What the fox says

I sat in a back corner of the cafe, sipping my plain black coffee, and let my eyes wander over the other patrons.

The man by the window was clearly waiting for someone, eyes darting to the door every time it opened. From the way the young woman two tables over was playing with her diamond ring, I could tell that she was newly engaged, but having misgivings. Just by observation, I know the stories of everyone else in the cafe as well. Except for that black-haired woman in line.

Her smart blue suit said business woman. Its brand and material said a middling position and salary. Her posture said confidence. The few wisps of gray in her hair said late thirties. Her small, flat clutch said she didn't drive here. Her eyes spoke of intelligence. Her facial crinkles said she laughed a lot. Her stylish heels said she feels beautiful. Their four-inch height said she didn't walk here either. All this and more, I could hear. But what did the fox say?

Upon her shoulders draped a finely crafted stole of fox fur. Its head and front paws snaked over her left shoulder and rested on her chest, staring ahead with shiny black eyes. Staring at me. What did the fox say about this woman?

Did the fox say she was chilly? Hardly. That she has a brother in taxidermy? That she's the heiress of a prestigious old family? That she hunts and traps in her spare time? The fox was silent, leaving me only with my imagination and a certainty that I hadn't yet guessed correctly.

The woman's slight frown said she was puzzled. I realized that I was making a similar face, and smoothed out my features. Puzzled. That last time I was puzzled was six years ago. Today, everything and everyone in the room was speaking to me as usual, even the lint on the boy's pant leg across the room, but not that fox. I stared into its glassy eyes, and heard nothing. Nothing at all.

Until a voice said, "Excuse me!" very loudly. I looked up to see the blue-suited mystery woman right in front of me. She must have called to me several times already. Her mouth was set in a firm line, and she fixed me with a steady gaze. "I said, 'What are you staring at?'" My eyes jerked involuntarily to the fox reposed on her bosom.

"Gotcha," said the fox.