One day, my daughter came down from the mountain, having petted and greeted around fifty dogs along the way. Then she asked me if dogs in Vietnam and Norway speak the same language?”
Well, I suppose they do. A dog in Vietnam and a dog from Norway on the street would both bark. Though possibly the meaning behind the “woof woof” would be a bit different. The Norwegian one might be saying, “Don’t come near me,” while the Vietnamese one might be saying, “Don’t steal anything from my house.” The Norwegian dog would then retort, “Who would want to steal from your house?” And the Vietnamese dog might share a whole chronicle of the dog breeds in Vietnam, which I imagine would somewhat resemble a post-apocalyptic world movie.
My daughter then asked, “Do Vietnamese cats greet Norwegian cats, Mom?” Well, perhaps they do, but cats are generally less friendly. I told her about my childhood experiences of raising stray cats (at one point, we had as many as fourteen cats at home). They would meow when they fed, purr when they got scratches or pettings, and sometimes growled when they fought. My daughter was convinced her mother speaks cat-anese.
One day, she asked me to ask for the name of a strange cat that came to our door for food.
This was complicated, cats never reveal their true names. The names given are not their real names. Each cat keeps its true name a secret. Even among other cats, they take precaution in mentioning their true name.
My daughter wondered if a cat might ever be confused with two names—when they grow old perhaps.
No, of course not. A cat’s true name isn’t kept in sound, but in its fur and whiskers. That’s why they take such meticulous care of their coat. On nights when cats walk under the moon. Wind rustled through their fur. They hum and twitch their white whiskers; that’s when they’re quietly singing their true name. Cats only share their true names with the wind and a few close feline friends throughout their lifetime.
This story seemed to strengthen my daughter’s wish to have a cat. That night, I dreamed of my favorite cat and my very first cat – a black one and an orange one – both passed away a while ago. They led me to a hillside covered in soft grass. In a gentle breeze immersed with moonlight, the meadows fluttered, cats from all corners gathered to flaunt their sleek fur and proud white whiskers.
As the moon reached its peak, hills began to rise, revealing themselves as giant cats with grassy fields as fluttering fur. These colossals walked toward the moon, folded and snuggled up other cats in their embrace. They crawled and pureed delicate silver hair softly.
My two cats bowed, like old-time gentlemen then walked away, merged into the giant cats that were basking in the moonlight. Turned out this is where cat souls reside and poured their hearts out on true names to each other. Names that humans could never hear.