Cat of traveling language

She doubts that she could hear the rumble of sex even if the radiator wasn't humming. In fact, the radiator need not hum at all, as it is March of the thirteenth and the degree of the air is somewhere in the high 30s. All the windows in the apartment are opened anyways. But, alas, the radiator stops its humming and indeed, there is no sound of sex, although she knows it is occurring but a mere few steps down the hallway. If she were to travel down the hall and stand outside, next to the closed door, she is sure she would likely hear the moans and gropes of sexual encounter, however, as she sits now, in the plaid mustard yellow and forest green chair, there are three walls between her and the room filled with the joyous grunts of copulation. And through so very many walls, she knows little can be heard, despite how majestically and intimately capable the two bodies inside that room are of becoming entwined.

The white and gray cat in front of her meows with an erect, straight-standing tail. It stretches briefly, its front legs extending to such euphoric lengths that its face can't help but contort into an expression of utter pleasure. She wishes she could imitate the cat in that way.

That cat, though, she never could imitate.