The Kitty Knows All, Tells Only Some

Dolly Gee Squeakers (formerly of the Humane Society Squeakers), a long-haired Siamese mix with a penchant for a dripping bathroom faucet and Virginia Slims has taken to dragging a string around the house only to abandon it in order to dash, madly, blindly, from one room to the next.
“Mrrrrrrrowwwwwwww? Mrrrrrrrowwwwwwww?”
She asks a lot of questions, this one. Frankly, if I had four teeth and crossed eyes, I’d have some questions, too.
Of course, the truth is that she’s quite an attractive pussy cat, despite the periodontal challenges she faces. Look at her over there, hunched possessively over her bowl, face-deep in the Meow Mix. Each piece of kibble is picked out carefully, chewed delicately on the side with the most teeth. Crrrrrrunch. Crrrrrrunch. Two “crrrrrrrunch”es per bit, five bits per visit.
Finished for now, she takes cautious aim, jumps up on the stool in the kitchen – and misses.
What can one do? Crossed eyes, you know.
Kitty lacks depth perception.
The string, though. This is new. And like her collection of novelty and commemorative ashtrays, it’s hard to tell what set her off.
Who gave her that first one, the ashtray in the shape of a Spaniard’s helmet?
And where in the world did she get that piece of string?
Oh, really, it doesn’t matter who gave her the string, does it? She grips it, earnestly, twixt her remaining teefers, high-stepping over it as she drags it, tail-like, from one room to another. Her delicate lips part, almost undetectably, as she pauses between rooms.
“Mrrrrrrrowwwwwwww?”
The questions ends in a glissando that runs up the kitty meow-meow scale (in the key of Mouse Flat) as she gives in to the four-pawed urge to tear from one room to the next, skittering around furniture, sliding sideways on the hardwood floor.
I make a note to check her for fleas as Liza Bean Bitey (of the Minneapolis Biteys) sighs heavily and sets down her book, Rutherford’s “Sarum”.
“Really,” she says, eyes closed and massaging the bridge of her nose with one delicate paw. “What is she doing?”
Only one being in the room knows why the kitty races from one room to the next, a bit of string trailing behind her.
And that kitty's not telling.