Cat Messengers

a.k.a. The Cats That Belong to No One II

yamashita riki

20070923

Itami Juzo, Japanese film director (1933-1997)

On my MSN® display picture, I have the late Itami Juzo cradling a cat close to him as if it were a baby. I always thought human babies were nicer as they represent a hopeful new world, yet as I was one of them - living it through and through; I would now rather have baby cats instead. Of course one would argue they should simply be referred to as "kittens", and I would argue most humans should prove themselves worthy of their self-proclaimed status.

Do I really love cats? To be honest, I love myself more. I think they are cute though, but not so much so that I would be willing to give half my dinner to them. They are fussy eaters despite being beggars. What cheek to demand as well!

If you have been around cats long enough, you will soon learn their inter-lingual cat-speak with humans. Cats communicate with each other using primarily body language (such as blinking and tail-wagging), scent (smelling neck-rubbed-spots and licking off or tasting the traces of scent on their fur), and lastly occasional vocal variations. When cats are kittens they communicate primarily using their vocal variations, however as they grow older and become more affluent in the hierarchy of Cat Society and Etiquette (or as the cats would say simply as ‘Eti-Cat’); they communicate subtly with body language. Almost like a geisha’s polite seduction, wit and charm. Since the human way of communicating differs contrastingly with that of cats, I believe cats do find it frustrating when we do not respond correctly. They must think of humans as foolish creatures. So much so, that when they attempt to communicate with us, the most effective way which some have learnt; is communicating the vulgar way. To thus, meow. The meows are kitten-speak with its own basic vocabulary. When cats speak to us like they speak to kittens, it is the way adult humans speak to babies or children with lesser minds.

In any case, the cats do meow in such an obvious way that you would know it is demanding to be fed. Immediately.

Often their demands are not met. I don't have much meat around since I only consume meat on occasion. Every nine days in cycles. When their demands turn to sad pleas and cries, I'd probably succumb if not guilt will nag. It was then that I discovered that if cats are hungry enough, they would eat bread. Fancy bread eating cats, eh? I've always thought they lived on fish and milk. For me, I would much prefer milk and honey.

It is Ramadhan, the month of fasting for Muslims. It would be quite a difficult month for these cats. My neighbours are almost ninety-eight percent Malay Muslims. As a result they too, have to fast. But not me.

Yes, being the cat god does have its benefits. Cats seem to rely on habit and routine. So, since it was my twenty-fifth birthday today; I decided it was better to share a treat with them. I can't say I'm generous, but I did share one eighth of my meal with them. It was a circular-shaped slice of fried meat, the China-variety. Soaked in sodium nitrates. Mixed with a lot of corn flour, I believe. Unhealthy, but damn heavenly tasty.

Black Fluff was outside in the evening. I had wondered where they had all been all day. I wondered if they had forgotten my birthday, if they did; then they would certainly miss out on this rare treat. Black Fluff has grown. She survived after all. A beautiful young lady with a white patch the shape of a diamond, located right at her throat. I always had a thing for girls who wore chokers. She does carry the same attitude as the Queen Cat. One has to be gentle with her and treat her with the respect she demands. Not my mother, she'd nudge them all out of the door with her foot.

The “cat that looks like you” has disappeared since, probably taking that last voyage to a new area. Nomadic existence, while living and experiencing. Her child is a splitting image of herself, the legacy known as “The Clone Cat”. The Black Cat which was later renamed the “Penguin Cat” because it resembled a cat in a tuxedo; also went missing a month or so back. But not before it said its good-bye to me in a dream.

My mother had a dream recently, where she saw a rather cute orange cat with a rich coat on her balcony. She tried approaching it, but it jumped down. She thought it died, but later she saw it next to me quite alive. “Hold on”, she said while getting a camera. She wanted to take a picture of me and the orange cat together. However, the orange cat suddenly stood up and grew taller than me. She was having difficulties operating the camera and found this giant orange cat rather fascinating. It was quite unusual for a cat taller than me, since I am roughly a six footer myself. The cat’s face soon started having a sheep-like feature, which by then she awoke feeling unsure if she took the picture correctly. I humorously thought it was a good omen, as the cat resembled more like the Devil. My comments did not sit too well with her, unfortunately. Yet I found the whole dream story rather delightful to hear.

