We are not loved because we are beautiful and good. We are beautiful and good because we are loved. Jurgen Moltmann
In all fairness to her, she had tried her level best.
Although she had agreed within herself to only use her human voice when he was already awake and completely oriented, which is to say worth talking to, during the long nights of his illness he was so inaccessible that she brought out every voice she was capable of doing.
Tarzan of the jungle, no go. Pavarotti bellowing out his finest from Nessun Dorma (No one shall sleep!) Nothin.
She tried out her own urgent holler and immediately decided it was never going to be enough to wake him. She tried several types of canine bark; the Yorky, the Terrier, the rest of your run-of-the-mill yippy dogs – zippo. Most especially she took pride in her snarling Doberman, the growling German Shepherd, the plaintive whaling of a coyote, the crooning richness of the forlorn Red Bone Hound but nothing seemed to work.
Of course many of the natural moves that any cat in her situation would've made she tried. With the litter box turned into a disgusting minefield, her food dish giving up the last of its crusty edges, and finally choking down one small water bug that made its way out of the bathroom, she resorted to much more physical means.
She batted him about the face, right and left, right left right, left left right right… But the man continued to snore deeply. All that was audible were the rhythmic interruptions in the long and drawn out reverberations as when one rides along the speed strips of a highway shoulder, skipping on and off in syncopation with her rapidfire welterweight combinations. B errrr…barrr…brrr…berror
It was just no use. Would she need to get out the claws and put them to use? Had she ever done so while living with him? The violent temptations, by some small grace, left her mind as quickly as they entered. Certainly it would go against every thing she'd ever stood for and despite feeling hurt by his recent negligence, she decided to ere on the side of nonviolence. There had to be another way forward without hurting anyone.
It was just shortly after this important choice, while she had positioned herself squarely atop of the man's face for a good long sit, that the opened window caught her eye. While she had gone off to rest or think of different ways of rousing him from the couch he must have gotten up for a moment wanting some fresh air. After being tossed left and then right, then once more straight up with a backflip and all four paws to the floor, she decided the window was her best option.
One way or another she knew that it was the best choice she could make given the circumstances. Things would work out. If she didn't act now she might very well lose any chance in the future were he ever to decide to shut it. Then where would she be?
Stuck in the stagnant box, listening to the refrigerator trickle, to the furnace blowing. Endlessly adjusting what seemed to her like such basic needs… Finding a morsel and a relatively clean place later on to let it go… Even these had been knocked offkilter so drastically since the idiot had run off and gotten infected somewhere… Enough – no more of this, she thought.
No, something alighted within her in that moment. Something… let's call it instinct, made her hop straight up over the sill and out into the cool of the night that one night already so long ago.
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