Something for Me

Once in a while, I buy something for myself. I don’t do it often because, frankly, my needs are not complicated. This is in contrast, apparently, to the cats, whose needs, while constant and immense, nonetheless manage to shift and alter like a kaleidoscope as seen by a lunatic who’s decided to have a psychotic break, just for something different. But once in a while, I buy something for myself.

The purchase is usually occasioned by the cats, it may not shock anyone to read. My bedspread was in tatters. It resembled the stereotypical cloak worn by a leprous mendicant begging for alms at the edge of a medieval village. My bedspread, however, had more cat-hair. It was also tremendously thin. Once upon a time, it was intact. Then Renn misjudged a jump up to the top of the mattress and recovered himself with his claws. Like a piece of movie-film, the disintegration of which due to sudden heat is displayed in great and enlarged detail on a cinema screen, the bedspread fell apart from there.

The blanket under the bedspread fared similarly, sharing the bedspread’s damage and acquiring some of its own, apparently hoping to establish an independent franchise of physical ruin. It became so ragged that I had to turn it sideways, as the ends had completely torn away, and no longer gave it the necessary length.

Certainly, the duration of my suffering with these pitiful cottonary remnants was my own fault. I like to have exactly what I intend to have. Buying a substitute for my goal merely makes me dislike my lesser purchase, and extends my search for the real thing while intensifying my dissatisfaction with what turns out to be nothing more than a stop-gap measure. I wanted a bedspread, not a coverlet or a quilt – both fine bedclothes, but neither of them bedspreads. The bedspread, like the shoe-shine man, is a dying feature of our modern world, it seems, and a relic of better times. So too, strangely, is the humble blanket, once ubiquitous in households, and now replaced by the likes of the aforementioned coverlet, and the horribly named ‘throw’.

But I found them at last. They arrived this week, and I placed them, newly washed, on the bed, along with clean sheets. I am sufficiently proud of this very minor achievement to feature them in today’s blog-entry, ousting the cats from the central subject, but not, you will note, wholly from appearance.

And yes, I believe Josie is laughing at me in the last photograph.

Dr Bellen Reminisces

Dr Bellen relaxed in his study. It was late afternoon and, though the work-day was officially ended, he still had much to do. But he took a break with a cup of tea and a biscuit or two. Outside the day was gloomy and grey, rain was falling, and it was cool; inside, all the residents of the Cosy Apartment Feline Sanitarium were snug in cat-beds or couches, chairs or perches, taking their ease.

It had been a difficult couple of weeks at the Cosy Apartment. Two of the residents had to leave, unexpectedly, on their final journeys. It was always a tough time for Dr Bellen. But he had to remember that, in the great scheme of things, every human is merely fostering cats and dogs and other animals. They would all, eventually, be called Home. He and others who looked after little lives could only make them as happy and carefree as possible in the interval.

There was something more specific that Dr Bellen remembered as he sipped his tea and watched the downpour. It was a conversation he had inadvertently overheard between the two newly departed cats, while they were preparing for their journeys. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but he was walking outside the principal residence building and, as he neared a corner, he caught the start of a conversation. He was surprised when he recognized the voices of Princess Camarouska Albigensia - known to her friends as Cammie - and the little charity case, Raleigh. He had not thought the two had known each other and, evidently, they hadn’t, not well. They were speaking together nonetheless.

  

“Good afternoon. I understand that you will be leaving the Sanitarium tomorrow… Ahem… I am talking to you, little man.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Highness. I, er…”

“I understand that you will be leaving the Sanitarium tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

Indeed, Raleigh was sitting, rather forlornly, on a bench, with a little bundle of belongings already tied up in a knotted handkerchief. Cammie gestured to it with her white cane. (Cammie was blind, you see, and, while it may have been unusual to observe a cat with a cane, white or otherwise, she did things her own way.)

“You won’t be needing even that when you go, you know. I too will be leaving tomorrow, in the afternoon, and I will be taking almost nothing.”

“Really?” In his surprise, Raleigh actually looked up.

“Yes,” Cammie answered. “We leave all our baggage behind when we make this journey.”

“Oh.”

There was a pause, and then Cammie asked, “Are you afraid?”

There was a longer pause this time, but Raleigh eventually replied, in a tinier voice than usual:

“Yes.”

