Memoir of a Cat

My mother said that everything would have been different if I had not been curious. If I had stayed in the shelter of that hedge, if I had not been driven by hunger out into that expanse of grass, then the humans would not have seen me. I and my brothers would have suffered the same fate as our two unlucky litter mates – death by starvation. I would not be in a warm Inside filled with soft places to sleep and food I do not need to hunt and kill.

It was not my mother's fault that we were in the hedge. She never talked about her life before we were born. She never quite got over her fear of the humans. I think one had harmed her in some way. She really did want to trust the ones who lived Inside, but some deep-seated fear drove her to lash out at the pitiful excuses they have for paws they call “hands.” Even when those hands brought her food and stroked her gray fur. Bless the adult female human – no matter how many times my mother drew her blood, she remained gentle with all of us. I think the human understood my mother's fear somehow.

But who knows with these chattering monkeys? Their emotional range cannot be developed as ours.

I was still a kitten the day my mother disappeared. There had been a rather large and aggressive raccoon in the area, so I think my mother ran into it while I slept with my brothers. Soon after, my brothers wandered into the basement of another human family, only to get trapped and sent to something called a “rescue.” That left me. I didn't know if the food and attention would last once I was the only cat in the yard, but by some grace, it did. Food and play were provided, and slowly, I was brought to Inside.

The transition from the world to Inside took a while. The humans were unnaturally afraid of fleas. I think it's because they do not scratch or lick themselves. Personally, I had never known a day without them up to the point of being Inside, so I didn't see the problem until after that first trip to the torture chamber they call The Vet's. It's the only time I've had to endure any sort of mistreatment.

To access The Vet's, the humans lure me into a box, put that box into a noisy box that shakes, and then, by some monkey magic, open the box in a room that does not exist in our house. The main tormentor pokes and prods and gets a little too personal, if you get my drift. Needles get poked into my flesh, and weird tasting pellets they call “treats” are shoved down my throat.

We will not talk about the time The Vet's surgically removed my manhood.

After that unforgivable mutilation, I was kept Inside. Inside had different rules. Territory was never to be marked with my urine or claws. Of course, it helped that all of Inside became my domain, not to be shared with any over animal. There are places that I am supposed to stay away from, called No-No Places. Hunting can only be done to small fake prey called Toys.

There were strange boxes that mimicked human chatter – some that flash, called TeeVee. The box in the room with the biggest soft surface, where the two adult humans sleep, makes rhythmic sounds that vary in pitch in not an unpleasant way. If given no other option, I will withstand it. The wailing they call Opera is particularly soothing.

Humans are weird creatures. They must order and change their environments. Take the machine they call Vacuum. After realizing it was not wanting to eat me, I observed it every time it was taken from the No-No Place called Closet. The adult female (sometimes the adolescent uses it, after much whining) makes the Vacuum produce a roaring sound while moving it in patterns over the floor. I think it's some sort of ritual to appease their deity. I see no other reason, though I do notice that the fur I have thoughtfully left in strategic places is usually gone after the Vacuum ritual.

No-No Places have no rhyme nor reason. Why is the counter in the room with all the running water not a No-No Place, but the almost identical counter in the food preparation room off-limits? Why am I forbidden to enter Closet? Is Vacuum afraid of me? Why is it that I am welcome on human laps except when there is food on a flat container?

Humans are a mystery.

They are good to me, though. If it were not for their rituals involving Vacuum or Shower (a raining room – how do they do that?) I would say that they seem to worship me. I am fed well. When I want affection – and I am not without a heart – they are usually more than willing to stroke my fur or my chin. Just not when they are asleep. They do not seem to get that sometimes I need that chin scratch more than they need to be between those flat layers they call Covers.

Never claw anything that moves within the Covers. It is not a prey. And humans make an awful racket when injured.

I can see the world I once knew from Inside. I can see the hedge where I was born. Sometimes I try to imagine what my life would be like if I had not wandered out into that grass. Would I be alive, would I be feral? Would there be other humans in their own Inside that would treat me with the same bizarre and inconsistent respect?

Then I hear the blessed sounds of Can Opener. Nothing really matters after that.

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