A Cat's Eye View of Life and Love by Sterling

by Marta Felber

  Mewsings

  Our bodies need stretching, without a doubt.

  There are stretches that fit you, and stretches that fit me.

  We get ideas from watching others

  and taking exercise classes.

  The important thing is that we regularly do what we have learned.

  RESPONDING TO CHITTER-CHATTER

  “It’s morning, Ling.” (Anyone with one eye open can see that there is light coming in the windows.)

  “Why didn’t the alarm go off?” (Simple. You forgot to turn it on. If I could figure out how to turn it off every night, I would.)

  “Did you sleep well last night?” (I would have slept better if you had not tossed and turned and almost kicked me out of bed. Don’t tell me what was bothering you. We don’t have time to list all your worries before I get fed.)

  “Come on up, where I can pet you.” (I’ll come when I choose. First I have to take a half-bath. It is important to start the day fresh and clean. Not to mention any names, but some people I know only bathe once a day.)

  “What should we do today?” (What’s with this “we” stuff? If I know you, you will choose what you want to do, and I will have to follow, or do my own thing.)

  “I’ve got to get up, but I don’t want to.” (Let’s get this show on the road! The sooner you get out of bed, the sooner I get fed. My stomach is complaining.)

  “Listen! That pesky woodpecker is back, making a hole in the woodwork outside our window. I’ll have to figure out how to get rid of him.” (Yes, please do get rid of him. We don’t need another alarm clock.)

  “Oh, I just remembered. Today is Saturday, the one day I let myself sleep in.” (You want to bet? I am as hungry this morning as the morning before and the morning before that. We are getting up! Now!)

  “Ouch, Ling, stop biting my toes! Your teeth went right through the blanket.” (That’s exactly what I meant for them to do. Get the message?)

  “Oh, all right. I’m awake now for sure, thanks to you, so I might as well get up.” (Hurrah! Enough of this chitter-chatter. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.)

  Mewsings

  There are times when our loved one may talk on and on.

  We have choices as to what to do about all that talk.

  Sometimes we hurt people, even though we don’t mean to.

  If we really love someone, we will choose not to hurt them.

  When someone annoys us, talking back in our head

  may be the safest and kindest thing to do.

  PLAYING BALL

  What is something you do well? I am a natural ball player. Sometimes I play ball by myself. I find a lost ball on the floor and bat it all around. I love to get the ball under chairs at the table. I jump through the chair legs, find the ball, pounce, and hit it again.

  When I sense that M might be in a ball-playing mood, I stretch out on the wooden floor facing her. I hate to be critical, but I do need to give her a good target, since her aim is not always the best, and that’s putting it mildly.

  M usually gets my message and rolls the ball toward me. I knock it back to her. I’ve learned to hit fairly straight, depending on how she pitches the ball to me. I can use either my front or back paws, or both, to strike the ball. I know how successful I am by M’s immediate feedback.

  “That was a good one.” “Sorry, not hard enough.” “Aim a little more to the right, please.” “That one was too hard. Do you think I am in the next room?” “Wow, you get a home run on that one!” The tone of her voice tells me whether she likes my hit.

  The ball we use is my favorite. It is very soft and light, and it bounces high in the air. It does not make the stupid tinkle sound, like the name M sometimes uses for me, “Ding-a-ling.” I can carry the ball in my mouth anywhere I please, to a place where I can play ball all by myself. Once I carried the ball to M and she said, “Here, doggy, doggy, give me the ball.” I did not like what she called me, and I will never do that again. My favorite ballpark is the big room, where I can chase the ball very far. I make a lot of noise, or so M says.

  It is night and the main house is dark. M is settled in our bed, with the endless stacks of reading beside her. The only light is focused on her reading. It is very quiet. I tiptoe into the bedroom with the ball in my mouth, and the fun begins! I chase the ball all over the place. “Ling, would you please settle down! Can’t you see I am reading?” You would think by now M would recognize how important playing ball is to me. I keep on playing, but I do it very quietly.

  Mewsings

  It feels so good to do something well.

  Specific and positive feedback helps us feel even better.

  Praise means more if it comes from a person close to us.

  We sometimes show off what we can do.

  We sometimes forget the needs of others.

  Life needs to be both giving and receiving, like playing ball.

  HIDING BALLS

  There she goes again, down on her knees, looking under the big couch. M doesn’t like to get in that position. And, after she is down, she complains even more about getting up. I know what she is doing. She tells me often enough.

  “Ling! Where in the world have you hidden your favorite balls? I can’t find even one for us to play with.”

  Obediently, I paddle along behind her as she goes expectantly from place to place. There are no balls behind or under the big chest in the living room. Nor are there any under the small couch in our bedroom. Next we look in flowerpots on the porch, among the leaves. I cannot believe M can get down and under the computer in the office, and paw among the wires as I do, but she does. Not one ball do we find.

  I am making a long list in my head of some great places to hide balls, if we ever get any more. In the last place to look, the guest room, a ball is in plain sight, waiting for us in the middle of the room. Hurrah! Now we can play ball—at least, until the one we just found also disappears!

