Kolymbari, Crete, Greece
Written Winds Tea, October 8, 2008
Conditions: cool, windy, and clear at eventide
and a half moon in the sky – south over Africa.

CAT

Alone on my porch in the moonlight. A large black cat walks silently up the stairs, jumps lightly onto the balcony wall, sits down, and considers me. I consider it. But I neither move nor address this surprise visitor. Tolerance is the best I can offer a cat. It is free to come and free to go. It is just a cat to me.

It has never been my way to project anthropomorphic qualities onto cats. They are not small, four legged, furry semi-people with inscrutable expressions on their faces. I do not call them, pet them, feed them, talk to them or encourage them in any way. Usually they mind their business and I mind mine.

Some cats find my neutrality troubling. They will rub themselves against my legs and even jump up into my lap. When I do not respond, they abandon me. It is just as well. I am allergic to cat hair. When I sneeze, they flee as if assaulted. It is neither their fault nor mine. It is just the case.

But this large black cat does not stir from its place. It stares at me. I stare at it. When it blinks, I blink. Stare and blink. Perhaps it will wander off on its way. But no, the cat lies down - still staring. And blinking now in that special way of cats –a slow double squint - a wink with both eyes. What does this mean? If I do this to people they find it mildly alarming. If this cat was the size of a leopard its slow-motion squint/wink might be a sign that it is considering me for dinner. Unintimidated, I squint/wink back.

Time passes.

This is a living being, I think to myself. I am a living being. Squint/Wink.
It can hunt and take care of itself. It can see and smell things I cannot. It can go where I cannot. For those things it is worthy of my respect. It does not need me – or even seem to want anything from me. Squint/wink. Deep in its primitive wiring it must think I am edible, but, all things considered, not palatable. Squint/wink. What is it thinking? Why is it here? What does it expect of me? Squint/wink.

I have been alone most of the day and have not spoken a word to anyone. But my mind has been busy, churning thoughts and ideas like laundry in a washing machine. Without intention, I begin musing aloud to the cat:

“I have been reading a book entitled ‘Sex, Lies, and Handwriting.’ I bought it in desperation during a four-hour wait in the Athens airport. It promises ‘shocking revelations’ about my friends and me through unlocking the secrets of handwriting. What I have learned troubles me.”

Squint/wink.

“I have discovered similarities with the handwriting of serial killers, axe murderers, the Boston Strangler, Jack the Ripper, two cannibals, and Adolph Hitler. Do you think I should be concerned? Do you think that by altering my handwriting I can avoid suspicion?”

Squint/wink.

“Would you be interested in some of the random facts lodged in my brain?
For example, Bloemfontein is the capital of the Orange Free State in South Africa. I don’t know why I remember that, but I do. The Admiral Graf Spee was a German battleship scuttled off the coast of Montevideo. The term blue-stocking first referred to London literary friends of Benjamin Stillingfleet who always wore blue hose. Cochineal dye, a red used in women’s lipstick, comes from the blood of insects which infest prickly pear cactus. Women use approximately 5 feet of lipstick every year. Pohada is a Czech word referring to a contented state of mind. Jsem v phohada. I’m in pohada. This is my condition for the time being.”

Squint/wink. And yawn. (Is the cat bored?)

“Perhaps I should explain the state of the American economy, the policies of the Bush administration, and the way Americans go about electing a president? Or tell you how once, when I was eight, I dipped a cat’s tail in turpentine and set fire to it. I can still imitate the sound the cat made as it ran away. Perhaps it is that sinister tendency that lurks in my handwriting.”

Enough. The cat yawned again. Stood up. Stretched first its front legs, then its back legs. Jumped down off its perch, and walked away down the stairs as silently as it first came. I know the cat does not understand my words. Perhaps it sensed a shift in mood from the tone of my voice. The Czech word for this is litost – a state of confused despair.

On the edge of that swampy line of thinking, I yawned, stood up, stretched, and went to bed in a state of thambos – Greek for a confused state of mind sometimes best addressed with a good night’s sleep.

I have not seen the cat since.