Knowing One's Place

When Neville first came to stay at the cosy apartment, Tucker’s reaction was that of low-grade hostility. This is how he has behaved toward all new cats. The roly poly one spent a long time being squished on the bottom of the totem pole by those senior to or stronger than he, and he has never fancied the idea of having a later arrival climb over him to the penultimate spot while he was still stuck at the end. So he would make sure that the newcomers realised the position: Tucker moved up a slot, while the stranger took his old place.

He would eventually relate to each addition with less antagonism. Parker was assisted by the advent of Raleigh, who became the object of Tucker’s mild animosity. This was lucky, as the sturdy-boy didn’t seem willing to take over Tucker’s low position. Then, it was Neville’s turn.

There comes a point at which each new cat ceases to be a threat to Tucker’s standing. If that new cat accepts the order of things, the roly poly will agree to live and let live. Such has it been with the Nevsky. Tucker doesn’t bother much hissing or grumbling at him, as he previously did. He will, now and then, whap at him, in the lazy way he does - it’s more a matter of charging  (the way a watermelon rumbles down a gentle incline) and placing his paw against another’s body - but he is liable to do that with any cat. Its offensive power was demonstrated when he tried it with Raleigh; Peachy was so easy-going that he didn’t react; the paw stayed in place for a second or two and then was withdrawn.

Neville has not yet understood that he need not fear Tucker’s anger any more. He still will wait out the sausage-cat, if the latter is blocking a route Nev wants to take. And when the former Thin Man does pass close to Tucker, it is in a hurry, and with a series of throaty “er…er…” sounds that constitute the variety of his vocabulary.

As I have described over the past few weeks, in connection with Cammie and Raleigh’s passing, the interaction of cats is fascinating. This is another example of their continuing evolution, though it, in fact, has little to do with the deaths in the family. The cats’ relationships can be complex, but that is to be expected from such complex creatures.

In Their Evenings

Once again, all my cats are middle-aged or older. I thought I would have Raleigh for a long time, he being barely two when he came to live with me. But now that he has left me, I have oldsters.

I like the idea of having old pets, of giving them a refuge in their latter days. Younger cats have their appeal, too, of course. There’s nothing more adorable than kittens. And juveniles and young adults have almost as much energy as kittens but combine it with some experience and a more mature appreciation of things. And if a young cat needed shelter, I would offer it.

Not as many people want older cats as pets. These animals will cost money as their health deteriorates; they will require special efforts; they will die sooner and leave their human-friend alone. But, if one keeps a pet for its life-time, as one should, then one will be faced with the same difficulties anyway, at some point. Even the young grow old and pass away.

Though Neville is estimated to be about ten years old, Renn is thirteen, Tucker is fifteen and my old lady, Josie, is sixteen. Except for Nevsky, they probably don’t have more than five or six years each, at the most.

But ‘the most’ is what I can give them. An old and tired cat doesn’t ask for much. A soft bed to ease aching bones, warmth to keep away the growing cold, decent food (and really, not much of it, as appetites naturally diminish) to fill the tummy, and a human they can depend upon to keep providing all of that. It’s not much to ask of a world with so much plenty in it.

Last evening, Josie lie down on the bed near me as I was at my desk in the bedroom. I rubbed her head for a few minutes, then she rested in the thick yellow light of the westering sun, coming through the window. Her eyes were closed but she was purring. She was purring at nothing in particular, except perhaps her own contentment. Life for her was quite good at that moment; snack-time was coming, so it would get better - but for the moment, it was good.

I think if I can give an older cat a decent retirement like this, then I am serving a useful purpose. If a cat has not known anything but a good life, then it’s right that her latter years should continue that way. If she has known hardship, then ease and comfort is her due. I wish all could be given this, and maybe one day they will. But for now, I will do what I can with those I have. And perhaps someone will do the same for me in my own time.

Silver Whiskers

Neville is a handsome fellow. His fur is slowly growing back from where it was severely trimmed during his veterinary visit. He allows me to pet him and purrs during it; he sometimes sits on my lap. But he won’t suffer my attentions for long. And he is often afraid that I am coming to stick a needle in him, for his insulin.

Even so, he is progressing in his interactions with his resident human. I can certainly get physically close to him. This is how I noticed that while some of his whiskers are white, others are a lustrous grey; a silver, if you will. I think this merely adds to his handsomeness.

Bang and Boom

We had quite the storm last night. The clouds gathered in the afternoon, then dispersed, only to reassemble in the early evening. About eight o’clock, the sky was gloomy and grim, and lightning flashed constantly. We were sent a tornado warning by Environment Canada; while such warnings occur in the summer in my part of the world, they are not common. This was, however, the first time I thought the weather directly overhead justified such a precaution.

The warning included the advice to take shelter in a basement. I have no basement. I do have cats, however, and, though fewer than priorly, I have enough under which to bury myself and have them absorb the shock from any destructive force. They are also good for use against concussion grenades and tactical nuclear weapons…

On the subject of the cats, they behaved well. None was much concerned with the storm except Tucker. He, my most sensitive roommate, retreated to the closeness of the nylon tunnel when the first thunder rolled. I certainly don’t blame him; it must be frightening for an animal not to understand the causes of such noises and illuminations. There was one particular lightning bolt that brightened the heavens, and which was followed by a very loud crack. I thought that might move some of the other beasts, but they were unperturbed.

The storm passed, and Tucker emerged. The violent weather had begun at snack-time, but only he had allowed it to disturb his eating. Perhaps as a consequence of that disturbance, the roly poly one had a better than average appetite afterward, and ate well from his soft-food servings.

The light-show introduced a downpour. This, despite – or because of – its intensity, did not last long, and the storm soon broke up. The night was cool, refreshed by the precipitation and released of its tension by the lightning. Though I could do without the threat of a tornado and its possible damage and injuries, I do, in the words of Mr Rabbit’s song, “love a rainy night, I love a rainy night; I love to hear the thunder, watch the lightning as it lights up the sky.” After the storm, I and the cats – Tucker, too – “woke up to a sunny day.”

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.