She's a very common cat, is my Dibby. She was rescued from the
pound as a kitten, her only claim to individuality being a thunderous
purr and some orange in her otherwise plain tabby markings.
      She a quiet little thing who never did learn to meow properly, and
chirps and whirrs instead. She is very shy, although she has never been
hit or disciplined physically. She is two years old now and still hides
under furniture or trots away at the approach of any human.
     There are times when the ice breaks. She will quietly appear at your
ankle, brush against it once, accept a single stroke on the head and
glide away. Sometimes she will accept a little butter offered on a
fingertip, or a bit of chicken if it's well roasted and properly
seasoned. She snoozes peacefully on bookshelves and in chairs, in sunny
spots in the window or under beds. Some folks think she's a bit
neurotic, though. "Aren't cats supposed to be affectionate?", they ask.
     Dibby will come out and sniff carefully at strangers as if she is
unsure what they are, exactly. She will go outside without much
persuasion if it is warm and sunny, but rarely stays out more than a few
minutes at a time. She seems just as content to sit by a window that is
open a crack and sample whatever the wind brings by. She is neither
imperious nor demanding. She is not aggressive or greedy. She is a loner
who can happily entertain herself for hours just playing on the kitchen
floor with a hazelnut or a paper bag. She doesn't even hunt, though
birdwatching suits her tastes.
     In fact she is so ordinary one might wonder why anyone would keep
such a cat. Well, there is really no such thing as an ordinary cat, and
Dibby and I share a secret.
     Late at night, when everyone has gone to bed and settled in, Dibby
pads silently into the room. I listen for her, but I never hear her
before she hops up onto the bed. She climbs up on my dozing form, and
starts kneading and purring softly, then strongly. I reach out and rub
her back for a while, until the purring subsides. Then moves up towards
my shoulder, I make a little nest for her with my arm, and she curls up
there for a nap, just like she has done every day since she was a small
kitten.
     Believe it or not, it is late as I write this, and the door is
closed. It's one o'clock and Dibby is pawing softly at the door to
remind me it is bedtime. I guess I'd better go.
 
 
--- Maximus 3.01
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