1. Selecting the Family
Now they were all gone-my two brothers and the sister - and I was still waiting. But this is the way I had arranged it. Nobody realized, of course, that I had controlled the selection process for I was a tiny thing and barely six weeks old.
To begin with, they had picked the brother who had been the first to spring from the dark of my natural mother's womb. He was a big and rolly-poly fellow, the pride of the litter, and because of that always the first one at the trough. A little bit of a hog, if you ask me, but I had never held it against him for he had a temperament as sweet and mellow as any first ever born to a Siamese cat. There was no doubt in my mind he would become top choice and the first one out.
If I had not been waiting for my pre-selected family to come along, I myself would have gladly gone home with the young newly-weds, who had taken him to their heart immediately. My keen intuition told me they would never have children of their own and Big Brother would become the focal point of their love. I had sat in a corner and watched the scene, deeply touched. The spark of affection ignited as soon as they had taken my brother in their arms. There was a threesome meant for each other, if I had ever seen one. So I had rubbed against him one more time, knowing that our paths would never cross again.
Altogether, this had been easy as pie. I had not had to resort to any gimmicks to keep them from picking me-they had never even looked my way, his new mom and dad had had only eyes for him. Brother Nicky was gone. They had immediately named him for their favorite uncle who had just bequeathed a handsome sum to them in his will, nothing extravagant, mind you, but enough to keep brother, who was to be the apple of their eye, in the finest of cat foods for the rest of his long and sheltered life.
Presently the time had come to put my mind to the difficult task of avoiding the wrong parents. All three of us "left-overs" were of equal size and beauty which can easily confuse a prospective buyer. My sister had gone next. Unfortunately, the two old folks, who would undoubtedly offer her kindness, cramped apartment living and lean cuisine at times for they were not always eating too well themselves, had held their eyes out for me. All this would not have been that bad for love is more important to a cat than the best brand of cat food, but as I looked at the old lady, I realized she was sickly and not long for this world. Her death would create a lot of problems for their new pet. When she picked me up with her kind but shaky hands for examination at close range through thick' lenses, I had squirmed and escaped from her hold to go into hiding. Hiding is one of my specialties, by the way. Nobody can ever find me if I do not want them to, for you see, I always know where they will look. The old folks must have realized how special I was. They had waited patiently while my mistress had made a thorough search through the house. Finally , they had taken half-hearted possession of my sister and left, whereupon I had breathed a sigh of relief and came forward again.
I certainly had not felt simpatico with the next party who had appeared on the scene. The middle-aged parents--both stout and stuffy, had remained cold and uninvolved as their only son set about choosing one of us as a gift for his tenth birthday. If the parents had any love to give at all, it was focused exclusively on their offspring and his wants. There was no room in their heart for a cat The animal would always be the intruder in their house tolerated solely for the sake of their boy. They forced an uneasy smile when the lad held both of us in his hands to compare our weight. What a way to pick a kitten -based on body weight. He had squeezed a bit too hard. I really had not minded that much, for I realized he was an awkward sort and only clumsy with brother and me because he had never held a pet before. He was also self-centered and spoiled, but he was not cruel. As I peered at him over the rim of his palm, my psychic instinct told me he was not a bad kid at all but, through the same channels, I was also provided with a glimpse of a future problem. The picture I got was this: Given time, this overweight boy, who was so ill-at-ease with his own kind and an object of much teasing and taunting, would make a good companion for a cat. Let it be known that we have a way with the lonely and possess a special knack for cheering up ten-year-old odd-balls who can't make friends among their own species. And here was a weird kid, if I ever saw one. A cat could be a Godsend to such a boy and teach him the meaning of love, sharing and relaxing in the presence of others. For there is, indeed, nothing like turning to a cat for a child who feels like an outcast amongst his peers.
But sadly, I sensed a short-term love affair between boy and his pet for, as soon as he had entered the room, I had noticed telltale blotches appearing on his face. I was the only one present who realized the beginning stages of an allergy that meant a brief relationship between boy and cat, a bitter farewell and an insecure future for the chosen pet. The unfortunate lad would feel betrayed by the beloved pet and suffer increased feelings of isolation as a result.
