The Look

It is amazing what a look can do.

I had my notebook balanced on my lap the other day while sitting in my favorite chair by the fan (the air conditioner just isn’t set at a cool enough temperature. Ongoing thing between my husband and me — maybe I’ll write about it someday). My feet were flat on the floor, instead of tucked under me as they usually are, and PB and Cuddlebug were on either side of me, each rubbing on a leg.

You have to know my cats. PB thinks she’s Queen Bee around here, but she’s not. Belle is. Belle is fourteen years old, Cuddlebug is her daughter, and PB is a rescue only four years with the family. She’s definitely not the queen, and Belle has been spending the bulk of those four years trying to teach her that.

But Cuddlebug is a sensitive soul. She’s afraid of people and animals, earning her the nickname “Boo.” Most of the time, she avoids conflict at all costs, although I have noticed her feeling her catnip occasionally. So, while there are times when she’s ten feet tall and cat-scratch-proof, most of the time she’s easily intimidated. And, since PB outweighs her by a good ten pounds, PB can intimidate her.

So when PB peeked around my legs and delivered “the look” to Cuddlebug, Boo slunk off to a corner and cowered. After another rub or two against my legs, PB went over to Bug and rolled over on her back, exposing her belly in the universal cat-language of let’s be friends!

To Cuddlebug, however, the damage had been done. She was having no part of PB’s apology. Gathering her feline dignity, she twisted away from her enemy and licked a paw.

The whole scene reminded me of a friend I’d offended.

I keep my feet – both of them – candy-coated, because when they inevitably end up in my mouth, I don’t want to taste Dr. Scholl’s foot pads. That day, I’d managed chow down on both feet at the same time. My friend didn’t twist away fast enough to keep me from seeing the wounded look in her eyes. She grabbed a dish rag and started wiping down the countertops, much the same way as Boo licked her paws. Her assurances that my apology was accepted were belied by the look in her eyes.

The Bible says the eyes are the window to the soul. I believe that with everything that’s in me.

Once upon a time, long ago and far away, I worked as an office manager/legal assistant in a sole practitioner’s firm. My boss had two clients come in one day. The first was a heavy-set man with a foul mouth and flirtatious ways, and he seemed to relish in the fact he could make me blush. But after realizing that was just the man’s personality, I blew it off and teased him back. It was no big deal; the things he said weren’t reflected in his eyes.

The second man came that afternoon. He sat quietly opposite my desk, watching me work. When he finally spoke, all he said was: “You have lovely red hair.”

But the look in his eye said he was hungry and I was a T-bone steak.

It’s all in the eyes. Whether it’s Get lost! or That hurt, or I’d like to have you for supper, or a variety of other emotions and thoughts, a look can speak volumes more than words.