During the last dengue fever outbreak, my residential area was labelled a "danger zone" by the municipal. Out of fifty cases or so, about three people died. It was a serious situation, and the frequent fogging was evident. During that time, they had tried using two or three variations in the fog formula with different strengths. It was an oily fog which left a layer of residue after they have fogged the house. After the first round, we got fed-up with the cleaning that we decided to pretend not being at home. Turning off all the lights and not watching TV. Giggling to ourselves when the fogging men pounded at the door with no reply. I do not think we are the only ones who did it, probably because no formal forewarning was given at that time. And being the dengue mosquitoes, they usually are most effective during dawn and dusk. Since the foggers came during dusk, many families had their dinners interrupted or probably had most of their utensils coated with a fine layer of oil. The matter soon came into order with a stern formal warning from the municipal to inspect all houses and gave forewarnings; in the manner of distributing pink flyers and having an announcing loudspeaker van.

As the streets were fogged by the passing vehicle with that familiar engine whirring noise, the fog would devour all visible aspects of the neighbourhood. It reminded me of those WWII first-person shooters PC games when the German big guns blow up half a building and smoke rises from the destruction. The fog is an amazing thing to witness. Especially behind closed windows. Literally everything disappears underneath this blanket of clouds. I do wonder what the cats make of this phenomenon? And where would there hide? No area is uncovered by this great white fog. Would they pray to the cat god?

In light of the dengue situation, my mother had started covering the iron grills on the windows and doors with plastic mosquito netting. It certainly kept the mosquitoes out and we could leave our door opened to let the air in. It also kept the poor cats out as well. To Fluffy, she must have felt as if she lost her throne. The Black Fluff could not adjust to being a mere commoner at first either. She'd tried to claw her way through the netting, then tried climbing up the netted grill door. Her mother did the same climbing stunt one night when I was preparing supper. What a fright it was to see a cat hanging half-way there. She looked like a flying fox. That certainly got my attention. And for her, a nice warm pancake egg. She invited her two new kittens as well to join me at supper. The Black Fluff however took her frustrations out on my mother's left slipper which she leaves outside for convenience while attending to her potted plants.

The potted plants are also there besides the obvious reasons to grow some herbs, pandan leaves, flowers and an interest. They are also to keep the most uncouth and vile creatures out from our back area – secondary school kids. They who smoke at our back alleys and belong to the company and friendship with other such vile creatures who live just above us.

This family has bred about five offspring and is currently infesting the upstairs unit. Did I say infesting? How rude of me, I meant to say "renting". I have always prayed to a higher supreme cat god to either bless me with the news of their moving out or least a death in their family, but all I got was one of their boys meeting a minor accident. So much for black magic curses. Well for anyone to understand how this resentment accumulated is a result of their bad upbringing. Their children are wild and their mother is a patient saint who does nothing to restrain them. They throw their garbage bags down to our backyard. They leave their garbage downstairs for months. And mind you, these bags must have been up there for a long while because by the time they reach down here, maggots are already evident. Then, there is the loud banging and shifting of furniture around the wee hours of the morning. Should we complain? Hell yes, except their father is a moderately high ranking police officer. Police and gangsters are just about the same feather with principally act out the same functions in society, so I do not believe anyone would dare bother to do anything about it or expect anything to be done with anyway. There is no justice unless one is willing to die for a cause and has a gun while at it. Remember Michael Douglas in that movie, "Falling Down"? Yeah, that showed the burger manager alright.

Their father is a nice fellow, but I did not want to be friendly with him. I think he is a good man somewhere inside coping with a dysfunctional family which he created. The nasi lemak lady who calls me "putih-putih" and "hansem", this dark-skinned Malay who married an Indian man - said she often seen certain school children playing truant. And once there was this big case of some school kids who were caught stealing sports equipment, which coincidentally had one of those fellows up there with a proper yelling by their father. The boy, Lan only rarely leaves the house. We guess he had been grounded for quite a long time. Those boys are trouble, so was their only girl who is much loved by their father. She had a scolding before, quite a violent one with the father slamming the iron grill door downstairs so forceful; it broke the lock and sent it flying. It must have been something to do with a boy she fancied. Their father who upholds law and order, seems to return to an entirely anarchistic home. And while he is out, cigarette butts accumulate slowly around my back area from being tossed from above. Damn kids. I must be getting old. Soon I'll fall into the stereotype by saying, "Git off me lawn, you darn buggers!"

The Baker Girl says I need more sunshine. I've literally been cooping myself in the house until I've gone about five shades fairer. I found the real secret to fairer skin. I'm starting to see my veins on my arms and thighs. Quite amazing. I shall soon become transparent, like those mysterious deep dark underwater sea creatures. However, it seems if I scratch myself, the sores are more apparent. My reclusive-ness has to end one day, when I've run out on my savings - and face the horrid tropical sun. I should better just get a good SPF and some fancy shades since the inevitable will befall.

