Rhinoceri

Sub-70-degree air outside this morning. The barest hint of Fall. Thanks be to God.

Whether I attend the fête anniversary party at Fusion on Wednesday will depend on how the “Bratwurst” preview goes today. If it’s approved to premiere at the party, I’ll go. If it isn’t, I won’t. Not at all as a matter of protest, but because my main reason for going will have been taken away.

A friend tells me that I should go regardless, that it will be good for me to go. To be out and about. Keep those social muscles trim. She cites her own experience living in a remote mountain cabin and how hermit-like she became.

Here’s the curious thing, though… Every day I go to Starbucks and sit mid-stream in plain view of the world. People walk in and out, some of whom I know. I greet them or they greet me. So I am out and about. I’m available. Yet I don’t connect. Not much. Connection requires forward motion.

Cats are great for people like me. Periods of happy interaction separated by periods of mutual disinterest. No harm, no foul. “I love you, now go away,” we say.

Working with publisher Jay Spivey on his Last Word column for August (embedded here) reminded me of how easy it is to become invisible. Just do what I hear one does to avoid rhinoceros attack. Stop moving around. Rhinoceri have such poor vision that all a person has to do to evade them is stay downwind and motionless.

Interestingly, this doesn’t always work with Acadia. There are times when my stillness actually seems to attract her attention. We lock eyes, she crouches. She wiggles her butt and pounces. From above, from below. Sideways. People don’t do that.