During my most recent binge (Bloodline....I highly recommend), I caught my cat Audrey staring at me. Not blankly, mind you, but with purpose. I can't believe that I'm admitting this, but I actually paused an episode to ask, "What?"
She's a brilliant cat, and I adore her. She's smarter than most children, and I attribute that to home-schooling. She's not much for socializing with strangers, and I also attribute that to home-schooling. She sits on command. She talks. She loves when I sing, but that's likely because my singing voice more closely resembles the cry of a distressed cat than it does Frank Sinatra. I tell her that she's pretty, and she accepts the compliment as gospel without, "Really?," or "Are you sure?," or "Are you just saying that?," or "Even though I've put on 10 pounds?," as follow-up questions (I have no idea if that is punctuated correctly, and it's irritating me. I hate that I'm a left-brain cliche).
"Meow." Not the most unique reply, but it sounded differently than normal. My mind started to wonder what she meant by that, which further led me to wonder what sweet Audrey thought of me. I giggled to myself when I imagined what her thoughts could be regarding my personal life (non-existent by choice as of this writing). I reminisced objectively, without joy or contempt, attempting to guess what her thoughts may have been (and I wanted to play around with this cartoon balloon program on www.superlame.com).
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This post may read as though I thought that I was perfect. I wasn't. Not even close. But in Audrey's eyes, I am.
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