Calypso’s Diary

Calypso, three years ago

The human servant tends to come close to my face and speak in her nonsensical language. I wonder how she dares to look me in the eye but I can’t deny that her voice is often soothing. However, I constantly address her in my language in a vain effort to educate her. She is – lamentably – slow to pick up the nuances of my tongue and to this day remains illiterate.

The neighbourhood of our residence is full of noise. Birds fly above me, settling on wires tantalizingly out of reach. The human servant spends a lot of time in our residence these days, mostly sitting about. If it wasn’t for her inability to understand my words and the distinct lack of hair on the body, I’d have thought she was one of us. She likes the sun, the bright spots on the balcony; soft blankets in our bed; sitting still with a square toy in her hands that she likes to stare at. I would be amiss if I denied that I find her presence comforting and that her absences fill me with terror. I don’t mind at first when she disappears behind the wooden door. I lie down staring at the ceiling. I take naps. I survey the neighbourhood. But when the human is still gone, I fear I might be abandoned. I cry then deeply, flinging myself on the floor. I wait for the sound of keys in the door to know that my servant is back. Although I have access to the essentials, I dread to think that one day the human won’t return and I will be alone, forced to look after myself. It angers me this dependence to the human servant that hardly befits my station and often I leave a hairball on one of the colourful square patches of the floor, the soft ones she calls rugs. She is annoyed upon her return, sighing or yelling, and I pretend not to be gleeful about it. I punish her because one day she might leave me for good. Any human servant would do, no need for attachments, and yet here it is. Feeling attached to this human. Awfully plebeian of me.

I never show a hint of those fears, though. As Queen I have to present my public face at all times. Emotions are for idiots. And humans.

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Cat Wolfe is very attached to her clingy cat. They’re quite the pair.