The Language of Cats

Why don’t men speak catty?  Daniel is so oblivious!

It was Stef’s first time meeting Daniel’s mom, Joanna.  When they walked through the door, Joanna offered an air kiss that missed her cheek by six inches and remarked, “I always admire women who can leave the house without makeup.  I could never do it.”  Stef smiled and bit her tongue.  When making small talk over dinner, Stef mentioned the state college she attended, Joanna made sure to mention how she and her late husband had set up Daniel’s college fund while he was still in the womb.  Stef clenched her fists under the table, then smiled and bit her tongue.  When Stef rose from the table after dinner, Joanna looked at her vintage dress and commented that her style was so “shabby chic.”  Stef imagined leaping across the table, knocking Joanna’s perfect floral centerpiece to the floor and wrestling her to the ground, then smiled and bit her tongue.

Now they were outside in the garden having coffee and dessert and Stef was counting the minutes until they could leave.

“That’s an interesting statue.”  She pointed to an statue of a dog next to the walkway that led to the garden.

“Oh…that was my Gadget.  He passed away six months ago.  Cancer.”  Her eyes were wet.

“He looks like my Bella.  She’s a year old, practically a puppy.  Maybe I can bring her by sometime.”

Joanna put her hand over hers and smiled.  “I’d like that.”

Daniel beamed.

For Sunday Photo Fiction!