Caterwauling the “Blues”

I’ve been told that Susie caterwauls after I leave the house. Loudly. Of course, I haven’t the benefit of hearing her after I’m gone. It’s uniquely Susie’s–not Delia’s.

Apparently, she paces behind the front door and then, resigned to my departure, she sits and begins her mournful song. Michael’s told me it can be quite long. Susie’s rendition of “Lady Sings the Blues”,

And like the “blues”, a music that emerges out of “soul”, Susie, like most any of us, sits before the door of her despair, suffering as great a loss as a little cat might feel,  and is left to make shrill, discordant sounds to something larger, something beyond that door–though unseen.

And cats are patient.

Susie rarely succumbs to her sorrow. Some time later in the day, when I open the door, I may hear her jump down from a chair where she’s been napping or sunning herself. I can hear her paw-steps approaching. How happy I’ll be to see her. And then…

She hesitates to approach me. Stands off in the distance. I coax her to come over so I can pet her head. She looks as if she barely missed me.

She’s proud. Susie can hide her despondency and melancholy as cleverly I can.

That’s why we both understand so well how to caterwaul the “blues”.

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