As soon as junior had put us down to compare how we measured up against each other on the ground, I had pretended a limp. Together with a sadly drooping tail, it had convinced him and his parents that something was not quite right with me, and they had departed with my brother. Poor chap, there is no telling where he would end up after a doctor confirmed my suspicion.
But I realized all along that there was a further hurdle I would have to take to keep myself for the Bradley's, for their name had just been given me in a vivid dream. Their image, of course, had always been with me, even before I could open my eyes, only the name--which is not of much importance in the affairs of cats anyway-had been missing. I was now the only kitten left and considered myself an outstanding example of my breed. With the wrong party, relentlessly approaching, I was facing a ticklish situation. Indeed, it would take all I had to offer--a psychic feat on my part, so to speak--to get myself off the hook. The reader should consider that I was still grappling with my gift at that time (an endowment, by the way, not quite as uncommon in cats as most people think) and my self-confidence was not at all what it is now.
They were a rough bunch. I could feel the turbulent vibrations even before the prospective buyers entered the house. The room exploded with noise as soon as the family crowded in--a mother with five unruly brats. Just living with the racket would be cat's hell, not to speak of the pawing and downright meanness I sensed. My only salvation was the mistress of the house, and I had spent the whole day preparing her for this. I had bombarded her with the message to up the price at all cost, which was supposed to rub the wrong party the wrong way. And she came through for me with flying colors. It was not only that mistress had upped the price, no, the mother of this rowdy bunch started to haggle over the asking price in return. Sure, under other circumstances, I would have considered such clumsy efforts to cheapen my value quite an affront, but given the tight situation I found myself in, I was absolutely thrilled to watch the two women clash. I knew mistress had a temper and a tongue that would not quit. Above all, she never, ever gave up once she had convinced herself of the righteousness of her course. Naturally, I used the limp and droopy tail routine again and - carried away by the drama of the momen t -I put heart and soul into my act. Yes, indeed, tiny as I was, I delivered a convincing piece of showmanship and was quite pleased with the results. Mrs."Whatshername" kept insisting I was less than perfect, a left-over, with obvious defects and certainly not worth the asking price, while my mistress stood firm on her exaggerated demand for reasons she did not quite understand herself--neither did she care. She was now at the point where reason took flight and indignation took over. No one but Mousy could get her to simmer down when her blood got to boiling like this. But Mousy was nowhere to be seen.
To my delight, this was turning into a real fish market transaction-exceeding my fondest hopes, I might as well relax-there was no way these strong-minded women would agree on a price. Their voice had.taken on a. shriller note. They were almost at each other's throat. Suddenly, in mid-sentence, my mistress bounced sideways, with amazing agility, to catch one of her precious Hummel figurines in flight. The youngest boy had grabbed one of the prized possessions and thrown it at her in exasperation when he realized he was not going to get the kitten he wanted. Yes, indeed, mistress had never been slowed down by her excess poundage-she could be quick as a cat. Clutching the Hummel, luckily still intact but degraded by such treatment, she advanced upon the intruders and demanded that they leave. Immediately, if they please.
After the rabble-rousers were gone, I could hear mistress mumble "monsters" under straining breath. Her face was red as a beet and tiny beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. She did not know it yet that she would shortly have to do something about her blood pressure. A quarter teaspoon of cinnamon daily was called for. Of course, I also knew that Mousy was trying her darndest to keep it under control for mistress had a way of relaxing as soon as Mousy purred in her ear, but I could see this blood pressure thing reaching the point where Mousy's efforts would need assist from a doctor.
After they were gone, I breathed a sigh of relief and spent a full hour cleaning myself, congratulating myself, cleaning, congratulating, stroking my ego, so to speak, as people are prone to do who have much less to feel gratified about. Above all, I wanted to get rid of the offensive smell left on my fine coat by unwanted and grimy hands. I was desperate to smell like myself again. While all cats are neat by nature, I am what you would call super-fastidious. In addition, vigorous grooming gives relief from tension and worry and it definitely clears my mind. Mousy, who had plenty of licks to spare, with most of her off-spring; gone, got into the act too.
