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A Twenty Something Year Old

The Lockdown Blog: Cohabitation Edition 4

Updated: Jun 20, 2021

Continuing in the tradition of my namesake Phoebe Buffay--I am actually named after the wise sister in The Catcher in the Rye but being neither wise nor a younger sister I generally nod in agreement to "oh, like Phoebe in friends?!"--I have found a cat friend that, I do believe is sending me feline messages of telepathy.

She (or he, I have not inspected) has taken to sitting on our garden wall and, as I step out to the cool night air preparing to disappear below to my 'underchambers' (similar, in effect, to undergarment but in this case a bedroom that lies below the house) it sits and looks at me. The look, dear reader, is quite unnerving chiefly due to its unwavering intensity. I have, many times, ignored this wilful cat, disappeared into my bedroom, closed my door and taken to the bed. This method is not effective.


A tinkling of a baleful bell will interrupt my earnest preparations for sleep and I am forced, once more, to face this spectre of the night. Without fail it sits waiting, in confidence, for my confused return. At this point, we stare at each other, taking part in a contest of unclear outcome and motive.

I would much appreciate any wisdom pertaining to the matter of whether this connection is a) due to my future career as a crazy cat lady b) a long-since-passed relative has taken cat form or c) my sincerest hope, that Professor McGonagall has finally come to deliver my letter for Hogwarts.

On one particular visitation, after wishing good night to my flat mate and seeing, once more, my furry friend boring into my eyes; I returned, excitedly into the hallway and called into the darkness for my (human) friends' attention.

"Aoife?"

"mmmmyessss"

"the cat is here again, and I think it's trying to tell me something. It's looking at me and we're having a moment".


As is probably not surprising, my revelation was not met with equal enthusiasm. She assumed that the reason for my sudden return was to inform her of an axe murderer waiting outside. A large, ginger cat did not, she feel, warrant the same eagerness. I believe a code word might be necessary for future occurrences.

In recent days, these 'drop-ins' have become less regular, I remain sure however (and possibly a little hopeful) that there will be another. Like a haunting, it won't end until earthly duties have been fulfilled. Maybe it just wants to be "the cat that got the cream" and, to be fair, who doesn't? Its methods of retrieval are quite uncanny however. Or should I say 'uncatty'?


I will share my wisdom with it in the future about less 'uncouth' methods to get what you want. I should warn it that I may not be the best person for the job: we seem to have in common the future epitaph of 'subtle as a brick'.


xoxo cat lady

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