The (Unexpected) Celebrity Guest
Something happens to us cats after we’ve enjoyed a delicious meal. Call it a feline sugar hit. Or a rush of adrenaline. We abandon our sedentary nature and transform into crazed beasts—thundering down corridors, springing from one piece of furniture to another, and pouncing from behind doors to attack the ankles of unsuspecting passersby.
Yesterday was one of those days. Out of nowhere, I burst through the house and into the living room. I tore up a bit of the rug as I raced toward the chair where Mum was sitting. Then, I clambered up its side and with a frenzied burst launched myself onto the opposite sofa. It was at this point that I realized that it was occupied by someone—a beautiful well-coiffed blond-haired woman.
As I flew past her face, her relaxed expression turned to shock. She was halfway through a sentence and my unscheduled, airborne appearance caught her by surprise. Now to give credit where it’s due, she too jumped off at exactly the same time and landed on her feet just as quickly as I had.
“Oh Francesca, I’m terribly sorry,” Mum said, apologizing on my behalf.
Francesca and I were both taken aback. She looked at me. I looked at her. And Mum looked at us. We all had that “WTF” look on our faces (bet you can relate).
“Oh no, no not at all,” Francesca said. There was a genuine warmth in her accented voice. “I just never knew you had such a beautiful cat.”
“You like cats?” Mum asked.
“Oh yes!” Francesca exclaimed. “Never had one of my own, but I think they’re wonderful creatures.”
“They sure are,” Mum said. “Alright then, shall we get on with the interview? You know, I’m thinking that Playbill should have this story about your promotion at New York City Ballet before the month’s end. That’s when we’ll announce your debut as principal in the fall season of Swan Lake…”
Now I hadn’t been expecting anyone at home or on the sofa. Let alone a celebrity ballerina—that too mid-interview. Ahhh! Now it all made sense. No wonder Francesa was so graceful when she leaped up and landed on her feet.
As the rendezvous continued, all that demonic energy that had propelled me from one end of the room to the other was gone. I was no longer possessed. And so I walked over to Francesca, raised my right paw and gently prodded her thigh. This is one of the ways we cats test unfamiliar humans to find out whether they’re willing to receive that most feline of blessings—an occupied lap.
I had a feeling she wasn’t going to shove me away. Even a subtle hand-blocking gesture or a crossing of her legs in the opposite direction was all I would have needed to take my cue. But Francesca did neither. Instead, she lifted some notes off her lap and gave me a little nod. So without further ado, I hopped onto her lap and circled it a few times before settling down.
Now how would I describe the lap of one of the world’s most famous ballerinas? Not too firm. Not too soft. But just right! The Goldilocks of laps, you might say. There was a warm sturdiness about Francesca’s lap. It offered me a nurturing safety. Kind of like a safe harbor from the world beyond the stage and spotlights. It was the perfect lap in many ways. Except for one thing…..
Right in front of my nose were a few strands of dog fur. That signaled to me that felines didn’t have an exclusive place in Francesca’s affections. I needed to do something to change that right away. So I did what I knew best. I flipped over and offered her the luxuriant fluffy arc of my tummy.
“Oh look at you, mon chéri!” she squealed, stroking my belly.
And just like that, I was back in the game.