Those Feisty Redheads
There’s a look that comes about the face when all hope is lost. Eyes become hollow, unfocused. The soul surrenders but the spirit is fearful. It’s a deadpan look, though a body cannot lie. Muscles clench and relax instinctively. There is fight and there is flight, but it takes a while to decide. One is harder. Both may be final. I am excellent at vibe checking. New age woo woo folks would consider me an empath. Sometimes, I go overboard, titling feelings that, while always accurate, may be mild and subconscious. In other words, I blow things out of proportion. That was the feeling I got when I ran into her in an office, my husband’s office, to be exact. She was looking out the window, though not really. She was pretending to look out the window, pretending not to notice me. But, she knew. In retrospect, it may have seemed like I cornered her. I spoke in a monotone voice, neither fast nor slow, not happy, not sad. I find that sort of impartialness to be highly effective in circumstances of despair. When I entered her personal space, all of my hopes were dashed. She went for me. I have the scars to prove it. She attacked, as only a red tabby cat trapped in the corner can do. Yep, it is time for a cat update. Welcome to feral spay and neuter day.
