The sphinx position

Boy-cat lopes into the room like he's in a hurry. His body language says agenda. But after the large vertical leap to the surface of the bed, he merely settles down into the sphinx position next to my hip.

He is large. He looks like any other cat, provided said cat wearing several specially-tailored fur coats. His friendliness carries a weight of its own, crossing sometimes into neediness. He would make an excellent George in an all-cat production of Of Mice and Men.

"Ask me a riddle," I say. He looks uncertain, cocks his head and begins purring loudly. Somewhere in his cat mind he seems to have forgotten the order of things, and now the purring is what causes the human to pet him.

"No, a riddle," I point at him sternly, and he looks at my finger. I retract it before he can begin to nuzzle against it. He'll never learn if I keep reinforcing him simply for being alive.

"Rid-dle," I say again, stretching it out in the hope that he will understand English, if only it is spoken slower.

Two rooms away, near one of his sleeping places, a book of riddles lies open for him. I have not read the riddles. Why train a cat to ask riddles you already know? He has licked the side of the book many times, riffling the pages with his tongue, but so far has not moved on to study a second page.

For my part, I only ask for a riddle when he is sitting in the sphinx position. I have placed images of the Sphinx in Egypt, and some drawings of them I clipped from a mythology text above his food bowl. He sees them when he feels hungry, which is always, and it is my hope that he learns to sit like this more often. Sometimes my eyes mist up when I think of us passing the hours on a winter's afternoon, he stumping me again and again with tricky riddles.

He is still purring at my hip, closing his eyes. Is he recalling one of the riddles from the book? I am breathless with anticipation.

"What walks on four legs at..." I stop him before he can go any further. I am crestfallen. I know he is trying, but I am starting to lose hope. I have no way of ascertaining if this is something he simply cannot learn, or if he just refuses in order to punish me for some imagined crime.

"A man," I sigh. "Don't you remember? I taught you that one myself."

I reach out and give him what he wants, stroking the chin of my stupid beast. His purring grows even louder. Big and friendly and hopelessly stupid.

I wonder how is sister is coming along with the jokes I have left for her in the hallway, culled from the wrappers of Laffy Taffy.