A kitty had hopped up on the bed and was staring at her. She started back into the gold-flecked eyes, marveling at how large and dilated they were. She wondered if her own eyes were as dilated, and assumed they must be.
"Hello," she said. "I'm just stretching, that's why I look so silly." The cat continued to stare at her wordlessly. "It's just that my back hurts."
She pulled her feet in, her knees butterflying out, and looked at the cat again. "Does your back ever hurt?"
The cat shrugged and rubbed its head against her shoulder. Probably not, she thought. After all you haven't tried to go against nature, you don't use your body in ways it wasn't evolved for.
She put her feet back down, and the cat climbed onto her chest and curled up with a purr.
A picture popped unbidden into her head, one of the other kitties in the house rolling around on its back on the carpeting. She had always imagined that to be a relaxed, luxuriating sort of roll. But what if it wasn't? What if the kitty was rolling around trying to stretch its back just like her, trying to get a good crack, trying to feel that sore hip joint pop into precisely the right place?
She tried to make eye contact with the cat once again, but it had its eyes closed, pushing its head against her hand, showing her fingers exactly the correct spot to scratch.
Perhaps not then. Or maybe perhaps so... almost all cats are better than people at getting scratchings and back-rubbings from everyone they encounter.
Her eyebrow was irritating her, so she tilted her body ever-so-slightly to the right. The cat decided of its own volition that it was less comfortable after all, so time to leave. The cat hopped off with a "mrrrw", and she sat up. Flinging the comfortor aside, she trundled down the stairs to the bathroom.
Hands on her hips, she glared at the offending eyebrow in the magnification mirror. One of those hairs was poking the skin in an uncomfortable way. With irritation, she rumpled all the eyebrow hair askew. Poking out every which way. Which one was the culprit?
She saw one that curved way in on itself, and she imagined that little hair poking her ceaselessly in her tender eyebrow area, that must be the culprit... she seized the tweezers and pulled it out.
Of course then she had to examine the other eyebrow, identify an addional unreasonably long hair, and pluck it as well. Symmetry!
There. Two hairs plucked every month, and the others know now to keep in line. A well-disciplined eyebrow is a peaceful eyebrow.
It is only half-way through the typing of her journal entry that she realizes: her eyebrow is still bugging her.
She may have sacrificed the wrong hair after all.
The cat paces in softly, all eyebrows intact, sits quietly, and stares at her without judgment.