Le Chat

I took six years of French. Four in high school and two at the collegiate level. I remember reading “La Petit Prince”. What a bizarre story with the strangest of words I’ll never need to know. I can say ‘sheep’ but I can’t remember how to ask for a pencil. In college we learned Christmas carols in French. Oh joy. To the world. A) singing in front of people. B) singing in a language I never did pronounce worth a darn. My dad took French in high school, back when I there were only 3 languages in all the world or something, but he can still sing the French anthem. That’s at least impressive.

I have decided that French was a lousy choice. Out of French, Spanish or German, it might have been the best of the worst, but it really hasn’t served me well at all. The fine folks in Paris still snubbed their noses at me. During my exchange to Belgium my host family wanted to practice their English.

If I could go back, if I could make a wiser, more applicable choice during freshman orientation, I would choose differently. I would choose to study “Feline”. Maybe today I could pick up “Cat for Dummies” or “Meow 101” from my local bibliotheque. Maybe. It’s probably a language better learned at an early age, before your mouth becomes incapable of forming some of the sounds. ‘Meeeeeow? Meeooooooww?” Maybe even if I were to master the language now, my cats would still laugh at the way I pronounce the ‘r’s like ‘l’s.

Maybe I could just get away with learning the psychology of cat-speak. Why, after an entire day of silence from Jonah, does he decide to make quite a proclamation from atop the bookshelf? What at that exact moment prompted him to speak his mind? And what satisfied his outburst so that he was able to simply turn and go back to sleep? Nothing has changed, no one has moved.

Scout rarely speaks. Well, except when she went in heat and never-for-the-life-of-me-shut-up. Scout will talk to me when I go into my room at night and find her already warming the bed for me. But I understand her, I can relate. She’ll tell me she’s been waiting for me to come to bed for an hour now and that she was kind enough to get it cozy for me. She’ll also ask for some love before the beast comes in to ruin it all. Then she’ll be quiet again. She knows if she talks too much, Gabe will come running.

Jonah talks at the strangest times. Certainly I get the usual “HEY! We’re outta food! How did you NOT notice our bowl was empty!?! HEY!!! Before you get in that shower, com’on, cut us a break! I might not eat it for hours, but still, I should be fed FIRST!! And what's with Iams for the third year in a row? Enough already!”

But the one that gets me the most is after I turn off all the lights, check that the door is indeed locked and head to bed. When my head hits the pillow and blankets are all drawn up to my chin, alarm clock on and the dog is at my side on the floor, Jonah will start. He will walk through the house proclaiming something that by the sounds of it should really be paid attention to. I have no idea what this diatribe is all about. I do not know if it is his way of announcing his superiority, reminding all of us that Alpha Dog in this house is a cat. I do not know if he is simply claiming his prize for being the last one awake. But it’s every night. And it goes on for several minutes. All I can say in response is, “Ou v’est le W.C.?” and even then, I’ve probably just asked a rude question about your uncle and not the location of the bathroom.

If anyone out there speaks Cat, let me know. I’d at least like to make sure Jonah isn’t insulting me to my face. How humiliating that would be. “Hey everyone (meow meow) did you know this woman might keep a clean house, but have you actually looked in her closets?! (meow meow)” or perhaps “I saw you eat a bowl of ice cream AND a bowl of popcorn (meow meow) you can’t fool me! (meow!!)” So if you can help me translate, great! If not, can anyone teach me how to say “the only good cat is a dead cat” in feline? You know, just in case.