  These are my favorites, little soft balls; ones I can carry around. I can’t remember how long I have been hiding them in safe places. I don’t want them to get away, so I like to find a secret place and tuck away whichever one I have in my mouth. I always plan to get it when I feel the urge to play ball. As I said, I’ve been doing this for a long, long time, ever since I moved in with M. I did not realize the extent of our emergency situation however, until today when we were playing ball.

  “Ling, this is the last one of eight soft balls that I bought you. We’ve got to find more before we lose this one. I don’t want to drive an hour, back to where I got them, just for balls for you.” To me, it sounds worth the trip.

  You guessed it! The last ball has disappeared. I did not hide it. It lost itself. M goes on another scavenger hunt, with me trailing behind, with no luck. I know what you are thinking. Why don’t I just go to one of the places I hid a ball? I would, if only I could remember!

  Mewsings

  There is a lot of stuff in our memory bank.

  Every day we put in more, and it gets all jumbled up together.

  We need to choose what is important, as we put in new information.

  We could say, “I am putting this yellow ball behind the big sofa.”

  It would help us to carry the picture with us, as we walk away.

  IGNORING NAMES

  My name is Sterling, and don’t you forget it! That was the name I was given in the shelter. M promised, the day she picked me up, to uphold and cherish that name. “Sterling, Sterling, I like that name,” said M. “Look at his silver-tipped, gray-blue fur. Sterling is a perfect name for him!” I heard her. So what’s with these other names she expects me to answer to?

  First, she shortens Sterling, my beautiful and strong-sounding name, to “Ling.” I hear her tell a friend that “Sterling” is just too long to say all the time. Am I not worth an extra split second of her time to use the name that belongs to me? Shame on her! So, half the time, I don’t answer to Ling.

  I guess “Little Friend” is not too bad. M uses it in gree
ting, “Hello, my Little Friend,” or when she wants me to go with her, “Come on, Little Friend, let’s go on the porch.” If only I had a choice, I would definitely vote for “Sterling.” It sounds more as if I am her equal.

  Sometimes she calls me “Ding-a-ling.” Cute, you say? Well, how would you like to be called “Ding-a-ling?” Be honest. M uses it in her playful voice. “Ding-a-ling, where are you?” Even if I wanted to go to her, I would not, just for spite.

  Worst of all—and I can hardly tell you, because it is so embarrassing—is “Ding Dong.” “Ding Dong,” she says, “time to go to bed. Come on, Ding Dong. Ding Dong. Ding Dong.” Does she think I am a bell? What M does not know is that I get angry every time she uses that name, and I promise myself not to speak to her for an entire day.

  Mewsings

  Sometimes we like the name we are given,

  and sometimes we don’t.

  Names are so important, and we deserve a choice.

  We stand, and demand:

  “This is the name that fits me.

  I will answer to it, and to no other.

  Except, maybe, a mutually agreed upon nickname.”

  FACING THE STORM

  Flash, flash! Boom, boom! What was that? The boom, boom hurts my ears. The bright lights hurt my eyes. Here it comes again. Flash! Boom! The flash is getting brighter. The boom is getting louder. Where is M? I race around the house. Is she in the kitchen? No. Maybe she is in the bedroom, hiding under the covers. I will go under there with her, if she is. I check the covers on the bed and there is no big lump that could be her. She’s not in the bathroom, either. I should have known—she is in her office, as always, moving her fingers across the keyboard.

  I want to say, “Hear that, and that? Aren’t you afraid?”

  She must have read my mind. “It’s okay, Ling. It’s just a thunderstorm. It will pass.” Not soon enough for me!

  “I’d better turn off the computer until it is over.” I want her to turn off the terrible noise instead. She leads the way to our bedroom, props herself up at the top of the bed, and begins to read. How can she be so contented, when we are being invaded? By whom or what I do not know—can’t she see my eyes wide open and my ears laid back?

  “It’s okay, Ling. I’m right here. You don’t need to be afraid. Why don’t you come and snuggle next to me?”

  Not on your life! I’m not going anywhere near those windows where all the action is coming from. I’m staying put in the hallway to the bathroom. If the flash and boom come in here, I will dash into the bathroom and try my best to close the door behind me. At least I have a workable plan—no thanks to you, my big, seemingly blind, deaf and insensitive friend!

  Mewsings

  Sometimes others do not understand the depth of our fears.

  We imagine a conversation as we tell them, in words and actions.

  We play it through in our mind, and check out the feelings.

  We decide to risk a conversation in real life, or we suffer in silence.

  WAITING AND WAITING AND WAITING

  M left me! Everything in my world has changed. Well, not exactly all of it. I do get my food, every morning and every evening. But where is M? It took me a while that first day to discover she had really gone. Early in the morning, she closed the bags she had been packing and pulled them into the garage. She fed me that morning, as always, and cleaned my litter box after I used it, as always. She ate breakfast at the computer, as always. And then it happened. Her friend came and took her and the bags away. M did not come back all day. That same friend came before dark and put my food just where M always does. I let him hold me, because—what else could I do? I really needed someone because I missed M. Where is she? And when is she coming home?

