This is a story I wrote as a kind of tribute to the great relationship I have had with certain members of my family...some still living (I would hope you realize who you are)...others already passed. But all have played an unforgettable role in my upbringing that I will never forget. So settle in with your loved ones and some tissues. This story is copyrighted 2011 by me and is ultimately dedicated to my "pretty girl," Sugar, who passed away in February of 2010.
It’s always worse when you don’t see it coming. Then it slips by so quietly that you sometimes don’t have time to realize that anything has happened. No one can help you because you are the only one who even knows something happened.
* * * * *
My name is Chester. Now you are probably thinking in a sarcastic tone, “I would just die to meet the genius who came up with that unique name!” A bit off-topic perhaps, but let me pause to explain…
First of all, this is not my official address. As any fan of T.S. Elliot will inform you, a cat has three different names. "Chester" is the familiar one used by that towering population of bipeds, also referred to as my current family, simply as a means of identification and method of summons. For example, if ever I might fail to realize that dinner was served, it could…yeah, that might happen if I were in a coma. Moving on…
I must give credit, however, to my particular housemates, for they originally had a spark of innovation and creativity not often seen in that group of individuals. I am referring, of course, to humans.
I was originally known as "Lord Chesterfield." As elegant and superior as that sounds, there is really no providence to the name as applied to me. I have come to learn that in the human world, a man with such a title was once a well-known person admired for his wisdom. Among my many attributes, I have no false egotistic view of myself in that area. I am still learning wisdom from others, and I am suspicious that I will never cease to do so as much as to be awarded acclaim for it. No matter, though, because this extensive version of my name didn't last long. After about a week, the regal title I had been given began to erode as a consequence of the inordinate amount of time required to simply call me to dinner (not that I needed prodding).
The easiest abridgement would have been “Lord.” There were two problems with this solution. First, although I still feel strongly that this argument is not fully justified, I am not actually a Lord of anything…at least not in the aristocratic sense that it is usually taken. Let’s not hang on that point too much.
Second, spoken in its lonesome state, it might tend to have a connotation of blasphemy. Fortunately, these people who had been blessed with my arrival, out of some sense of my command of respect, decided against this approach. And so, you can call me “Chester.”
That was a long time ago. I believe the familiar measure would amount to about fifteen years. I am quite certain of this as I have kept keen track of the number of times I have been presented with a tiny fishing pole toy, expertly positioned in a bite-sized, catnip-infused biscuit with a crude likeness of myself etched out in thickened tuna sauce on the surface. This is accompanied by an attempt by my housemates to emulate a performance of caterwauling that I could honestly do without just fine.
I am quite deservingly retired now. Nevertheless, I still enjoy a good romp with a catnip-enhanced, multi-colored, bite-sized fabric mouse. The live ones are still intriguing, but I am content to leave them for my two young protégés with whom I have shared my quarters for the past several years. Oh, I was quite the stalker of vermin in my day, but my physical deterioration now prohibits such extraordinary escapades.
I don’t want to give the impression that I am so selfish as to keep the few pleasantries of my life to myself. I am not prevented from reminiscing of days and adventures of yesteryear, and passing them on in prose.
There are many exciting tails to be told. And as I never can tell when that instance may arrive when final opportunity will pass without notice, I wish to tell now, the one tail that is dearest to me, and also introduces that point in my life when that “thing” that you never see coming came to me. As I look back, I see that it was not at all a bad thing. However, when it happened, I wished nothing more than for it to be a bad dream. It is the tail of my beginning…
* * * * *
My first memories are of my Mother. Her real name, I never did learn. I only heard her referred to as "Sugar." She was soft, warm, and cozy, as are all cats. But she was beyond that. She was Mom-Cozy. I remember brushing my cheek against her underside just to allow her soft fur to warm my tiny body. Her tongue would bathe me most of the day, combing roughly through the few strands of fur I had been given as a starter kit. She would then pull me close to her cozy belly and set me up with fresh milk to satisfy my tummy and soothe me to sleep. I never knew fear. She assured me the confidence that when I awoke, I would be sheltered by the comforting gaze of my Mother’s face, keeping me warm and safe. No kitten ever had it as good.
Even before my initiation to sight, she let me romp and play on and around her while she provided the vibrations of the Gods. The low soothing tone that is indescribable beyond the most delicate and euphoric experience you could ever imagine. Not the most delectable of treats or sumptuous fish entrée can hold a candle to the sound and feel of a mother’s purr.
My life was a gift, and my Mother was the package by which it was delivered. Except this package was not made of cardboard or newspaper. It was made of love, comfort, safety, and home. You don’t throw those things in the trash barrel with the rest of the wrappings. You save them for next year. And until then, you display them in the most prominent place in your soul. You brag about them when others walk by, saying no more than simply, “this is My Mother.”
Those words alone fill your insides with a warm feeling that cannot be matched by a thousand suns or a million baseboard radiators. The coldest, stiffest scowl is at the mercy of love. The edges of a frown become helpless against the upturning of the corners of the mouth. A smile becomes the coward of the county and a traitor to despair.
