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

by Marta Felber

  “Sterling, you have not finished your morning food. What’s wrong?” M only uses “Sterling” at important moments in our lives.

  That’s exactly what I want to ask you, I’m thinking. “What is wrong? Who is in our bedroom? How did the Intruder get there? Why is an Intruder in our bedroom? Most important, how can we dispose of the Intruder?”

  I yell those questions at M, and all she says is “Soon, Ling, soon,” as she walks away. I’m starved. I go to the kitchen and eat, but I almost choke on my food. Then I decide to check out the birds from the deck, before I go back to the closed bedroom door to sit and wait.

  Mewsings

  Life can change in an instant,

  sometimes when we least expect it.

  Unanswered questions unsteady our world.

  Routines might help, if followed.

  But life does not seem the same.

  Perhaps all we can do is ask and wait.

  CONFIRMING THE INTRUDER’S PRESENCE

  I knew it! There is a cat in the house, definitely an Intruder. After days of keeping my vigil at the bedroom door, M lets me in, even “invites” me to enter the forbidden room. The Intruder’s smell stings my nose. Dreadful! But I do not see the source of the smell. There is no one in the bedroom, except M and me.

  Then I realize that the sliding door to the bathroom is open just a crack. In there! The Intruder has to be in the bathroom. I race over and try to get through the crack. I have eaten too much, as M keeps telling me. I wish I had listened to her, so I could squeeze through the opening. I must get to the Intruder and scratch her eyes out! I know it is a she. There is a strong female smell. It makes no difference, male or female. The Intruder must leave immediately.

  I try to push the door open, but it is solid and won’t move. I can only peep through the crack with one eye, not two. Things look fuzzy on the other side, as I look with one eye. I reach in with one paw. I wave the paw up and down. Nothing happens. I try reaching as far as I can with the other paw, and pause. “Drat!” I say. That is my harshest word. It did let off some steam. I will not give up. I will sit here until I can get to the Intruder.

  I sit and sulk. Look! A small, delicate, white paw reaches out to me through the crack. Smash! I hit it with all my might, and it jerks back and disappears.

  Now that I have proof, I’m going to send a message through the crack. In no uncertain terms, I begin to tell the Intruder that she is not welcome here, that this home belongs only to M and me, and that she must leave. I warn her that, when I can get to her, I will make her life so miserable that she will want to leave. Why doesn’t she reply? I must have scared her to silence. Good. I sit and wait, in silence myself.

  I must have dozed. I see a small, white paw slowly reach out, stop, and then disappear. At that moment, M scoops me up, and banishes me outside the bedroom door.

  Mewsings

  Sometimes our worst fears are confirmed.

  We lash out, in words and actions,

  and get nowhere.

  If someone reaches out to us,

  We do remember.

  TAKING ADVANTAGE OF PLAYTIME

  Here we go again, I am thinking. Same old thing we have done for days—forced communication through the crack in the bathroom door. It certainly does not resolve the problem of getting the Intruder out of the house. My pounce juices are getting revved up. I don’t go to the crack. I choose to hunker down under the vanity.

  Wait just one minute. M goes over to the slot in the bathroom door and opens it a wee bit wider. Then she comes back, close to where I am crouched, and stands at attention. I sense she is as tense as I am. Why?

  Just when I am about ready to try rushing through the wider crack, a creature slowly emerges. She is mostly white, with colored splotches. She moves, stretching as she glides, as if she owns the place. She looks straight ahead, toward the window, and never once condescends even to glance at me. She must know I am here. I have been yelling go-away messages through the crack for days. I’m sure she smells me, as I smell her. What’s with this I-won’t-stoop-to-acknowledge-your-presence attitude? But I am frozen, as I watch the show.

  First, she pushes a paper hoop ahead of her, past me, never turning her head to see if I am watching. Next, she rolls a ball ahead of her, away from me, as if daring me to join the game. Now that she is sure of my attention, she uses only her body. She slowly reaches out her front leg, stretches it ahead, puts it down and, in slow motion, brings her other legs forward, one at a time, to glide in front of me. I am hypnotized.

  Then it hits me! This is the Intruder! This is my chance. I spring from my post, before the Intruder or M has a chance to stop me. I jump on the Intruder, pin her under me, and start biting her! She yells. M peels me off the Intruder and, with difficulty, carries me. I’m yelling and kicking. Somehow she manages to open the door, squeezes through, and drops me on the floor in the hall. I run to the basement and hide behind M’s huge exercise machine.

  Wouldn’t you think this would be the end of the farce? Oh, no. M does not give up that easily. Every day we go through what she calls “Supervised Playtime.” M turns on her tape recorder voice and says the same things, over and over. “Ling, be kind to Cali. She is a nice kitty cat. Isn’t she sweet? She wants to be friends with you.” M stays very close to me, like glue, and watches my every move. She is ready to grab me. M relaxes somewhat when Cali and I begin to smell each other and interact a little. What am I doing? I jump on the Intruder, pin her down, and playtime is over for the day.

  Mewsings

  Life can fall into boring routines.

  We may not like it when it changes, however.

  Too much change can cause us

  to react without thinking.