  It is dark outside, and I am glad for the few lights the friend turned on in the house. I wander around and around. I do not feel like doing anything, so I don’t. In the bedroom, I start to get on the bed and go to sleep, but I stop. M is not there. I go to the dining room and crawl under a chair. I used to sleep here before M let me sleep with her. I pretend she is in her bedroom with the door closed. Finally, I go to sleep, pretending.

  But the next morning, I have to face reality. M is still gone. Another friend comes and puts out my food. She tries to play with me, but all I want to do is be held, which she does. She talks softly to me and tells me M loves me and she will be back. It does not happen. The days continue, one after the other, same old thing—one friend in the morning and the other friend in the evening.

  There was one thing different, however. I forgot to tell you about my biting the evening friend. He thought I liked to roughhouse, and I roughhoused back and nipped him twice on his hand. I was sorry when I saw the blood come out, but there was nothing I could do about it after the fact. Thank goodness he didn’t stop feeding me, which he had every right to do. Except for the blood-letting experience, every day has been the same.

  M can cry. I have seen her. But I can’t. I wish I could. I know I would feel better if I could cry. I just sit, and wait, and hope.

  Mewsings

  It is terrible to be left at home alone.

  The days and nights are endless.

  We don’t find joy in doing the things we did before.

  Sometimes we take out our frustrations on a not-responsible person.

  It might help if we could cry.

  Through all the waiting, we must keep hope in our heart.

  WELCOMING HOME THE WANDERER

  I hear the garage door open. It isn’t food time, so who can it be? The door bursts open and a familiar voice says, “Ling, where are you?” For a few seconds, I feel the hurt and sadness of the days without her, and I am tempted to turn my back and walk away. But she picks me up, and all I can do is snuggle in her arms and breathe in her special smell. I want to say, “Never, never, ever go away again.” I had not realized before M left how much I do love her. My motor takes over, and I just purr.

  “Remember, I told you I was going to visit my Sons Number One and Two, and their families. They live a long way away, and I had lots of people to see.”

  No, I did not remember. M should have said it twice, or thumped me on the head as she said it, before she left.

  What can I do to keep her at home? If I stay with her all the time, she cannot get away. This is what I do. Everywhere she goes, I go. When she sits down, I am on her lap. The only time I leave her is when I eat, to keep up my strength. I even wait to go to my litter box until she is cleaning it and she has to stop in the middle of her disposal job to let me use it.

  I hear her complaining at the computer about all the e-mails that have piled up while she was gone. “That’s what you get for going away,” I want to say. But I keep her company while she reads them and makes comments aloud to me. It is so good to hear her voice, going on and on. I will never complain again about her endless chitter-chatter.

  I think she is more considerate of me now. Before she goes anywhere, she tells me she is going out, even when it is for her daily walk. Even though I can’t tell time, she mentions when she will return. I get a pat and a wave before she leaves, and I know she is coming back. Still, I stay close to the door because I remember those long, long days when M was not here.

  Mewsings

  What joy and relief we feel when a loved one comes home!

  We want to stay close to them and that is okay.

  We feel guilty about not appreciating them before they left.

  We find ourselves being mutually more considerate.

  We need to remember to appreciate the loved one every day.

  And when they go away again, to remember, from experience,

  they will come home.

  LEARNING ABOUT READING

  I have learned a lot about reading. I think I should tell you what I have learned, just in case you don’t know the things I do.

  Some reading arrives before sunrise and is left in front of the house. After M puts my breakfast in the bowl, I watch, with one eye,
while she goes to the front door, disappears, and returns with reading rolled up. She unrolls it and spreads it on the counter at the spot where I am allowed to look through the window to the outside world. Since I consider that place mine, I hop up as soon as I have enough food to keep me from fainting.

  “Get down, Ling, so I can read the paper!”

  I go eat some more. In a minute or two, I jump up again and settle down for a good read.

  “Ling! You can’t read the paper with your bottom,” and she lifts me off again. There you are. Reading is not done from the bottom; it is done from the top. Reading is also done standing up.

  But wait—M also reads sitting down. Sometimes she brings her food out to the porch, sits on the couch and eats lunch with me. I consider that a chosen togetherness time on her part, since the porch is my special place. She reads and eats, while turning pages in a floppy book that has lots of color. I always poke my nose around. Frankly, her food is a lot more interesting than the floppy book.

  “Move, Ling. Can’t you see that I am reading?”

  Reading, for M, is more important than I am. I want to claw the reading out of her hands, but I have no claws.

  The most interesting thing of all is that reading can be done lying down. Every night, M places a stack of thick readings where I would prefer to sleep, right next to her. She opens one and reads a little, closes her eyes, then reads another. Finally, she puts all the reading on the floor except one she has chosen as her favorite. I know I am in for a boring time. What can I do to get her to pay attention to me without her resenting it? When she is not looking, I wiggle up to lie as close as I can. It is cozy and warm next to her. While she is holding the reading with one hand, she somehow manages to pull me even closer. We stay that way. I pretend I am reading, and soon I fall asleep.