The Sound of a Cat Laughing

The Sound of a Cat Laughing

It had been a stressful time for Angela between late hours at work, an old house in need of repairs, and too much time with a man who didn’t love her. After a rather boring dinner, during the washing up, Angela did what every blogger and TikTok warned against. The long term boyfriend stood next to her as she rinsed their wine glasses. She had smiled and asked, “Where do you think this relationship is going? Do you think you’ll ever love me?”

After a long pause, he answered, “No.” No, he wasn’t ever going to love her.

Angela was stunned that someone could know this so absolutely about another person.She’d always been sure she could and would love him. His response would later become why she would research and then book herself into an immersive language course in a different culture. Tonight, though, she and this now nonexistent boyfriend ended their evening in quiet despair on her side and possibly silent elation on his (“I’m free”).

She hoped the intense language class would improve her rudimentary Spanish, which was last used 15 years ago in a meetup group of people trying conversational Spanish.The group fell apart when a native Spanish speaker joined them, hoping to improve his English. But now, once in this new country, in this new era, she mused, she would at least be an outsider for the obvious reason of being in a foreign land. This way, too, if no one were able to or even wanted to, speak with her, it would be due to the language barrier she was trying to breach with her lessons. The plan was that she would return not only with an improved foreign vocabulary, but healthier, and certainly more traveled. She would return a more interesting person. She would be loved. She would never think of him again.

A month later, there she was, in this other country. She smiled politely not understanding most of what was spoken to her other than the words, "taxi" and "bathroom" and "coffee". A non-perk of this trip was that she had to accept the anger at US directed toward her (in English!) as if she, Angela, were personally responsible for political confusion. “How could you vote for that man?” They would ask her, reverting to English to be sure she understood them. They didn’t care whether she did vote for him or not, only that she could interpret the entire American viewpoint. Angela had no words.

The trip coordinator had organized a host family, who expressed initial excitement at earning extra money and meeting an American trying to practice their language. That excitement faded once they realized that not only was communication a challenge with their guest, but so was cooking and meal planning. Although Angela had filled out all the detailed papers for the interview and placement, this family seemed to thrive on deep, dark, chewy meat products. Angela was a vegetarian. Her profile paper said she preferred not to eat meat (she was trying to be agreeable-to be liked), but was fine with fish.

She wanted to walk and explore her new village, but when they wanted to eat, it created still another problem. And sadly, she wasn’t learning the language as fast as the brochure promised. The host mother mimed that Angela should smile more at her while pointing to another guest whose workplace sent her to this country and who was smiling all the time and speaking the language. Angela should be more like that woman, the host mimed irritably. Ultimately, the preferred woman guest bought the hostess a parting gift and took her out for the evening. Angela didn’t join them because she wasn't invited and thruthfully, didn’t want to go.

The language class was frustrating, and Angela was demoted to a lower grade. While it was true she was beyond the basics, she was not at a conversational level. There was a snack room provided, and Angela took some comfort in that. Not surprisingly, no one missed her or asked about her. No one joked with her, and there was no one to laugh with.

Angela then joined a day tour group, and at this point, sitting alone on the bus was blissful. The local guide took them into a leafy region. They exited the van and climbed a trail to a beautiful restaurant in the trees. A buffet was set out, and she filled her plate, hungry after all the missed meals at the host’s house. The return part of the little trip took the tourists to a quaint village market. Colorful wares were set out to lure them to make purchases. The cheery tourists all bought something that would eventually or even immediately be forgotten or placed on a shelf once they returned to their home countries.

Finally, the week ended, and a car came to take Angela away to the bus that took her to the train that then took her to another car that left her at the airport.Words of several languages jumbled in Angela’s brain but none were enough to make a coherent sentence to anyone. It didn’t matter since she had nothing to say. She hadn’t learned much. By the end of her immersion week, she had eaten alone in her room. Now she ate alone at the airport, too. No more smiles necessary, soon she would be home. Soon too, no more effort of any kind. With no one to greet her, she had left her car at the airport. She then drove herself home for the final leg of the trip. No radio, no companion. No ex-boyfriend phoned her. She wasn't a new, improved model of herself. Finally, she entered the front door and called, “I’m home!”

And her otherwise quiet Siamese cat bounded down the stairs with a cry and a song-like sound. Angela bent to reach her, and the cat jumped, uncharacteristically, straight into her arms. The cat missed her!

Angela whispered aloud to no one. “She remembered me!” They nuzzled silently a moment with no foreign words or languages between them, nor any instructions about how to behave.

It’s been years since that cat was buried in Angela’s yard. But if it weren’t for that language immersion course, she would have never known the sound of a cat laughing or how communicating love in another language can require so few words.