Henry the cat here with a little coffee time tale from my home at the ‘Black Cat Café’ in Providence, Rhode Island. My person Cassie owns the place. Whilst she is busy brewing and baking, I like to curl up on a cosy couch and people watch. Entertaining business for a fabulous feline with an interest in depth psychology.
A quiet Monday, mid morning and I saw her, one that left a mark. A woman of a certain age, nicely dressed and sat there on one of the big leather armchairs. She’d nabbed a place tucked in the corner of the coffee shop. I watched her nursing her cup of strong black coffee, pain etched on her face.
She did not she me. Her eyes were fixed on something or someone in her own private mind movie. I wondered what hurt she was reliving and was it somewhere back in time or a fresh memory? No matter, really. Heartache is heartache. It all hurts the same, be it old or new.
I padded over and jumped up on the seat beside her. Maybe I could help? Sometimes humans find it good to talk, especially to a handsome and understanding chap like myself.
She became aware of my presence and blinked away threatening tears as she came back into the space we shared. But the shutters were down. I had intruded on a private thing. It was if a huge wave of emotion had washed over me and I felt the full force of her pain. She knew and with a shock I realised she resented me for it.
She got up, without giving me a second glance, and walked away trailing her sadness behind her.