The Cat (from The River TAO, A Ladies of the Island

Adventure)

I am now the cat. Before the baby arrived, I was the prince,

honey bunny, purr bear, mama’s little darling, you know

how it goes. I’m now the cat. Did you feed the cat? Where’s

the cat? Did you let the cat out? Did you call the vet about

the cat? I know they should’ve called the vet so the vet

could explain the difference between crap in a can and

homemade gourmet. I mean, they used to know the

difference, would brag about it to the guests. Now I’m

lucky if they scoop the goop out of the can into a dish. And

don’t even ask me about the sanitary arrangements.

I decided to take the matter into my own paws and left.

They can have their baby. They can sing it to sleep all they

want, dress it up and parade it around. Let ‘em. When it

starts to holler all night long and they don’t sleep for nights

on end and all they want is something soft, warm and

purring to hold, let them open the front door and call my

name out into the darkness. Let them call the cat!

It was tough going for a while, but I managed. Turns out

my hunting skills kicked in, so I didn’t starve and I adapted

quickly to the taste. I have found that the general

readership has no ear for the culinary details of a street cat,

so I will spare you the in-depth study of my diet. Suffice it

to say, I survived, and became sleek and shiny in the doing.

Surprisingly, I missed my humans. They were kind folk

who treated me well, and I wasn’t going to hold it against

them for paying attention to the baby. That thing smelled

funny and made odd noises, but it was soft. My humans

had probably said the same thing about me.

I wandered into a bad neighborhood one night and met

up with some mean cats who beat me up and chased me.

We made quite a racket, and a few humans yelled

and turned the hose on us. We all made a run for it. I had

no idea where I was and kept running until I was too tired

to run anymore. It was a warm night and there was a soft

breeze. I remember because my paws were bloody, and

when I finally collapsed inside an empty pail, I said to

myself it could’ve been worse, it could’ve been winter, but

the air was warm and I could see a few stars.

The next thing I remember is an angry shout and being

flung through the air. I think I scared that poor woman

who picked up the pail and saw me in it clear through to

the next universe. I think she thought I was dead. I

probably looked dead, what with bloody paws and being

at the bottom of a bucket, but she didn’t bother to figure

out if I was dead or alive, just hollered and flung me away.

I was thrown into a river. The very idea. What’s a cat

supposed to do in a river? I was not given swimming

lessons as a kitten so had no idea what to do except

what came naturally, which was to keep my head up and

my legs moving fast. The experience was shocking. It

wasn’t like I had gone to the pool for a quick dip on a hot

day. No, I was tired and my paws hurt, not to mention my

feelings, and I had been given an unceremonious heave

ho. As I paddled for my life, I began to wish I had penned

a will.

I lagged and gasped for air, my blurry eyes straining to see

a mysterious small white light in the distance that began to

come at me with some bit of speed, when all of a sudden I

was scooped up into a net, fished out of the river like a

salmon. I was not quite myself as I was laid out on the

deck and peered at and poked and prodded for a sign of

life. I must’ve looked awful, splayed out like a slimy dead

thing. I remember noise and happy shouts when I began

to cough up water.

I was bathed and dried and cooed over for hours. I had

died and gone to Heaven. My new home was Heaven. It

was a boat, but it was a heavenly boat. I’d adjust. Having

been rescued from the jaws of death, I was willing to

forego nitpicking . . . for once . . . for a few minutes . . . it

took a couple hours. It was like NEED TUNA was

tattooed on my forehead because in the morning there

it was in a glass dish, with all the oil, and a saucer of milk

right next to it. Not only that morning, but every morning

for a week.

I was combed and petted, and all it took was a flick of my

tail to be left alone, until mealtime when I was served

more tuna and milk and cream and ice cream and all

kinds of delectables. I became a fat, happy cat living the

life of Riley on a boat.

The woman who flung me into the river should be

canonized.