I believe those cats are learning to read my stuff

By Steve Estes

Are we absolutely sure cats can’t read?

And are we absolutely sure cats can’t understand the nuances of human speech?

I’m not.

I don’t think it comes as any surprise to anyone that I’m not particularly a cat lover. I have nothing concrete against the furry little creatures, but they’re just not high on my list of loveable things.

And I think they know that.

Why do I think they know that (remember Doc, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you)?

On a recent trip to the store, I spotted this very pretty black cat marching up and down the sidewalk. Nothing unusual in that, unless you count the fact that this cat marched to where I planned to park and sat in front of my car. I had to stop short to keep from running it over.

This creature jumped right up on top of my hood, and just sat there, watching me with those bright green eyes. It didn’t move, except to swivel its head and watch me as I got out of the car and walked around toward the store entrance.

As I cleared the front of the car, another cat, a nondescript gray and white, marched across the pavement right in front of my feet. Again, I had to pull up to keep from stepping on it. It didn’t even bother to look at me. I’m told that cats really don’t bother to communicate their intentions, so this again should be nothing unusual.

I went in the store, got my routine drink of a sugary, caffeince-charged substance and walked back out the door toward the car.

The gray-and-white was right there in front of the door and walked straight across my path again, forcing me to either stop or step on it. I won’t intentionally harm any living creature except a snake (sorry reptile lovers–the only good snakes are those that are dead or far away from me) so I halted in mid stride and waited for the cat to cross.

His buddy was still sitting on the car hood, again moving nothing except his head as he followed every movement I made.

Just as I was ready to open the door and get in the car, a yellowish cat strode underneath the vehicle and was lost from my sight. Again, not wanting to harm the creature, I knelt down to look underneath and make sure it hadn’t decided to use the engine heat as a bed. When I lived in cold weather, this was a rather common occurence. I didn’t find the little critter, so I got in the car and started the motor.

The big black cat was still sitting on the hood and showed few signs of getting down from his perch. He looked at me, I looked at him. He looked back at me, I tried to shoo him away. He ignored me. I put the car in gear and started to back out. He finally jumped down and paced the car until I left the parking lot.

I truly felt as though I were being cased for a major action, something like a kitty-napping.

As I entered my street on the way home, I ran into my neighborhood nemesis cat—not literally—who had recently taken to spending more time indoors, but was out this evening. He took up his usual place, not exactly in the middle of the road, but just slightly off to the left where I could pass him without running over him, but would have to watch every move to make sure I didn’t swerve far enough to turn him into a kitty pancake beneath my wheels.

I made it past that obstacle, and I’m certain that the home-stretch cat with whom I’ve had issues in the past, had gotten his marching orders from the trio at the store parking lot. It was their turn to remind me that I wasn’t the one in control, that I wasn’t the dude in charge.

I got to the front gate of my yard, and instead of pulling in, I parked longways—sort of like a parallel parking experience, off the road but not inside the gate.

Our cat, the terrible, toe-biting maniac that he is, came loping out of the woods on the other side of the road. We’ve tried to pen this cat in the house, but he’s way too quick for me these days and darts out the door at the slightest provocation.

He jumped up on the hood of the Jeep, up on the hard top, and pranced around while I turned off the lights, rolled up the windows, gathered my phone and other paraphernalia from the seat and closed the door.

When I straightened up to close the door, he swatted at the top of my head, and connected.

This would not have been an unusual occurrence save for the other stray, with whom I don’t think I am acquainted, that was lying in the road to the south of the gate.

I can’t prove it because cats as a rule are an inscrutable bunch, but I swear he was smiling at the altercation.

Are you absolutely sure cats don’t read?