Tiger Woods' Socks
Tiger Wood's Socks
What makes people interesting is what brings them to the attention of the world, what splashes them all over the internet, newspapers and those popular magazines I so enjoy reading at the grocery stand. It is the tiniest bit of human suffering that spreads their stories on their neighbors lips like jam. When I have little else to say, or little I think you might find interesting, I can converse about the famous athlete who got caught with his pants down and the has-been movie star who can't seem to get out of her sweats and lose weight. Aren't they awful? Can you believe it? Which naturally, heightens my ability to be interesting because I at least am enough in the know to have material to pass on to you. Once in a while, I am forced to resort to the lesser knowns. The local mayor who has redefined what it means to be a liar and be in public office and yes I voted for him. You know who I am talking about. Or do you? See, that's what makes me interesting. Because I can fill you in.
My cat, like most animals, does not give a wit about being interesting. Being interesting is a human occupation and she has as little as possible to do with human occupations. Much to my dismay. I would like her to have a job and bring in a check and occasionally do the laundry. Because my cat cannot sue me, I'll tell you her name. Amelia. Her primary interests are being fed, cuddled, and having one or another of us open the door for her when she is done with her midnight wanderings. I bring this up because what she sees at night when she forays into the urban wilderness, probably is interesting. Amelia's complete lack of interest in the comings and goings of people she doesn't know is of interest to me. I'll bet my bottom dollar, or at least the only one I have left in my pocket, that what she knows about this whole thing might lend us a clue about what really is interesting. And by the way, this is not about the famous golf star. I just used his name because you probably wouldn't read it if I didn't. There is a bit in it about socks, though.
Her internal clock intact, my feline friend hits the street about the time I get home from work, or earlier if I have the day off. Having lounged in bed all day, soaking up the sleep I didn't get, she is ready to explore. If I didn't know better, I could swear she had a seat at the neighborhood tavern where the same old stories are bullshat through the piss of beer. I can see her in there with her legs daintily crossed. Until she got bored. Without a trace of beer on her breath, Amelia arrives at the front door sometime around one in the morning, approximately the same time my bladder wakes me up. Momentarily, she hits the bowl of food for a nibble then walks into the bedroom and crawls to her space in the bed, where she can knit her sweater in my hair and take herself to sleep with a strong rumbling purr. Until a few nights ago, she looked for her large lumbering friend on the floor, but he has gone to heaven. Not necessarily predisposed to being nocturnal, he went for a few midnight wanderings last week, and returned with a lusty grin, to lie spent at his master's feet. What did they both see out there? What was of so little interest in the end, that they returned home.
I believe they see both the darkness of the human condition and the best. They see people returning home from their jobs, tired to the bone, but struggling to make ends meet for their families. They see crack dealers on the corner, and crackheads twitching and searching for the crack dealers so they can get their next fix. They see alcoholics in their vehicles sitting in the darkened convenience market parking lots waiting for seven o'clock so they can buy their first beer of the day. They see mothers through softly lit windows nursing their babies. They see the occasional lonely shoe thrown over a telephone wire, it's companion sock dangling out of it. This not being any of their business or interest, they chase cats, dogs and squirrels until they are tired and hungry and cold, and then make their way home, like we all do eventually when our spirit wishes for nothing more than to be with the one's we love. Our mutual desire and ability to do this, humans, felines and canines alike, is what makes us interesting, not our ability to flee and become part of the next day's internet headlines.