Then that wondrous first day arrived. Oh, what a beautiful day. My eyes opened for the first time, and I was introduced to this world of visual and emotional beauty. My first vision was of a blanket of white. This was not a blinding white light, but the vast wall of fluff that was my Mother's underside. She was enormous!
You must remember, though, I was only about a half tail long, and she about two and a half full ones. Little did I know at the time, this would become a lifelong ratio. For as I grew to equal my Mother's size, I would soon be adopted by humans of gargantuan form! I’m getting ahead of myself…
To hear the steady hum of my Mother's purr in my ears was to be in ecstasy. And now I was privileged to the sight of its origin. All the salmon in the world could not equal the safe, warm, happy feeling that fills my insides at the mere thought of her embrace.
Things did not change for this coming of age. On the contrary, they were only enhanced by a fifth sense by which I could enjoy life even more. I couldn’t help but wonder where it would end. How much more could there possibly be to the fantastic joys of my little family?
In one brief incidence, I was struck with temporary fright, though. I awoke unexpectantly one night. I turned over to snuggle deep into my Mother's blanket, but I was startled to find no blanket in which to snuggle. She was gone! I froze. Not from the cold night wind, but from the instant thought that I was alone and not at home. Without my Mother, this could not possibly be home. Where was Mom? Where was I? I didn't know what to do. I had never been alone. I never considered the thought. I thought Mom would always be there to purr me to sleep and lick me clean. But here I was, and here she was not. I was scared.
It was at that point that I learned how hard my Mother worked each night, risking her own life, to provide us with food by hunting while I slept. I was worried, but stayed still until she returned, as she did after what seemed like an eternity. She had told me early on that she would someday have to leave me on my own, but that I would be strong as long as I kept her in my memory. Of course, I never believed for one moment that she would ever not be there. If only it could have been that way. All worldly things do come to an end, however, and I guess somewhere deep down inside, because my Mother had told me it was so, I believed it. I also know that you cannot always choose the fates that fall upon you, or the methods by which they manifest. If that were the case, everything would be perfect all of the time, and my Mother would always be by my side, not just in spirit, but in the flesh.
As it happened, the thing I dreaded most would in fact happen one day, and on that day, it happened in such an abrupt and disturbing manner, I was stunned to the point of disbelief. I was even too shocked to cry. Crying would have been a happier experience. Crying makes the pain go away.
As I woke in the night, I looked up not to a plaster ceiling in my room as I have for so many years now, but to an exceptionally clear black sky in the open air. It was beautifully adorned with glistening white diamonds. But, awesome as it was, it was not familiar. The sun did not shine in my little eyes. I did not hear the bustling noises that usually arose from the much larger world around me. The world that seemed to be in such a hurry to get to wherever or whatever was most important at that moment. No cars or buses raced past the little alley that was my haven. No chattering amongst the humans who repeatedly waited impatiently for the various modes of transportation that would cart them off in their respective directions, only to return that evening with an even more sinister scowl than before. Instead, it was dark, cold and damp. And most frightening of all, my Mother was not there. I was reminded of that time once before when I had been so terrified to find that my Mother was not by my side. I did not panic this time, though, as I knew where she was. She was providing for our breakfast.
Then a breeze pricked my whiskers and ear-tips with a stinging snip. I found a secluded corner tucked away behind a garbage can, closed my eyes, and tried to imagine my Mother's soft comforting fur wrapped around my body, shielding and protecting me from the cold. Finally, I managed to fall asleep again.
When I awoke, I was excited to feel warmth and a blanket of fur against my side. Mom! But I opened my eyes to a wall of gray, not white. And it was not fur, although it was very similar…cotton…soft and warm. It was a real blanket. One like those I had often found discarded in the alley where I should have been at that moment.
As my spirits plummeted and my eyes dampened, I moved my sights upward. In a moment of stunned confusion, I saw an enormous face slowly edging towards me. But not the familiar comforting face of my Mother. This was a human face.
"It's awake," whispered the face. It frightened me at first, but only for a startling moment, for I sensed kindness and loving. Nothing could equal the warmth of my Mother's touch, but in her absence, this would serve as a satisfactory surrogate. I realized before too long that the moment that I had refused to believe existed had come without warning. And surprisingly, I seemed okay with it.
I cried.
I later learned a name to go with this new face. He responded best to “Edgar.” The woman with whom he shared this indoor sanctuary was referred to as "Mom"…a name that was comforting to my senses. Occasionally, a stranger would enter the dwelling, addressing this woman as “Lenore,” but "Mom" suited her much better. That began my life with my devout housemates.
As I have mentioned, many tails since then await retelling. Some exciting, some humorous, some poignant, some sad. I will tell them one by one today, for I may not remember them tomorrow.
But one thing I will always remember is my mother…
IT IS NEVER QUITE “THE END”…
...How's that?
