A cat lying long on a window sill gazes out, darting her head to and fro, following the flight of a bird. She "chatters" – that "kill bite" sound – with her teeth when the bird lands on a bush nearby, as if to remind me cats are indeed mighty hunters.
To observe the world like a cat; slipping into the shadows or watching from on high, seeing each and every thing. Wise ones; knowing when to hiss, growl, or run away. Knowing when to come out and greet us. She smells my hand, rubs her scent on my fingers, my legs; marking me as one she has claimed.
No tame animal has lost less of its native dignity or maintained more of its ancient reserve. The domestic cat might rebel tomorrow.
– William Conway