Cats’ eyes in the dark are creepy. Dimly glowing little orbs of

ancient feline wisdom, humanly incomprehensible contemplation, andmurder. Lots of cold-blooded murder.  Absolutely unremarkableuntil they are pointed directly at you, and then it’s as if anocular toggle has been thrown from to . Ialways feel creeping, gradually intensifying discomfort whenconfronted with that not-quite-blank stare shining from anindistinguishable distance, clearly intent on me.

Various sources on the internet place the domestication of cats

in a huge range, 5,000 to 12,000+ years ago. In either case,they’ve been living with us, in our homes, for a long time androaming the planet even longer…and they are generally thought to besolitary in the wild. Though I’m not entirely convinced that weknow shit about shit. Dogs, derivative of wolves, have been with us(arguably) longer than cats, though throughout most of our tangledhistory as de facto tools and vaudevillian entertainment. That is,we use them to hunt, search, pull, protect, sit, shake hands, rollover,  and walk on their hind legs as we play the Macarena.Cats, though. Cats, I believe, have given zero fucks about suchtomfoolery forever. (I think this is where we humans, with ourlimited capacity for creativity, dispassionate observation, andaccuracy […just turn on your television…], ended up concluding thatcats are “solitary in the wild” instead of “as collectively sick ofyour shit in the wild as they individually will be in your home.” Itend to think that cats communicate and congregate on a higherlevel and in a way that is not obvious to our human brains.)

I wouldn’t be surprised if we didn’t domesticate cats as much as

cats decided, “You know what, fuck this shit. It’s dangerous outhere, and I’m sick of eating disease-ridden rodents and thesegoddamn flying rats with their feathers and beaks and bones. Toomuch planning, training, and work for way too little shitty-tastingmeat. You know what, I’m going to live with those fat, furless,declawed, blunt-toothed walking monkeys.” And so it was. And so itis.

And now, I must go feed Emmy, the tortoise-shell tabby with

PTSD, an inflammatory gut disorder, and feline Autism; and Lizzy,the skittish, nocturnal tuxedo cat with an intellectual disability.Because they demand it.

And here, for you, the oddly compelling, if not mesmerizing

sounds of Emmy eating, then licking the plate clean, then drinking.In stereo. Enjoy.