  Sometimes we listen to other’s suggestions,

  and sometimes we are not ready to hear them.

  MISTREATING MISS FIT

  In the beginning, I didn’t call her Cali. I called her Miss Fit. Say it fast, like “misfit,” and you will know what I mean. Remember, I told you how she waltzed out of the bathroom, where she had been penned up, and into my life with M. She did not ask permission, as in “May I join you?” At that time, I would have answered “No!” I did say, “You funny-looking, blotched-up Miss Fit, get out!” It did not seem to matter what I thought and said. Miss Fit appears to be in our life to stay.

  I need some alone-time, to think. There is one spot in our home that Miss Fit does not know about. Even M has never found me there. I am not telling you, either. Wait. I am now in my hidden place, and I will share my thoughts.

  I go back over my early life... .what I do remember. I was punished, for what I could not understand. My front and back claws were cut off, and it hurt, for a long time. I don’t remember anyone being kind, except a man who petted and played with me, sometimes. One morning, I was left on a cold doorstep. A strange man picked me up, took me to a strange place, where there were bunches of cats and kittens. The only thing we had in common was that they must have been left by someone who did not want them, either.

  I have told you how M chose me, brought me home, and has loved me unconditionally. You have read about the many things we faced together, especially the move to this, our new home. We settled in here and were happy.

  Into this secure world waltzed Miss Fit, saying, “Aren’t I sweet?” Tell me, honestly, what would you have done in my place? Right! That is just what I did, and I did it well. I made Miss Fit’s life miserable. Now, I am too ashamed to tell you all the many things I did. Early on, Miss Fit took most of my treatment. If it got too bad for her, she ran away and hid under the bed upstairs. I was too big to squeeze where she was. The day came, however, when she stood her ground and started fighting back. The only way I could win, then, was by using my weight and holding her down.

  As I sit here in my alone place, I try to be honest with myself. It is difficult for me to admit it, but I am tired of being the bad guy. And, what if there were no Cali in my life? I would have no one to chase around. M
doesn’t run as fast as Cali. I would have no one who understands Catonese, my language. M tries, but fails, much of the time, to interpret it correctly. There would be no one with whom to complain about the “lite” food M serves us. And who would spend time with me on the deck, lazing in the sunshine and watching for birds?

  I take a deep breath, and this is what comes out: “Cali, my love, you are a keeper!”

  Mewsings

  Sometimes we are ashamed of our behavior.

  It helps to understand why we do what we do.

  We may even forgive ourselves,

  and hope others do too.

  We can change our behavior,

  and it changes our lives.

  MIXING EMOTIONS

  “No! No! Cali. Don’t walk on the railing. You might fall and get hurt. I would blame myself for showing off for you, walking on the railing, knowing you were watching. But I know how, and you don’t. Don’t look down! I’m going for help.”

  Visions of Cali flash across my mind.

  Cali, looking out the window, her body outlined against the sun.

  Cali, snuggled down in her private nest on the couch.

  Cali, inviting me to join her in her nest.

  Cali, taking time to wash my face and give me a love nip.

  No! I can’t lose Cali to the drop from the railing of the deck.

  “M, come quickly,” I yell on my way up the stairs. If I weren’t as heavy as M says I am, I could go faster.

  “Ling, what’s the matter with you?”

  M jumps from her chair and follows me out the room, right behind me. It is such a long way to the deck. Will we get there in time to save Cali?

  M grabs me before we get to the glass door. We see Cali on the railing. She is prancing along, head held high, as if she has been doing this all her life! M holds me in a vise grip, while I struggle to get free.

  “Wait, Ling,” M whispers. “Look, she is balancing well. The more she walks, the more secure she will feel. Let’s watch her from here.”

  I keep struggling to get loose from M, but she holds fast.

  “Get her off the railing, M, before she falls!”

  M continues to hold me, and whispers words I don’t listen to.

  Look! Cali jumps down, on the safe side of the deck. I pull to get out of M’s grasp.

  I will give Cali a piece of my mind. She is not ready to walk on the railing. She did not ask my permission. She did not let me train her, from my long experience. I will pin her down and let her have it. I will bite her, harder than a love nip. Then she will remember not to do that again. Wait till I get my paws on her!

  Mewsings

  It’s strange, but we can have feelings all mixed up together.

  We feel love in one moment, and anger the next.

  Are feelings bad, or do they just need to be sorted and faced?

  Later, we can get in touch with those feelings.

  We keep the ones that are true and fit,

  and we let the rest go.

  GANGING UP ON M

  Cali has surprised me with some terrific ideas. I’ve been with M for such a long time, and there were only the two of us. Now we are three. Cali reminds me that we cats have a vote of two, if we put our votes together, while M has only one. We love M, and she has to be the best of her kind that there is—but it does feel good to have power of our own.

