The Cat Always Knows - Democratic Underground

NanceGreggs

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Wed Dec-23-09 10:35 PM
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The Cat Always Knows

We lost a dear friend yesterday. She was only forty-seven, young and vibrant. Found dead by her eight-year-old son.

Probably a heart attack, or perhaps an aneurysm, said the coroner. It will be days before the cause-of-death verdict is finalized.

No matter. The details won’t fill the void left by her absence. The cut-and-dry explanation won’t bring her back.

She’s gone.

The two dogs who allow us to share their home know something’s amiss. They see the tears that ensue when the phone is answered. They have noted – with some chagrin – that schedules normally adhered to, with respect to feeding times and backyard romps, have been altered with what seems no reasonable explanation.

They curl up a little closer on the couch, and offer their chew-toys for a pick-up game of toss-and-fetch a little more often than usual – somehow aware that cheering-up is needed, that distraction from reality would be welcome, even if our participation is reluctantly, rather than enthusiastically, forthcoming.

There is another creature who lurks within our walls. Sakura, the Cat-from-Hell. Found motherless as a three-week-old kitten, she arrived with her siblings at my daughter’s college animal clinic – the place where my lovely and caring child was studying to be a lovely and caring vet assistant. And she is.

And so, what eventually turned out to be the only surviving kitten of the abandoned litter found her way into my child’s heart – and, with much nay-saying aforethought, into my home.

Sakura and I were sworn enemies from the start. We kept our distance, one from the other. Our rare one-on-one encounters consisted of me yelling “Pssssst! Get LOST!” as she swatted the weight-chains on my beloved antique clock – or grabbing her by the scruff of the neck as she pounced on the birdcage, determined to scare our parakeets to death (undoubtedly hopeful of an all-you-can-eat buffet, post budgie demise).

I have always had cats, you understand – warm and friendly creatures, content to just be – undesirous of shredding every piece of mail immediately upon delivery, uninterested in destroying the woodwork that true artisans had crafted for my 1923-constructed house, unwanting of undoing what years of careful decorating had finally accomplished.

But Sakura was determined to be something else entirely. Something between the Spawn of Satan and the Devil Incarnate – only meaner, more blatantly evil – all delivered with an attitude that made you know she meant it.

Last night, I sat in front of the computer – waiting for a message from my dear (allegedly departed) friend: “LOL! I don’t know how this rumour got started, but I am SO NOT DEAD!”

Sakura came into my office – a place she knows full well she is not welcome. She jumped into my lap, curled herself up, and purred away – brushing her face against mine, warm and cuddly as only cats can be – and settled-in to sit vigil through the night, as I – no, we – waited for a message that never came.

Dogs sense – but cats know.

Cheyenne, my dearly departed friend, was always a “cat person”. She always said they know when you’re hurting, and will do whatever they can to soothe your spirit when you need it most.

She was right.

Got the message, Chey – via Sakura.

Would have preferred a phone call saying, “Fooled ya!”

But I’ll take what I can get.

Farewell, my Lovely. We’ll meet again on the other side.

And yes, I’ll bring the damned cat.