The first time I heard Cleo giggle, I could not believe I heard right

The first time I heard Cleo giggle I couldn’t believe I heard right. A cat giggle? Impossible. Yet, as In listened to the sound she made when we played the Blanket Game, I realized it could only be the sound a two year old child would makes when it is in the midst of a wonderful game they love. For an animal, some games, like the Blanket Game is for Cleo, an expression of pure joy. For that unusual cat the game was a play-time rush of excitement and unbridled happiness, for which feline emotion she expressed was a highpitched urp-urp-urp twist of a cat’s meow-sound of cat-laughter and giggles. That was exactly the sound Cleo made when I played the Blanket Game with her.

Living alone, as I do, it is nice to have someone, clever, like Cleo, to judge my writing and guide my course. It is pleasant to have a non-judgmental friend hear my complaints and when I have managed to accomplish something worthwhile. A friend, whether human or animal, must never be taken lightly. They are gold and a necessary part of our lives.

There are other games. When I come upon Cleo unexpected, she will turn and race through the house pretending I am chasing her. I’m not. I couldn’t hope to move that fast. Keeping up with Cleo when she runs would be like an inch-worm trying to out-pace a fast race car.

You may not be familiar with the blanket game. If you have a cat you probably are. If not, you may not be.

Cleo jumps to my bed, where I have a thin second blanket waiting. She has a big- eyed, expectant look on her small, furry pie-face. I take the small blanket upon which she is laying and throw the blanket over her. Cleo knows what to do next.

She rolls on her back, teeth and claws at the ready, expecting to do mock battle with me. With the energy and fire of a tiger attacking its prey, Cleo uses every weapon she has to grab and defeat me as I give her a poke, or two in her belly and fur.’

The only thing that saves me from total Feline destruction of Cleo’s razor-sharp claws and sharp teeth is the blanket between us.

As long as I manage to keep the blanket between us, as a protection from claws and teeth, I am safe and Cleo, for her part, will continue the frenetic attack until Hell freezes over.

Sooner or later, she manages to get free of the blanket. Foolish human that I am, I continue to jab her sides and belly lightly to know that I have, also, not quit. Now, at such moments, there is no shield of protection, a blanket, between us.

Does Cleo seek justice? Will she bite until my hand and fingers are laced with scratches and blood, and her teeth have bitten me to the bone? It never happens. Automatically, her bites become gentler and her paws no longer t seek to rip and tear. She makes sure she does. Cleo knows full well, it is a game and not a matter of life and death. Cleo knows the rules.

Do some cats speak? Can they express themselves so plainly, the slowest human would understand what they wish. Going out to play, asking to be petted and given attention, and wanting food, are part of a hundredwords of most cat’s vocabulary.

As in all she does , and all

I do for her, they are a gentlemen’s rules and it is what makes our association pleasant and enduring for all.

Living alone, as I do, it is nice to have someone, clever, like Cleo, to judge my writing and guide my course.