I had a certain affection for Mousy, my natural mother, even though I had known from the beginning that this fondness, yes, the very memory of her gentle ways, would fade, for this is the way it was meant to be. Only through drastic severing of the apron-strings would I ever be able to give my full and undivided devotion to the family and the task I had chosen. I spent a few peaceful days with my mother whose unlikely name had been bestowed on her by the family when they found out that she declined to catch mice. The name had been meant as an inspiration for her to pick up this age-old craft. But mother had resisted all exhortations and turned a deaf ear to the pitter-patter of tiny little mouse feet in the pantry. Since the whole family loved her for her other outstanding qualities, they had accepted her peculiarities and only the name had remained from these battles of will. So I nursed to my hearts content. Even though Mousy was getting restless at times, I clung to the most cherished teat which had always been hogged by my favorite brother before to gain an ounce or two in order to look my best at the rapidly approaching meeting with the family I was meant for.
These were idyllic hours-alone at the trough-the sweet smell of milk in my nostrils, listening to the soft beat of my mother's heart. But with so much time on my hands before I went out into the world, grief crept into my quiet thinking. It was not that I missed sis and the brothers so much, no, it was their future that suddenly lay heavy on my heart. They had all found owners, but only big brother and I would have the home every pet longed for. The two others would experience the most heartbreaking aspect of a cat's life: impermanence. Yes, these are the grim prospects every cat has to face to become a transient in peoples' lives, to be discarded with other useless household goods before a move, to be considered an inconvenience when their folks' lives undergo change. In a society living high on the hog and championing the rights of all species in danger of extinction the cat is still regarded as a dispensable item. It is also ironic that one of the most adaptable creatures is often disposed of because "she will not fit in. There is no cat who will not gladly tighten its belt with the owner if need be and go from riches to rags if allowed to do so.Yes, I gave myself wholeheartedly to this great sadness, not because of the fate that might befall my natural brother and sister, no, it was the fate of all cat kind I beheld and bemoaned. And this is where my life work lies. I was born into this world with a twofold purpose. It was decreed that my life must be one of service-service to my family and to all cat kind. For this reason, I was given my psychic powers of observation, precognition, channeling and the mission to advance the status of cat kind. Once cats are in, there is no telling how far folks will go in allowing the very useful cat with its beneficial vibrations access to different areas of their lives. On office furniture to brighten up a drab and unimaginative decor, on busses and planes to cheer the weary travelers, in hospital rooms to perform their great healing magic, as yet unsung, and, above all, on a psychiatrist's desk to display their techniques of relaxation to the tense and troubled patient. So it has fallen to me to bring about an awareness of the injustices and cruelty an otherwise enlightened society still tolerates in the handling and disposal of cats. I have set out to make people understand our ways, and for that I will need Mama-I cannot do it alone. Thinking of Mother Bradley brought me a welcome calrn. Grief has its purpose in this world, but I know it must not be overdone. Great things in life can only be accomplished if we do not give in to such understandable, but negative emotions for long periods of time. Otherwise they will rob us of our zest for life. A grieving cat is no good to anyone.
2. The Bradley's
Suddenly, I realized the Bradley's were on their way and would arrive in approximately one hour--if my prognosis was correct. I want you to know that practice has a lot to do with psychic achievement. So far, I was still somewhat apprehensive about accuracy and timing. The complete confidence in my abilities would come gradually. With me, it was going to be more than a hit-and-miss thing in the future. I would often astound myself with the astuteness of my psychic instincts. But for now, I was still a beginner and a. bit shaky in my boots with the idea that a miscalculation on my part might be the undoing of my plans. My heart began to beat very fast. The fateful hour had come. Gone were all doubts-I felt the approaching vibrations like a soft and intoxicating spring breeze laden with the fragrance of flowers.