“I too will admit to some anxiety over this sojourn.” Raleigh looked at the princess, quite taken aback. Cammie continued: “It is, after all, a once in a lifetime event, and a very important one. It cannot be undertaken lightly, and gives a heavy responsibility to those who leave and, especially, to those left behind.”

“I feel…alone…”

Cammie thumped the end of her cane on the ground in some impatience, but then modified her attitude. She was a sensitive soul - being a cat - but sometimes took a rather stern approach to others. When she spoke again, though, her tone was quite sympathetic.

“I know how that is, little man. One believes that one must take this journey alone. But that is not true. For instance, Dr Bellen will be at the station to see us off.”

“He will?”

“Of course. He never permits a cat to leave without a farewell.”

“That will be nice.”

After a hesitation, Cammie said, “I think you will be departing from the Sanitarium’s station, is that correct? By the 10.05 train tomorrow morning?” Raleigh nodded. “I will be taking the 3.30. If you like, you can wait for me at the next station, and we will take the further stages of the journey together.”

Raleigh couldn’t believe his ears. (They were a little battered, one even had a tiny pinprick hole all the way through it; he sometimes wondered about the things he heard with them.) The princess may have mistaken the look of incredulity for one of alarm, though this was unlikely. In any case, she elaborated:

“It is a rather nice station - they all are in Idylland - and will surely have a warm fire in the waiting room if it is chilly outside. The station restaurant is quite welcoming, as well, and provides excellent food.”

“I haven’t felt like eating much lately.”

“You needn’t worry about that, little man. You will find your appetite returning as you make this journey.”

“Really?”

“Truly. You will discover many remarkable things about yourself, and about the world, the farther you go on.”

“And you’ll be with me?”

“I will even deign to sit in the same compartment with you. Not on the same seat, of course, but across from you.”

“Oh, that would be very nice, Your Highness. Thank you.”

“You are most welcome. We all must make this journey, and at the end of it, we will be good friends, so we may as well start tomorrow. Not today, you understand, for, at the moment, you are still too far beneath me. But tomorrow…”

“Oh, Your Highness, I…I am feeling not as frightened now…”

“Excellent. I am glad to hear it. You will feel even braver tomorrow, and soon, you will feel fit and healthy, like a kitten again. You will run and jump and play, as far and as much as you like.”

“And we will be friends?”

“We will all be friends, Raleigh.”

Dr Bellen smiled as he thought of the two cats on the train-ride together, leaving Idylland, but heading for an even better country. Then he heard a soft meow and looked toward his study door. His door was always open, and cats often came by to say ‘hello’. This time, though, it was Renn, his able assistant.

“Good afternoon, Renn. Are you done for the day? Would you like some tea? I could have the kitchen prepare something for you: chicken, chicken-and-liver, ocean whitefish, turkey, beef, cod…”

 

“That’s it? Nothing more?”

“How may I help you, Renn?”

“I just wanted to see how you were. I thought you were a little low after the last week or so.”

“Thank you, Renn. That’s kind of you, but I’m fine."

Renn paused; cats paused a lot in Idylland. Cats tend to think first, and then speak, quite unlike people.

“Dr Bellen, will we all go on the same journey the princess and Raleigh took?”

“Yes, Renn, we will. You and I, and everyone. I try not to feel sad about it, because those who had a good life here in Idylland will have had their time, and will be ready to move on. Those who have missed what they should have had will find it when they arrive at their destination.”

“And we will see all our friends?” Renn was worried about this.

“I believe so. We will see all our friends, and all those we see will be our friends. Even those who were bad and malicious will be there, because they will be shorn of everything evil, and only what they should have been will be left. They will know that they are truly themselves, and be sorry for what they were before. But the past won’t matter in the place where we’ll be; we’ll look at our lives here as adults look at their childhood: sometimes sad, sometimes happy, but all just a preparation for their real lives.”

Renn looked wryly at Dr Bellen, and said, “I don’t know how I can be any different…”

Dr Bellen laughed and remarked, “I think you will be just the same, Renn. I hope so.” He patted the couch next to where he sat. “Why don’t you come up here and lie beside me while I finish my tea? We can talk about chest-rubs and treats and such things.”

Renn started purring and leaped up next to Dr Bellen. Outside the rain continued, but inside, it was warm and snug.

