Usually we don’t see Joni at all. Weeks might pass without me catching even a glimpse of the cat who seems not to long for any human contact. We named her for Joan Didion, but maybe we should have named her for one of the Brontë sisters. Just as they were cooped up in their quarters at Hawarth Parsonage, Joni lives above the garage and is never to be seen beyond her self-confined area. Lately, I’ve been going to her end of the house more regularly. It’s almost become a daily ritual. Coco now wants to go down there whenever we are in the backyard. She says “meow!” and “kiki” and points with her finger toward the garage. Then I have to go down there with her and drop a few kibble
s into her bowl. I call her “mizimizmiz!,” the way we do in Germany, and she looks down from the roof and often comes within reachable distance. It’s cute to see how Coco wants to pet this cat who really does not want to be petted, especially from a child who has not yet finessed her motor skills. But what is even more cute is to see how Sally and Joni are together. Something inside Sally tells her that she should be running after her – and she would, if Joni started to take off. But Joni is less afraid of Sally than of Coco and often walks toward her, even nudges her head against Sally’s. Friendships can be so strange.
