THE FLAT WITHOUT A CAT

The stubs from all the movies we went to see while living in the desert, maybe still there, back at the flat, in a shoebox beneath the bed. The flat. The coolness of the stairwell leading up to the top floor. The flat. The flat without a cat. 

 

Often I would prowl the streets in search of her favourite pet, with every step aware of the possible consequences. Put simply, cats do not like me. Rarely will they tolerate my presence. I first came face to face with one as a young boy. It was red, not ginger as others claimed later, but red. Supposedly it fell from the rotting branch of a tree and required my head as a emergency landing pad. So say the witnesses. I say otherwise. I say it leapt and knew exactly what it was doing all along, its sole intention to tear apart my face with its claws in the shortest amount of space possible. Fortunately I realized the plan in time and acted accordingly, in the process sacrificing a little of my scalp, while the cat made the most of its opportunity and sliced up my ears some before I managed to get a finger in and gouged out one of its eyes. Poor pussy. Poor Louis. Wailing, we both ran off to opposite poles, never to see one another again.

 

I never told Susie any of this. And I never told her about the pandemonium in the pet store either. It happened one morning while out walking on the edge of town, soon after sunrise. My shoes were growing heavy with sand and my mind heavier with visions of her superior body waiting supine atop the crisp white sheets back at the flat. Before I slipped out, I inhaled once more the essence of her scent in that indented space above her upper lip, then watched as she silently vanished into the slowly shutting door.

Then the shoes became too much to bear. I sat down on some steps and emptied them of all the sand, just as the sign in the store window behind me was switching to open. A tall, elegant looking red haired woman with a wide gracious smile and bright white teeth opened the door and greeted me in an effortless manner, instantly setting me at ease once she said: Welcome. 'You're early,' she said. 'In fact, you're very early. But that's okay. Please, come in. I like to think that my first customer gives me some kind of indication of the day that lies ahead. Usually I can see it in the eyes. Often it's easier to spot than not, if you know what you're looking for. Please, come in.'

The words flowed from her mouth as if she were reciting the words of a holy song. She didn't sound as if she were around these parts either. As she went about opening the shutters, it suddenly seemed as if she were singing, sound flowing into sound, emanating from her long, slender body and then blending beautifully with the melody of the birds, each revealed one by one from under their dark cloaks that kept them covered up throughout the night. Then she stopped, turned and asked if I would be interested in a canary perhaps. I shook my head and smiled the smile of a contented fool. The day looked promising.

 

If such a place as this could be found in the desert, I thought, then maybe staying here might not be so bad after all. And after all, it would only be for a little while longer, it wouldn't be long now.

I started looking around for the cats but couldn't find any, and knew that soon the flat without a cat would be waking, would soon be starting to stretch and feel for my limbs. 'They're in the next room,' the woman said. 'Listen, can you hear them? They're beginning to stir.'' She slid open some doors and beckoned me closer, smiling again, and with what I now thought was a slight trace of milk atop her upper lip. In the darkness of the room ahead, one set of eyes after another slowly appeared, first flickering, and then fixing on me. As she opened the remaining shutters, I could start to make out the litters of kittens scattered around the floor, or up in baskets on tabletops, all eyeing my flesh, as if in hope that it would soon play some essential part in their latest scratching post. Then the older cats started to hiss and bare their teeth, and it wasn't long before they were strategically positioning themselves around the room, in readiness for attack. 'Please,' the woman cried, 'please, please.' And she shooed me back out onto the street as quickly as she could.

Gladly I would have gotten Susie a dog, but we just didn't have the room. Already the flat was beginning to cramp. 'Soon,' I would tell her, 'soon, soon. We won't stay here forever. There's still a few little things that I need to do, that's all. It won't be long now. We'll find a place somewhere deep in the green countryside. We'll have dogs and sheep, cows and chickens. Some goats. A couple of horses. Maybe even an antelope or two. And lemurs. Whatever you desire.'

Susie smiled and slid over onto my lap. She kissed my eyes and stroked the scars that crossed my ears.

It wouldn't be long now.

THE FIRES RAGE ATOP THE PLATEAU

It's like I'm learning to read all over again. 

When he called, I wasn't sure what Louis meant exactly, not until I picked up the package from the post office, his handwriting unmistakable. That was more than a month ago now, maybe more. Likely more. 

I haven't left the house much. Only for food and to sell a few things. And I bought a dictionary too, secondhand, from a man fluent in Sanskrit of all things, and apparently Aramaic as well, and Hebrew. We didn't talk long. I had to get back to reading what Louis had sent.

But wait, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Louis called first, a while back. He wanted to let me know he was all right. He was in Victoria, during the raging fires that devastated the region, at a place called Wilsons Promontory, the southernmost point of Australia.

His talk was fast, erratic, disjointed. He mentioned lightning striking twice, homemade picture postcards, Madagascar, the Mark of Cain, and the name Gavrilo Princip on a number of occasions. 'What do you mean you can't place the name? Don't tell me you've forgotten your history lessons already. Here, I'll spell it for you.' At times I wasn't sure if he was laughing or crying. Then the line went dead. A few hours later he called back, sounding considerably calmer. He said he was done with it all. He said that when the fires first made their appearance the first thing that came to mind for him was not his personal safety or the care of others, but a postcard. 'A postcard,' he said, 'can you believe it? A postcard.' Then he said postcard again. Again and again. I imagined him shaking his head in dolorous disbelief.

A postcard. The one he was referring to when he called was circled in red ink and was removed from its numbered place in the manuscript that he posted, and put to the front. Some scribbled lines, also in red ink, were added as well: 'So the flames climbed higher and higher and the eyes of children were beginning to bulge and panic and this is what comes to mind for me, a postcard I translated. Not the horrible heat or the rain of embers or how or if we would all get out of this, no, a postcard. A postcard. It's no wonder Susie left me when she did. I'm staying for the moment in a hostel. I'll call soon. Do with this what you will ... Here, also take copies of the ones I never got to. You might want to finish them yourself. I'm done. But I'll keep the originals of the cards on me, at least for the time being. Now I'm going to drink some wine. Chilled white wine. I want it to flow through my blood like electricity.'

The postcard he refers to reads as follows: Soren - The fires rage atop the plateau, flame in all directions - The surrounding animals attempt to make the best of a bad situation, seeking the only protection they can find, huddled together in the few remaining shallow pools of water, which in days past used to be an uninterrupted stream - Further down, these pools are divided into pods each filled with creatures trying to submerge themselves in this last remaining refuge - Most know they stand at best only a minimal chance of survival, some are now just in it for the game - Then from one of the flames crawls a cat, severely distressed and singed - In a nearby pod a snake makes room for this petrified feline with its forked tongue licking the fur of the puss until it slips off into a deep yet uneasy sleep - And look, there, crouching in the fire, that strange creature unknowingly protected from harm by an even stranger entity whom everyone longs to meet - Beside the snake, the cat - Beside the cat, the zoologist - Beside the zoologist, the first scratches in a new plateau - Mora