Fluffy still has her beauty and grace. She has a silent breathless meow. She tries to peer through the hard to see netting if I am around. But I hardly do pet and stroke them because I might start sneezing. Fluffy has finally learnt how to be a mother. Or she must have developed the nurturing aspect in her as she matured. Well, almost – as she still has a spoilt attitude and has little patience with her kittens when she doesn’t get her way. Besides Black Fluff who is all grown up, she now has two little cute ones. One is patches and the other is tabby. They are cute cotton balls, playful by the age, and are often rolling around on top of each other. The older cats sit around in their lawn chairs, occupying themselves with frequent yawning, some small talk, and drinking lemonade on a bright sunny day watching their children at play.

I am proud that there is hope in that things worked out differently for her. I had assumed earlier that one particular night a cat was crying sadly and the next day or so she turned up alone, unaccompanied by her two kittens. Probably someone has stolen them, I assumed. But I was proven wrong, which is on this rare occasion, a good thing. They were still wrestling about at a neighbour's home with seven kids. These seven kids are much better behaved than those above. Maybe because they live on lateral ground, so things are more equal. I found out recently that those above are connected to the Selangor Royal Family. This changes how I view them now, a whole lot. I was wrong how I belittled them merely by superficial appearances. Knowing their true bloodline status I can only give my undue respects. Especially considering they are now truly a "Royal Pain" in the ... In any case, I believe they are not like their rich relatives. Most likely, they are related by distance and belong to a lower status group considering their children’s marriage. Or maybe it is the paradox at work in order to present itself as two opposing elements in order to create conflict, resulting in a third new element from the reaction in equilibrium. Or perhaps true seeds of goodness are entirely from within extended outwardly – which Bill Hicks once said he rubbed galaxies off his belly. Nevertheless, I do remember one of their naughtier offspring telling the other children, "Jangan bimbang, bapak aku polis" (Don't be afraid, my father is a police officer). Right at this point, I am reminded of P. Ramlee starring in "Anakku Sazali" (My Son, Sazali). What a timeless classic that was, directed by Phani Majumdar.

When I see my peers, and look back at the adults; and then look at the faces of the younger ones - I fear. I fear what society will come to if left unattended as it is. The times now are so much like times of hedonistic decadence, idol-worshipping, and corruption as a norm; during say prior to the Prophet Muhammad S.A.W.'s inception in the period of “Kejahilan” (ignorance). Similar as well, to when say Nabi Isa was about. While I harbour this fear, I am still hopeful. Because it is only in these times that I believe another turn of a cycle has revolved to completion. An inevitable new beginning for a new spiritual hope, message, teaching and generation. Now all I have to do, is wait for this new fellow to show up with the latest upgrade for God's final O.S. (Operating System).

In the meantime, without any followers; I fulfil my duty by feeding the cats the Holy Host. Lifting this piece of fried meat just above their head. Invocating the words: "The Body of Christ". And placing it in on their tongue for their consumption. A parody in blessing and conversion. Today's birthday treat seems to have pleased them tremendously. They made the oddest noise while gobbling it up. I don't think they have tasted this kind of meat before. Indeed, it may be un-kosher, but be damned this Abrahamic lineage. It has done no good for the world after more than two millennia. One bastard religion after another, rooted in this fallacy. I believe it is a time for a change. The way things are going, it is imperative that the Pure East dawns a new Son.

The very cynicism and disbelief in the spiritual is one of the good signs where towers are made to rival the glory of its Creator. But it is not this Creator that I worry about, since there is a much higher presence above the need to keep constantly generating, operating and destroying. If one continues such a cycle, how can it be complete? I believe in the constant, the unchanging, unrestricted, yet elusive essence which inspires us during a spontaneous moment of improvisation. One can never capture this essence, but we are all changed by this experience.

I do have hope despite my sounding bleak. I am not in anyway an atheist. I believe in a God, a transcendental God, purer in that it is above all, untouched by the banality of the limited knowledge impeded by human's knowledge in choosing the right lenses and perspectives to see both spirituality and science as complementary. These baby cats who would one day ride these cycles which I am now nearing my end - who knows? One of them may experience what I have experienced, and may indeed by its mere presence of being - change the very world around them as well as within.

Until then, I will be surfing the waves of the Internet in my cyber-existence, consume bits and bytes of the experience, internet window browser shopping around hoping to bump into like-minded beings who have felt the very same and discontentment about the world around them. Maybe they too will make a positive difference. I have only just begun sending discreet messages, through these modern day MSN® Messengers.

Amen. I mean… THE END

*ahem*

Cat Messengers

a.k.a. The Cats That Belong to No One II

yamashita riki

20070923

copyright 2007 yamashita riki

all rights reserved

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