign, and all in the blink of an eye.

I still find bits of fluff every so often, stuck to a sock or a shirt, despite it being awhile since we last battled - and even longer since he had long hair to shed. My washer and dryer are apparently no match for the lingering power of cat hair. I’m sure that, eventually, it’ll disappear completely; I wonder if I’ll notice that. I can’t imagine longing for orange fluff, but life is weird that way. If an aggressive interloper can elicit a slow blink from a cat, then I suppose tufts of hair can become a symbol of love for a human. A reminder that we have a bond, and no matter what happens between us, there’s always a licky-treat.

Yar har, fiddle de dee

Being a pirate is alright to be. Do what you want ‘cause a pirate is free - you are a pirate!

I’m a dog person. Dogs always remember you, regardless of how long you’ve been away. How long do cats remember, or, how long do they care? I wonder if, the next time he gets his nails trimmed, he’ll wonder why he’s not being held prone on the floor. I wonder if it will be easier for the clipper; maybe I was simply in the way and causing unnecessary struggle. Perhaps there was a better way to do it.

But this was our way.

It ensured maximum cat hair transference to me, and a lot of happiness and laughter for those of us not meowing in despair. Adversity brings people (and cats) together. I’ll miss our fight. Our intensity was legendary, and we always made up in the end.

I really wonder if there’s a licky-treat big enough, or an iced-PSL delicious enough, or an order of nuggets with a dipping sauce that’s spicy enough somewhere out there to make it so I don’t stop finding cat hair. Probably not, given the claws that came out. It all happened so fast, too. One minute you were there, and the next you were gone.

Slow blink.