Although incredibly intelligent, I was far from perfect. Perfection wasn't a prerequisite for the future promulgation of my message. Having only recently learned that I possessed the ability to put words, so to speak, into my master's mouth, I could not be expected to construct a well-ordered story on a whim or even over night. I get bored with my intrigues and tangents, interesting when I started them, but now somewhat lacking in flavor, direction. Aside from that, I always mussed my tenses and I made other grammar errors, most of which could be attributed to my master's lack of formal training and, simply, inexperience. For example, he thinks the word "twelve," but writes the word "eleven" without even batting an eye. It's a wonder he can make any sense out of it when he goes back and reads it over. He is my scribe and, in the scheme of things, simply a tool. I can't expect perfection. It would just be too much to ask for in a first attempt. It may, in any case, perhaps, be too lofty a goal, but it's worth the effort as an educated exercise. I was simply willing to try. A fine effort, at that. My master goes on scribbling madly as if tomorrow would not occur without his finishing. My diligent little oblivious slave. Our results were promising. I assure you that the tale will improve as it meets its ending.

Part of the reason for the lack of order, for the lack of linearity, a traditional story, is that cats really don't have a clear idea about time. I hate to admit it, but we simply sleep too much. Aside from the different events that occur at various times in our lives, the waves, possibly changing our course, possibly drifting past unnoticed or pulling us under, like so much hidden below the surface of the ocean, most of our days are all the same. We meet people, they float past us in the river, we hang onto some of them, others swim ahead of us, yet more fall behind. You either sink or swim, and if you've ever seen a cat swim, you know it's not pretty. We rather look like dogs, paddling with our four paws for dear life. I hope never to experience the sensation again, having had enough with one unfortunate attempt to last a lifetime.

We lack order, my master and me, but we don't lack direction or initiative. We will end up somewhere when this is finished. We take our small steps, crossing over the chasms in our mind with each one. We stop to rest. We find a nice place to sleep and we close our eyes and do that. The ways that humans order the world doesn't often apply to how cats go about doing it. We know when it's day and when it's night, of course, be we aren't really concerned with the passing of time. It really just makes one feel old. It's just not important. Like the ocean, it's just always there, forever returning to the shore, washing up garbage, bits of shells and wood, strange animals and other unidentifiable sea stuff.

When we begin to do something, when we cats begin to do something, our senses take over, and we just don't pay any mind to the things that are occurring all around us. We are in the zone, the flow. For instance, have you ever seen a cat chase after an insect or bat around some small object or other? There's really no stopping it unless a point of exhaustion is reached or some obstacle or barrier impedes continued progress. When something attracts me, I focus all of my energy on it. I seek to possess the thing, to capture its energy. It's the kind of intense concentration we can summon forth when we pursue our interests. There's no use rushing it. I sit on the edge of the bed and blink at the wall. All things come to those who wait, and cats are quite good at waiting. Except when they want something to eat, of course, as you may have observed.

*

It was raining and cold outside, nearly dark in the early evening, and everyone was at home and in the house. Everything was in its place and nothing out of the ordinary was happening, which could have been a premonition of what was to come, now that I look back on it.

Linda was in the kitchen preparing dinner, as she always did, and my master was in his study, sleeping on the couch there. When my master fell asleep, I wandered into the living room where the children were playing in front of the television. My master's study wasn't the warmest place in the house, especially if you were a cat as I was. I laid down on the large rug in front of the fireplace, watching TV, too, and warming up a little. The heat from the fireplace made me feel a little drowsy and I started to drift toward sleep. All was well near the fireside.

Ryan, who was sitting nearby playing with a puzzle, came over to me and started petting me and playing with my tail, which I was flipping about playfully. Penny was rocking herself in a wooden rocking-chair, which I had learned to avoid, especially when she was at the helm.
"Put you finger in front of his nose." Ryan demonstrated briefly, holding out his index finger in front of me. I didn't move.
"No, he's going to bite me. You're just trying to trick me, toad." Penny didn't trust her brother who, generally the brunt of her own devious connivances, may have been setting her up for something of his own devising. She got up from the rocking-chair anyway, and joined her brother on the floor. "You do it." I was fully awakened, now, startled by her less than delicate move to the floor where Ryan and I were sitting.
"Ok, he won't bite me. Watch," and he put his index finger in front of my mouth, touching me. I instinctively opened my mouth and, understanding his game, a game we had already played hundreds of times, held his finger in my teeth ever so lightly. It had to be a menacing sight, the naïve boy caught in the clutches of a vicious housecat, but I wouldn't dare hurt the boy, who was always kind to me. I felt as if it were my duty to protect him. I held onto his finger for another moment and a smile appeared on his face. "See. It doesn't hurt. Try it."
"Ok, but if he bites me, I'm going to tell mom and then you're going to be in big trouble. We might even have to get rid of him." Penny's threat was a touchy weak spot for Ryan.
"Shut up! Don't do it, then. I don't care."
"Ok, I'll do it. Watch out."
"Don't worry. He just acts mean, but he's really nice." A bit hesitantly, she put her out little finger and held it in front of my mouth. I didn't move.
"It's not working, toad."
"You have to touch his face." She moved her hand a little closer, touching the tiny hairs on my chin. Again, I opened my mouth and cradled her finger in my teeth. She jumped a bit and let out a little squeal of delight, surprised that she wasn't actually in any pain.
"It tickles," she added, triumphant in her new discovery.
"He wouldn't hurt us. He knows we are his friends." Penny tugged on her finger and I let it out of my mouth. Penny must not have been completely satisfied with the results of Ryan's experiment. "Don't, Penny." She had grabbed my tail and was holding onto it tightly. "If you pull Buddy's tail, I'm going to tell mom."
"I'm not going to pull it," she said with all of her nine-year-old scorn. "It doesn't hurt him, anyway."

Now, I generally didn't mind when someone or other got it into their mind to take up my tail and play with it for a bit. I have been known to chase after it, on occasion myself, and it's quite a fun appendage. I'm glad I possess one. I couldn't imagine being one of those nubby-tailed cats I used to see roaming around the alleyways and back streets. It was also vital to my balance when I was leaping onto fences and what not. When Penny got hold of it, though, that was another story altogether.

She didn't let go, though. I did my best to flick my tail out of her hand, but it wasn't going anywhere.

"Let go," Ryan said, raising his voice. "See, he doesn't like it. He's trying to get away."
"Shut up, freak!" It was true, I was trying to get away from that mischievous little girl and I had started to stand up a bit, although it was difficult with my tail in the iron grip of a nine-year-old. I couldn't see anything. Suddenly, an excruciating pain coursed through my body and I made an awful sound, a sound I never heard myself make before. Penny must have been scared because she released her hold on my tail and let me go. I was a black streak, bolting out of the room as fast as possible. I ran up the stairs and hid within the safety of my master's closet, the door of which had been left open a little. A favorite hiding place of mine and one I returned to often, making a lumpy bed in the dark on some of my master's not oft used shoes to lick my wounds. You see, the tail is quite a sensitive and important part of a cat and should not be abused under any circumstances. The base of my tail was quite sore and I fell finally fell asleep once the pain subsided.
- posted by Bob @ 2:15 AM 0 comments