The other peepholes are ted height and I can’t reach them. This is my only glimpse of the outside. It’s a small hole, the size of a quarter, maybe. I can’t see much; a twisted stretch of oak trunk, some bare winter branches, through them a couple of feet of sidewalk. As I watch, the grey sky gives and snow starts to fall gently in the silence. Gradually the sidewalk vanishes under white, each tree branch bears a narrow line of snow.
This is all I know, this little coin of world. Do I mind? Do I miss going outside? Not at all. It’s dangerous out there. This is enough for me, as long as I can see her.
I hope Ted doesn’t move the macramé table. It would be just the kind of thing he might do. Then I’d have to get really mad and I hate being mad.
If she doesn’t come I’ll wait. That’s what love is about, of course. Patience and endurance. The lord taught me that.
Her scent precedes her, falls through the air like honey dripping onto toast. She comes around the corner with her graceful stride. How can I describe her? She’s striped like a little dusty tiger. Her yellow eyes are the same colour as ripe gold apple skin, or pee. They’re beautiful, is what I mean. She is beautiful. She stops and stretches, this way and that, extends her long black claws. She blinks as snowflakes come to rest on her nose. She has something silver sticking out of her mouth, a tail, maybe. A small fish like a sardine or an anchovy. I have always wondered what real fish tastes like. I get nacho cheese and leftover chicken nuggets, or old chuck from the discount aisle at the 7-Eleven. And when I’m really hungry I have to ask Night-time to hunt for me. (I abhor violence of any kind, but I didn’t make the world and when I must, I must.)
I hope your fish is delicious, I tell the tabby silently. I stroke the plywood with a paw.I love you.The wind builds to a moan, the air is thick with whirling snow and she is gone in a flash of black and gold. Show’s over. The lord giveth, and he taketh away.
Usually after I see her I like to just sit and think for a spell. But the little whine is back, louder now. I rub my ear with my paw until it’s glowing and sore. This makes no difference. Where the heck is it coming from?OOoooeeeeooooeeit goes, on and on. How can I get anything done with that in my ear? It is like a little clock. Worse, because it almost feels like it’s inside me and will not stop. This idea makes me uneasy. What is the little clock chiming for? What hour is come? I need guidance.
I go to my Bible. Well, it is mine now. I think it belonged to Ted’s mother. But she went away and until she comes back, I don’t feel bad using it. The pages are thin and whispery, like dried flower petals. It has gold on the cover, which catches the corner of the eye like a secret. Ted keeps it on a high table in the living room. It’s wasted on him, honestly, he never opens it. The book is becomingsomewhat battered, but after all, I must do my devotions.
I leap up beside the book. This part is fun because I always feel I am about to fall off. I tremble perilously in space. Then I push the book with a paw, nudging it over the edge.
It falls to the floor with a great crash, splayed open. I wait, because it’s not over yet; a few moments later the house shakes and there is a rumble in the earth. The first time it happened Iyowed and hid under the couch. But I came to understand that these are His signs that I’m doing the right thing.
I leap down, landing neatly on all four paws and the lord points my eyes at the verse He wants me to see.
Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God.
I tremble with the rightness of it. I love my Ted, my tabby, my house, my life. I am a lucky cat.
When I find a verse I like, I try to remember it – like that one I just said. But it can be hard to hold phrases in the mind whole. It’s like oversetting a cup of marbles on a hard floor. They run in every direction into the dark.
The book is just a guide, really. I think the lord is different for cats. He prefers to speak to us directly. We don’t see things the way teds do.
I settle down on the couch in a disc of sunshine. I deliberately turn my back on the fallen Bible, so that Ted will know it’s nothing to do with me. The whine has quieted some.
Now, why do I still have a bad feeling? What could be wrong? The Bible verse could not have been more positive. Anyway the trick to life is, if you don’t like what is happening, go back to sleep until it stops.
Ted
I’ve been thinking that I should record some memories of Mommy. That way they won’t disappear, even if I do. I don’t want her to be forgotten. It’s really hard to choose one, though. Most of my memories have secrets in them and are not suitable.
I have a great idea. What about that day by the lake? There are no secrets in that story. Can’t find the recording thing at first; I’m sure I last had it in the kitchen. Eventually, after a hunt, I find it behind the couch in the living room. Weird. But that’s my brain for you.
So. This is how I first got my love of birds. It was summer and we took a trip to the lake. I was six, I don’t recall much from around that age but I remember how this felt.
Mommy wore the deep-blue dress that day, her favourite. It fluttered in the hot breeze that whistled through the cracked window. Her hair was pinned up but strands had escaped the bun. They whipped at her neck, which was long and white. Daddy drove and his hat was a black mountain range against the light. I lay on the back seat kicking my feet and watched the sky go by.
‘Can I have a kitty?’ I asked, as I did every so often. Maybe I thought I could surprise her into a different answer.
‘No animals in the house, Teddy,’ she said. ‘You know how I feel about pets. It’s cruel, keeping living things in captivity.’ You could tell she wasn’t from around here. Her voice still bore the faintest trace of her father’s country. A pinched sound around the ‘r’s. But it was more how she held herself, as if waiting for a blow from behind.
‘Daddy,’ I said.
‘You listen to your mother.’
I made a crying face at that, but only to myself. I didn’t want to be a nuisance. I stroked my hand through the air and pretended I could feel silky fur under my hand, a solid head with enquiring ears. I had wanted a cat ever since I could remember. Mommy always said no. (I can’t help but wonder, now, if she knew something I didn’t, whether she saw the future, like a streak of red on the horizon.)
As we came close to the lake, the air took on the scent of deep water.
We got there early but the shore was already covered with families, blankets spread out like squares on a checkerboard on the white sand. Shadflies hung in clouds over the sheeny surface. The morning sun was strong; it tingled on my skin like vinegar.
‘Keep your sweater vest on, Teddy,’ Mommy said. It was hot but I knew better than to argue.