I put my nose up to pinpoint the smell. It was lily-of-the-valley, sweet and. light-carried on the air like a greeting from home. I had honed in on mom's favorite perfume. And then I heard a car drive up the driveway and --one-two-three, I scrambled onto the couch. The fine damask of my mistress’ favorite sofa provided a reliable hold for my tiny, but extremely sharp claws. At this point of my childhood, I was still unable to lift myself up in the air to get to the top of things. It seemed so easy when I saw Mousy propel herself upward to reach absolutely any place she desired, but I still had to rely on the tools nature had provided for me, my claws. With their help, I had already turned into a fast, but somewhat spasmodic climber, however, my tiny, underdeveloped shanks did not provide me with the spring and bounce yet to follow this calling to lofty and out-of-the-way haunts.
My hurried scramble brought me up to the windowsill just in time to see two Bradley's approaching. Even if I had not been psychic, I would not have missed the air of excitement about them-their hearts were reaching out to me through the walls. What I beheld was the family I would own and love. I could hear Mama's voice now. She had an accent because she was German, but she did not talk like any other German I would ever meet. To me, there simply is no one in the world who has a voice quite like mama's-low and laden with the mystery of a foreign land. It sounded like a lullaby I heard eons of times ago--a voice to snooze and have sweet dreams by, next to love and care, the most important thing in the life of a cat and most vital to a psychic feline like me. It would be hard to accomplish what I set out to do, if harsh sounds were permitted to intrude constantly into my periods of concentration and channeling. I knew that Mother Bradley would be around me most of the time, because she is kind of old-fashioned in many ways and still believes that a valuable contribution can be made within the confines of home, family, and friends. Of course, Mama's constant availability is one of the reasons I picked this family; the second; no less important, being her wide open channels which were to make her such a unique receiver of my observations. Last, but not least, I came into this world with an inborn love for this particular family. Sure, all of them were different as can be, but they have one thing in common: their great and enduring love for cats. Certainly, in the selection of a family we must consider our compatibility with each member--if there is only one who comes to the fore, when there is no one else around, to taunt and to kick, one cat hater in disguise under the roof, who cannot be won over to our side, we become all mixed-up and torn inside between our love for the one and our fear of the other.
But with the Bradley's I was going to have easy sailing, "Cats' Heaven", so to speak, and for that reason, I would be able to prepare, in peace and in quiet, my book on the wondrous ways of my own kind. Surely, cats need a break for, through the ages, no animal has been more misunderstood and maligned. Yet, the cat has always asked so little and given so much.
While I am good, perhaps phenomenal, at channeling ideas into a receptive and attuned individual, I am no good at typing. I will need Mother Bradley’s hands. Also, my choice of words may not always be correct--I require some human input for modification and. general appeal, and for that purpose I must make use of Mama's mind, too. All we have to learn is to work together in tandem, so to speak, to light a torch in behalf of my species. One quality that makes Mother Bradley so different from any other candidate I might have picked for this demanding project, is her modesty, which I consider a greatly undervalued virtue in the modern woman. There will be no quarrel as to the authorship of this book. Mama does not mind taking second place and giving me the credit I deserve.
She knows I am the writer and is willing to admit it to the world. I hope I do not give anyone the impression that what I beheld walking up the driveway were Mr. and Mrs. Perfect from the view point of a feline. It can be said that the Bradley's are as lovely a bunch of people as my kind could ever hope to come across. But as a unit they would not win an award as the outstanding American family of the year. I must admit the idea had originally held a certain appeal for me to join a family perfect in every way so that I could utilize my time observing what made them so different from everyone else and to pass on their secret to other folks out there. Yes, this ambitious thought had occurred to me: Why not do it all at once? Familiarize the reader with a cat's endearing qualities and, at the same time, observe the routine of the uniquely compatible family, with close-range scrutiny of their eating and drinking habits and the particulars of the locality they live in? It would intrigue me no end to assist humans in finding the cause of a trouble-free relationship and reveal to them the secret combination of factors that make for a perfect family. Alas, from the depth of my psychic well surged up the answer to my high-flying plans; I couldn't have the Bradley's and perfection too. Mama's gift of absorbing and putting to paper my ideas is just as rare as the perfect family. In fact, for this combination of lucky factors, I would have to wait until the next century with my incarnation. Little good this would do the cats of the 1900s, who need a break now.
