Mar. 19: I have no soul?

A few years ago I was at Debi’s and her cat Elphie, who had always been sweet and welcoming, suddenly began hissing at me if I looked her direction. I couldn’t just let it go; I needed her to remember who I was and that I loved her. She refused to remember. She would claw me if I touched her, and hiss if she wasn’t close enough to get me. It irritated Debi and she told me to stop. I begrudgingly did. Apparently Elphie missed the attention because one night I was lying on the sofa watching a movie and she came walking along the back of it and curled up on the cushion right above me. Debi said, “Just lay still, don’t talk to her, don’t look at her.” After a few minutes Elphie gingerly stepped down and curled up on my tummy. I couldn’t believe it! Another few minutes passed and without thinking, I put my hand on her side. She turned, hissed, jumped onto the floor, hissed again, and threw in a yowl to make sure I really understood how badly I had misjudged her. I find small comfort that Elphie acts this way to pretty much anyone who doesn’t live at Debi’s house.

When I told Vic about it his suggestion was this: “Maybe you don’t have a soul.” (If you watch The Simpsons, you might remember the episode when Bart sells his soul to Milhouse and then suddenly Santa’s Little Helper won’t have anything to do with him. Clearly, Victor’s logic is based on the most reliable of sources.)

Katie’s piano teacher has an adorable little kitten who’s typical kitten-playful, but she doesn’t like to be touched, much less cuddled. I found this out the hard way a few months ago when she was teeny and irresistible, and after she bit me I ignored her. Tonight she was at the door when we went in and looked eager to play. I ran my finger back and forth in front of her and she pounced at it. Thinking maybe she’d grown out of that uncuddly phase, I put my hand out—flat, palm up. She totally changed from that playful demeanor and clawed me and ran under a chair. I walked away from her but she followed me into the next room, where she stood Halloween cat-like, all arched and puffy haired, staring up at me and growling. Mrs. Jordan shushed her but she wouldn’t stop. I got down on my knees and said, “It’s alright... I won’t hurt you...” and that damn cat jumped at me, clawed my hand bloody, and stepped back. She was still growling when we walked out the door.

Now I’m starting to get a little freaked by this. I would remember if I sold my soul, right?