The Blind Cat and Two Rambunctious Tom Cat Brothers
I often observe my cats. I stop and watch them interact with each other. Three personalities communicating through looks, winks, twists, turns, and nudges.
One of my cats is old. She is sick but battles on like a champion boxer who can’t quit.
I watch as she toddles through the apartment, stops at the threshold that leads into the kitchen then pads with her paw to find the step.
She is blind. Her nerves have taken a hammering from the sickness. She steps up, wobbles over the threshold and into the kitchen. Her next task is to navigate towards the food bowls.
I’m quietly walking behind her, I want to be sure she makes it without losing her way. I recently found her tangled up behind the toilet bowl, trying to figure out how to climb over the pipe. It’s confusing, and I’m sure it adds to her feelings of fear and helplessness.
I know that cats are important, but I’m not sure if I came to this myself, or whether cats nudged and winked me into this conclusion.
I have three cats, I always have three cats. Two recently returned to the clusters of stars whence they came, then a short while after, two more turned up to take their places.
The sick cat is sixteen and half years old. Her name is Stubbs. She is beautiful. The most joyous animal I’ve ever had the pleasure to know.
My partner came across her while snooping around a market in Seville, Spain.
The owner took 5 euros for her and Stubbs came to our home. She settled in quickly.
When she was younger she was a ball of energy. She’d make everybody in the room laugh. She’d climb halfway up a chair and hang off the back with one paw, look around the room to attract someone’s attention, then twist and turn like an acrobat on a high-wire, she’d attempt to raise her back leg over the chair top and fail, then fall and finish with chirps and peeps like a circus entertainer.
She was born to bring cheer into the world.
Now that she is old and sick, I keep my obligation, and am her bodyguard.
Cats are predators, they live in a hierarchy based on strength and guile.
When they are young and strong they’ll push their luck, own their space, defend their food, and learn to slot into their particular order in the group.
The two new cats are four-year old brothers. Hitchcock is large and lovable. He looks at me and bats his eyelids like a cartoon character courting his heartthrob. He is a gentle soul, so the slightest noise that doesn’t belong in his world sends him scurrying under the bed.
His brother, Murphy, is a robust, slim-lined leader. He’s fast moving fire, flashing eyes, good-humoured, yet quick to give his brother a slap on the head as he passes.
Stubbs finishes her meal, sips a little water then waddles along the hallway. She makes her way back to her favourite seat using touch and memory to avoid bashing into door frames, or ending up in a tight corner.
I walk along with her, softly following her to ensure she reaches her destination.
After losing her sight, she spent hours exploring our home. It was as if she needed to newly map out her territory once again, to fit it to her new way of navigating in darkness. Corners seemed to be her markers, walls and skirting boards would act as ‘runs’ that led her along to the next doorway.
Her biggest problem is Murphy. He waits in his spot as she slowly makes her way from the kitchen to the living room, and finally up onto her comfy chair.
Murphy is a bit of a bruiser, unlike his brother, he doesn’t understand Stubbs’ problem, Murphy acts as if she is daft, or deficient; there’s no room for a weak cat in his world. He’s not bad, he still has a lot of tom cat in his blood.
Stubbs stops at the doorway, thinks, looks, black saucers that shine in the morning light. She senses that she’s gone off course, somewhere in her darkened world Murphy is close by. She doesn’t want him to clout her head again.
Murphy is watching her, and I am watching Murphy. I won’t interfere until Murphy makes his move. I’m cat police. I am not a meddler here to make Murphy feel bad about his habits.
Stubbs takes a few more steps, Murphy rises from his spot, two steps towards Stubbs and his paw is raised, his face blank. He swipes at her. The light swishing of air makes Stubbs’ body jerk.
He hits my leg, Stubbs hears a thudding sound. I point my finger at Murphy and show a serious face, his eyes drop and he backs off, Stubbs bumps my leg and it makes her feel safe. All in silence.
Stubbs has no idea of her near miss, she uses my leg as a guide to turn and make her way into the living room.
I look down at her, she stands in front of her chair where the blue blanket is curled into a warm nest, she waits for me to lift her up, tuck her in, give her a warm and soft kiss on her beautiful furry head. She is safe, she is the best.
