In the shank of the evening Calico performs a pantomime so realistic that it convinces me, Jack, and Grey alike, that she has caught something. The other kitties rush to get in on the action. I scramble to see what small creature needs rescuing.
There is no creature.
Calico has duped us all.
It’s all a creation of Calico’s imagination.
Jack and Grey walk away, disgusted. I watch the entire performance. Every hop, pounce, chase and capture is stunningly believable. She even flips the imaginary prey up in the air, artfully recapturing it when it hits the floor. The play goes on for twenty minutes or more.
I half expect to hear applause at the end of it.
If Calico were human, she would surely become a star of stage and screen. As it is, she’s just entertaining herself, and me, though she doesn’t really care about entertaining me.
She doesn’t care who’s watching. She’s busy playing. Calico takes play as seriously as she takes everything she does. She gives it her all.
Children do the same. Neither child nor cat require an audience for their play. Both take play as serious business. Children play long before they learn how to make jokes. Cats don’t make jokes. They wouldn’t understand why anyone would want to, even if it could be explained to them.
Play is natural. Jokes are not.
It takes children some time to get the hang of telling jokes. They fumble with the concept of humor. What’s funny, and why? It’s not obvious without becoming cynical and slightly jaded.
Sadly, children learn to laugh when someone else falls down.
Cats never get the joke.
Yeah, I’m sitting in a cardboard box. What’s so funny about that?