Comparison Essay

Every morning I open my eyes to see the backside of my cat, Genesis. She's curled up in her usual position by the edge of the bed, the black strip of fur on her back blurring vision of anything else. I pet her and she will inevitably begin to purr. We'll both stretch, legs first, upper body second. After waking, after breakfast, we engage in a little sisterhood ritual. She, armed for the cold morning weather with fur and paws, me dressed in coat and boots, we'll scamper outside. If there's snow on the ground, we'll lift our feet disgustedly one foot at a time, sometimes shaking it to rid ourselves of the disdainful substance. I'll run to start the car, she'll run to do her business, then we race each other for the door and the warmth inside.

My husband can't decide if Genesis is very humanly or if I am just very feline. When he comes home from working the night shift, he'll find us. Curled in balls for maximum warmth, preferably in a sunny spot, having made nests out of mounds of blankets. Although we find comfort in the sleep of solitude, there are times we both wish for a little company. In these cases, she and I go about seeking it with the same strategy. She'll come to me, as I will come to my husband, and linger about for a bit. The intentions are always made clear, but we females, we are coy. She'll push her head under the blankets until I grab her by the midsection and pull her towards me. And so with my husband. I'll push the blankets aside, fidgeting, until he grabs me by the midsection and pulls me towards him. Then we'll sleep, warm, safe and comforted, sleep.

During the day, after our nap, we like to bat things about for awhile. For her, it may be a feathered or fabric-covered tinkling toy. For me, it comes in the form of an idea, a random thought, a new book I've read, a conversation. These are my tinkling toys. We'll circle them, approach them from different angles, until we decide to finally make up our minds and pounce. I bat about my ideas and thoughts, beliefs and dreams. I'll scratch them down on paper, sharpening them, as Genesis does on her post to sharpen her claws. I'll taste them, nibble at them, perhaps not going so far as to shake my head as she does, but the enthusiasm is same. We'll ponder our ideas together, she sitting on top of my desk looking out the window, me on the stool watching the clouds.

After all the work is done for the day, I'll take Honey, the lovebird, outside of his cage. Genesis and I have a great fascination for winged things. Oh, the sources of the fascinations do vary, mine being less murderous than hers, but I think we both look at Honey with a bit of envy. We'll sit, Honey grooming feathers listlessly on the back of the couch, and we'll watch. There's a mutual curiosity, a shared captivation and when he chatters we both look as though he were speaking in tongues. Honey represents freedom to both of us. Freedom to me for the symbolism of his flight, freedom to her if she could only express her true desires. We watch him all the same, the continual cocking of his head so rhythmic it's almost zen, until we decide it's time to retire.

At night, we share a bowl of warm milk. I take the first helping, the she's allowed the rest. We grow interested in books in the evening as well. I enjoy reading them before turning in, she laying on them and nuzzling her head against their corners. After we are full of milk and a few pages have been flipped, she takes her place by my head, and we'll curl into balls. Her purring will cease and I'll feel her twitch, perhaps dreaming of four-legged rodents and a large field to chase them in. And I, I'll feel myself fading, too. No rodents in my dreams, but that same large field and all the possibilities it might hold and the tomorrow I might chase them in.