After the Leveller Visits

Neville’s enlargement of his world continues. I won’t repeat what I’ve already described about his explorations, though I will mention that each night, about ten o’clock, he has jumped on to the bed and lie there, purring and flexing his paws, happy at his new surroundings. This of course pleases me.

I had written earlier that Nevsky’s newly expanded horizons coincided with Raleigh’s passing, and that the newest boy probably thinks that now he is free to spend the time with me that Peachy took up in the past. I think that is accurate. But in speaking with an acquaintance about the Nev, I told her that he is now spending a great deal of time on the bed, both during the day and the night, and she responded that it must be because Cammie is no longer spending her time in the bedroom.

This is true, of course, but I hadn’t thought of its effect on Neville. The other three, having known Cammie a long time and lived with her before her blindness, had no reluctance in coming into the bedroom whenever they could. I often had to evict Josie, and sometimes Renn, from the room before going to work, so I could sequester Cammie there for the day. Neville’s trips into the bedroom had been furtive, and he ran out again if noticed. Now, he boldly jumps up on to the bed, rolls about, stretches and snoozes.

My princess is gone. She had priority, on the basis of seniority and disability. Now, however, it’s time for other cats to stake their claims, and on a basis of more or less equality. Death is indeed the great leveller, but it can level things for those who remain, as well as for those who go on ahead.

Greetings and a Farewell

Last night brought a new customer to the Café Cosy. I saw Sable sitting by the fence, so I prepared some soft-food for her; she has the hard-food bowl at all times, but if I see her, I bring her something soft. I set the bowl down outside the screen door and came back five minutes later, expecting to see her enjoying the meal, and instead found this newcomer.

I’ve named her Jessel. I don’t know her gender for sure; I thought I detected some diluted tortoiseshell colouring but the lighting wasn’t good at twilight and, in any case, her patterns may be caused by something other than tortoiseshell hues. Sable was not to be seen and, in her place, Jessel cleaned her dish.

She seems wary but not overly frightened of people. She stopped by my bedroom window after she was finished dining. I will ask about her of my neighbours. But, whether known or not, with a family or on her own, Jessel will have a place to eat and drink, if she wants it.

On a related matter, Finn, the long-haired grey outsider cat, appears to be gone. He has not been seen for a couple of months. I had heard that his family was moving, so, thank goodness, they seem to have taken Finn. Readers of this blog would of course take their cats with them; they know, however, that with some people, such inclusion is not a certainty. But Finn was, it looked like to me, cared for, so I believed that he would be travelling with his people. Bon voyage, Finn.

Their Names Were Cammie and Raleigh

I received Cammie and Raleigh’s ashes last week. Because they were cremated through different veterinary hospitals, their caskets are different. Cammie has a simple one, like Parker’s, but in black. Raleigh’s is a little tomb. It’s amusing, in a way, that my princess’s ashes are in a plain box, while my ‘charity case’ reposes in a tiny mausoleum. Well, perhaps Cammie would not think it funny…

I have also framed their photographs. Cammie’s was easy to choose. It is my favourite picture of her. Her expression was often more dead-pan than this, but now and then, she appeared a little melancholy. Though she purred, and purred well, she always struck me as a little sad, perhaps wondering why she didn’t rate better subjects than the cats and human who lived under her suzerainty. But the photo shows her subtle colours, and the brilliance of her green eyes, before they went black.

Raleigh never had a professional photographer capture his likeness. I wish one had. Peachy was just not photogenic. He always had a slightly bedraggled look, his eyes droopy, his face tired. The impression thus created was belied by his behaviour when he was well. He would play exuberantly, and those big spatula paws of his made him look even more kitten-like than his actions did. In the end, I selected an image of him snoozing on my bed. I think at the time his fur had not yet been rid of all its mats, so he looked rather shaggier than he became. But this was him sleeping near me, unafraid, secure and content. My ugly spaniel.

I have run out of room on the little dresser for all the urns and photos of my departed friends, so I have now arranged things differently. Their pictures are on the wall above the dresser-top, which still holds their remains. I can see them all when I go to bed, and when I wake again in the morning. There are now two more than there were just a month ago. Their names were Cammie and Raleigh. They were my friends, and I will remember them.