I grew up around cats. My mother loves cats, and since she couldn’t stand to separate a family she always took the whole litter. I don’t have cats of my own now due to allergies within my household, but the point is, I know cats.
My mom’s cats, almost to a fur-person, loved nothing more than a bit of cheese. I was a kid in the 70s, so this cheese took the form of Kraft American slices, each individually wrapped to preserve freshness. (To this day my mom calls this product “cat cheese.” :)) What the hum of a can opener was for some cats, the crinkle of a cheese wrapper was for ours.
And as a kid I loved to feed the cats their favorite treat. And all went well until, somehow, a piece of cheese dropped on the ground. Right under the cat’s nose. We’ll say it was Smokey. Right under Smokey’s nose. what followed was, to a nine-year-old, comedy gold.
Me: “It’s right there! Right there!”
Smokey looks at me expectantly.
Me: “It’s there! There!”
I point at the cheese maniacally.
Smokey continues to look at me expectantly.
Me: “Right! There!”
This would continue until, finally, I would pick up the cheese and feed it directly to Smokey, who would of course eat it with great gusto.
This is pretty much how I envision the gods trying to get a point across to me. They can put it right in front of me, give me countless clues, make all sorts of noise about it, but until it is right (and I mean RIGHT) under my nose, I am not going to know it is there.