Empathy

I go to the restaurant – I pull in my claws, because I am strange enough as it is, I think they talk about me. I don’t like that. I feel they are saying things like: “ Is that really her own hair?” ; or whatever people say behind backs. But I don’t know, I speak no language that they can speak. I order my meal while I try to put on an indifferent ‘seen it all – bear of the world’ grimace, but I am afraid that they can smell I am an amateur..