  Take, for example, the subject of food. The vet says to M, “You need to keep Sterling’s weight down. Yes, I know he has a large frame and carries it well, but we don’t want him to become obese.” Although I don’t know what “obese” means, I doubt whether I want that condition. But I don’t like the new food M starts mixing in with my favorite. Gradually the good stuff disappears. Cali and I have a conference, and we decide to go on an eating strike. No food enters our mouths, in front of M, or behind her back. She knows what we are doing. Every morning she throws out what we did not touch, shakes her head, looks at us sadly, and then puts fresh of the same kind in our bowls. How long can we hang in here? We are starving... Hurrah! We won! This morning we find a half-and- half mixture, which we decide we can live with. What M doesn’t know is that today was the day that we knew we had to give up the food strike.

  When Cali first came to live with us, her favorite object in this home was the water fountain. In fact, she taught me how to put my face under the stream and drink as the water came down. I had been drinking out of the bowl. Today Cali starts a new game. She splashes water on me while I am drinking from the fountain. I splash her back. Soon, water is all over the floor. Here comes M, and we run as fast as we can, but stay close enough to see her reaction. She stands, looks at the water on the floor, and the almost empty water fountain. Is she mad? Then she starts to laugh. We hear her say, “I wish I had been here to see the water fight,” and then she gets the mop.

  Nighttime patterns have changed since Cali came to live with us. I would never have dreamed of disturbing M as she slept. Cali has no fear. M turns out the light. What does Cali do? She jumps on the bed, squeezes herself above M’s head, on the top of M’s pillow, and soon goes to sleep. Night after night, M sits up, scoops up Cali, and places her on the empty side of the bed. Then M returns to her sleeping position. You guessed it. Cali moves back to perch on M’s head. Finally M gives up, goes to sleep with her head at the bottom of the pillow, making room for Cali at the top.

  What am I doing through all of this? I decide to move over from my regular place next to M and I settle at the very bottom of her feet. We have M boxed in!

  Mewsings

  Others may have new ideas.

  If we are willing to try them, it could lead to fun.

  There is power in numbers.

  We can use our power for fun, and for change

  if the change is not harmful to self or to others.

  SENDING THE MESSAGE

  “Ling, get up! I forgot to set the alarm,” shouts M. I have been awake for a long time, and I do not feel like getting out of bed. Without pausing to do her stretch exercises, M jumps up and begins to pull up the covers. “Move it!” But I do not move, and M scoops me up and deposits me on the floor. My not jumping out of bed first is Clue Number One.

  I’m always the first one to get to the kitchen. Not this morning. “Ling, you didn’t eat your leftover food snack during the night,” she mumbles, as she adds my day’s quota of food to the bowl. Food left in the bowl overnight is Clue Number Two.

  Always, I eat my breakfast while M prepares hers. This morning I’m not hungry. In fact, the very thought of food makes me sick. I find a patch of sun on the floor in the living room. Gently, I ease down, curl up, and try to sleep. I can’t. Didn’t M miss me, as she carried her breakfast tray up to her office? If she were paying attention, it would be Clue Number Three.

  I’m not able to sleep because of pangs in my tummy, and I am lonely. I need someone to hold me and tell me I will feel better. I drag myself over the floor, up the stairs to the office, stopping on each stair to get my breath. Always before, M hears me coming and has words of welcome when I enter the room. Not today. I do not jump up on the table by the computer to insist she pet me. She misses Clue Number Four.

  I hear her mumble something to herself about not being able to meet a deadline. I have heard her mention that word before. Why would you want to meet a line that was dead? I have no clue.

  My usual morning schedule in the office is to wander all over, looking for some new place I can explore, or something I can push over to get M’s attention. M can only stand it so long, then she stops, and we play, using the toys she keeps in a basket hanging on the doorknob. She needs the break, and I need the fun. This morning, I am on the floor, where she can see me, but I am not moving. That is a definite Clue, Number Five.

  I don’t follow M when she goes down to the kitchen to make her second cup of whatever she is drinking today. When she returns and rushes to her desk, with cup in hand, she does mention that I have not eaten my breakfast. “Pay attention,”
I’m thinking. “You are missing Clue Number Six.”

  It’s a long morning, with only tummy pains to keep me company. It must be getting to be time for M’s lunch. I’d better start my slow journey down the stairs. “Move, Ling,” M says as she steps over me and almost stumbles to the next step. Finally, I make it to the kitchen, and then I throw up, all over the floor. “Sterling, you’re sick!” Even before she cleans up the mess, I watch her go to the kitchen phone, and I hear her talking to the vet.

  Mewsings

  When we are sick, we are sick, and someone needs to know.

  In their busyness, others can be insensitive to our needs.

  We send the message, in every way we can,

  dropping clues, right and left.

  We want to find an attentive loved one

  who will come to our rescue.

  ENDING THE TALE

  As I end this tale, I would like to thank the following: my parents for birthing me, even though I don’t know who they are and don’t remember them; the first family I stayed with, who did the best they could; the shelter people who were so loving and kind after.

  I was brought to them; Son Number Three, who makes me feel special; Cali, my new buddy and playmate; and especially M, who, not knowing my original problems, took me into her home and her heart, and loves me unconditionally.

  I have enjoyed every minute of sharing my thoughts and feelings with you. The stories have tumbled out. They had to be told. You are great listeners. Having discovered I am a writer, I will continue to write. Opportunities are opening up. Look for me on my website, www.SterlingTheCat.com.