Victorian Emily

Emily is the quintessentially Victorian cat. Many of you know of her dainty, feminine nature, and the difficulty she has expressing unpleasant emotions. Yes, like the Victorian maidens of yore, Emily is characterized by delicacy and restraint, but also by astonishing resourcefulness and courage in times of great trial. Why, just last night, as celebratory Independence Day fireworks were being set off in our neighborhood, our household Cat Clan was faced with quite a dilemma of survival instinct. As the gun shot-like noises began, all three cats sat straight up, eyes wide, alert and ready for action. For several seconds they exchanged telegraphic glances with each other that seemed to say, “Are you going to run under the bed? Not yet? OK.  Yes, I’m thinking about it. How about now?”

In the midst of this strategic and cat-like response to danger, I was sure that Emily would be one of the first to make a dash for refuge. Just as I thought her nerves would not last another moment, she turned, and with utmost grace alighted upon the tallest shelf in the room. She did not hide. She did not cower. In that critical moment, in that crucible of self-preservation, Emily mounted atop our living room’s equivalent to the highest mountain peak. She assigned herself the brave and self-sacrificing role of Lookout; the one to sound the alarm should the frightening popping noises reveal themselves to be at hand. Thank you, Emily. Beneath your little lace collar and tiny crocheted apron beats the heart of a lion.