I should like to throw some light on Mama's gift to avoid misunderstandings. It is unusual, indeed, to find such a person who is not only able to absorb the material for a book or a whole series of books, as the case may be, but to bring it to life on paper. Most peoples' channels are only partially open, thus allowing their cats enough access to their minds to soothe their psyche and to stabilize it in times of anguish. We can find these partially open channels amongst many cat owners who, unknown to them, absorb the beneficial vibrations of their cats with the needed intensity in a family crisis. Often, when there are daunting problems, the cat will try much harder to penetrate the wall of frustration, worry or anger. With its silent appeal for reason and calm, the snoozing family pet may not really be napping at all, but is working overtime. Of course, this channeling process is so gradual and so subtle that most cat owners do not realize that the easing of their burden, the soothing of their ruffled feathers, the relaxed atmosphere spreading through the house, have been accomplished by these around-the-clock efforts of the family cat. The feline is a creature of modest wants and prefers to stay in the background. She does not want a lot of clamor and ado about her hidden and well-disguised activities. It is important to her to stay in good stead with the persons who like to hog the credit for the restoration of calm and harmony and the solution of their problems. Indeed, this serene creature, looking down at her loved-ones from the top of the refrigerator, the highest shelf in the house, is not looking for recognition--it only wants love and understanding,
I do not mean to imply, of course, that many cat owners have not been smartening up lately and become aware that their cat makes them feel quite good. This will let them know that there imagination is not working overtime--they have been right all along: there is more to a cat than meets the eye. The heightening awareness is the very reason I chose to make my entry into the world at the present time--the climate for my efforts feels right--if there ever was an auspicious moment for the casting aside of superstition and prejudice, it is now.
A cat owner, of course, must not be confused with a person who shares the same house with a cat. No, since a cat can never be owned in the true sense of the word, a cat owner is that humorous and kind-hearted soul who allows the cat to take full possession of his heart or her soul. At this point, I want to bring to your attention a strange coincidence occurring in the lives of such good folks, and I ask you: Can this really be a coincidence--this phenomenon common to many happy cat fanciers: very few of them end up on a psychiatrist's couch. Reflect for a moment, please, on how many cat owners you know who are seeing a shrink, unless they live in a neighborhood where it is the in thing to do, and it has to be done to keep up with the Jones'. Instead, the cat owner’s instincts draw them irresistibly to their true and inexpensive source of comfort and relaxation.
On the other hand, people who stay away from cats or even, express a perverse dislike of the feline domestica have clogged channels. They tend to become fretful under the advances of a well-meaning cat so that the helpful vibrations bounce off their own energy field. This does not mean that, given time, they cannot be helped and learn to accept a. cat's love and ministrations, but often these untrusting people do not give a. benevolent feline the chance to work its unheralded wonders. They won't allow their walls of prejudice to believe in the magic the cat is willing and able to weave in their behalf. They prefer to remain in the dark of ignorance.
All this should explain why I was satisfied to join a not so perfect family to get my job done. Imperfect or not, as it turned out, I made an excellent choice, considering that I would have been willing to live in a hellhole to get my ideas across.
I must admit it is easy for a cat with foresight to compromise, much easier, no doubt, than for the person who chooses to learn only from hindsight. For one, the cat is a creature of unsurpassed adaptability. In addition to that, my highly developed sixth sense allowed me to see that
Impressum
Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG
Texte: Ursula Pegg
Lektorat: Ursula Pegg
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 18.02.2014
ISBN: 978-3-7309-8481-9
Alle Rechte vorbehalten
Widmung:
To my beloved parents, who sacrificed so much.
and to my dear children, Linda and Phillip