It seems I am talking to animals much of the time around here, and I am enjoying the particular challenge of communicating with cats, independent, not quite fully domesticated and very indirect and intelligent animals. It was warm today we are having a bit of January thaw, I am told it will not last long. Flo took up position on her throne, the rocking chair on the porch where she holds court with the chickens and watches the passing parade.

When it is time for her to come in for the late afternoon feeding and a night inside the farmhouse, I stand in the door and open it. Cats, like donkeys, do not take orders or hop-to like well trained border collies. It has to be their own idea, Flo looks at me as if I fell out of the back of a truck, yawns, looks away. I stand still for about 20 seconds, and the hops off of the rocking chair, not especially interested in me or the door but willing to consider the offer.

I check my Iphone for messages and the less interested I appear, the more interested she gets, she sashays slowly over to the door, stares in turns around, circles back and then, as I am about to give up and close the door, she turns and scoots inside, almost a blur. To talk to cats, you have to dance the cat dance with them.

The dance goes something like this: I’ll do it, maybe, on my own time, in my own way. Don’t give me orders.