Luciente nodded at her cat, who stood up expectantly. “Tilia told me you’re stupid, and I explained that people of your time did not talk with cats.”



She remembered the orange cat stalking away. It stared at her boldly now, with malice she felt. “People of my time talk to cats, dogs, hamsters. To parakeets and goldfish. Lonely people talk to the wall. Listen, the bughouse is full of women who started talking to the Blessed Virgin Mary because their old man wouldn’t listen.”



“I mean sign languages. For instance, Tilia and I talk sign language based on cat signs but modified – because many things must be said between cat and human different from what is said cat to cat.”



“Oh? What do you talk about? The taste of raw mouse?”

“Much is simply expressing affection, anger disappointment. I want, Tilia wants. Fish, milk, yogurt, to go out, peace and quiet, catch the mouse, don’t touch that bird. Groom me. Let me work. Tilia does have a strong aesthetic sense and comments freely on flimsies and even on costumes. The last coverlet for the bed Tilia loathed and buried so persistently – that shit-covering gesture – that I had to trade it for another.”



“Could you speak to her now? Ask her if she believes in God or what she thinks of public nudity.”

“You don’t believe me!”

“Either you’re putting me on or you’re crazier than I am.”



“I’ll teach you how to meet a cat. Cats are formal about introductions. I got flack last time. Look. Tilia can express feeling puffed. If Tilia takes a flying leap onto my chest at first dawn from the top of the wardrobe, I get a clear notion that cat is dissatisfied with my conduct.” Luciente squinted, held her eyes shut for a few seconds, opened them again, squinted again, repeating the whole sequence, and then looked pointedly away. “This is how you meet a cat if your intentions are friendly. If you mean harm – for instance, you are approaching a cat standing over the body of a local chickadee – then you stare hard, you glare.”



Connie sank on the broad bed, giggling. “You look … ridiculous.”

“To a cat I presume I always look ridiculous. Awkward creatures by comparison, waddling around in clothes. Come! Talking is ridiculous to animals who commune through scents, colors, body language – all our minute posturing with the tongue and lips and teeth.” Luciente made a wide-eyed pleading face. “Come on, just do it once and we can get on with the day’s exploring. Just do it and get it over with.”



“You want me to make faces at your cat?”

“Just be introduced. Tilia thinks you’re hostile.”

“All my life I been pushed around by my father, by my brother Luis, by schools, by bosses, by cops, by doctors and lawyers and caseworkers and pimps and landlords. By everybody who could push. I am damned if I am going to be hassled by a cat.”



Luciente looked back levelly with her eyes like black beans. “Person must not do what person cannot do. Let’s go. No,” she said to Tilia and reached out. Tilia stalked to the door, raised a paw, and slashed at it. Luciente let her out and on the far side of the screen door she paused and buried the house and its inhabitants with a gesture of disdain.

Marge Piercy, Woman on the Edge of Time (1976)

