Words, what are they good for?

A new language for a new year

I’m trudging through Little Gidding, “while the light fails / On a winter's afternoon,” as “Nisi Više Moja Bol” plays on my Spotify. The poem is the fourth section of T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets, which has been described by some poetry ranker as the greatest English-language poem of the 20th century. I think I comprehend more of the Croatian pop song I’m hearing than I do of the English poem I’m reading.

The last time I visited Herceg Novi in Montenegro, I made friends with a family of feral cats. In my two months there, I saw the litter develop from babies suckling from an emaciated mom into playful little kitties romping about their slightly healthier-looking matriarch. In the beginning, the mom didn’t trust me at all. As the little ones grew enough to move about, they followed their mother’s example.

The Montenegrin cat family who let me hang out with them one summer.

With cats, there’s a trick with my eyes I’ve been learning to do. I used my strategic squint on the mom, and after a few days she trusted me enough to let me stroke her. Once she learned I was a source of good massages, our friendship was sealed. Her youngsters took longer to come around, though. They perceived my outstretched hand as an invitation to fight. Communication is a many-splendoured thing.

Let me tell you a secret about me in Montenegro.