The Cats That Belong to No One

yamashita riki

20070421, 1848

I'll tell you about my cats. Technically they aren't mine, since no one really owns anything. So as they belong solely to themselves, they are strays. The regular strays who hang around during the early morning when my mother goes about her household chores, or whenever they catch the smell of cooking just before midday. By afternoon till the evening, none of them are to be seen. It is just too hot to be around in a fur coat. I suspect they are sleeping under someone's car or on its hood, perhaps just about anywhere where it is cool, like the damp area next to the opposite neighbour's washing machine; or perhaps under any shady area untouched by the sun.

The most loyal of all cats that pays homage to me is this rather pretty cat named, Fluffy. She is losing some of that glamour from her youth, yet she believes herself to be the queen because she owns me. She is at most times graceful as she is gentle. Knowing her scratches and bites, I am no longer fooled. Some days she looks her best, so I would naturally stroke her by instinct. Other days she would better be known instead as ‘scruffy’. Probably it isn't easy managing her fur without a two-in-one shampoo.

I'm not sure what you would call her colour, but she has these grey black streaks, and soft white hair elsewhere. They are quite fine. Especially those under her chin all the way underneath her.

I believe cats know they are pretty, because they do get away with a lot - besides our admiration. Though she is the queen cat, she is a hopeless mother. There must have been four to five times I've seen her with a bloated tummy. But so far I've only been acquainted with three of her kittens. Her recent kitten, another fluff, except it is completely black. This Black Fluff has a companion, another black skinny kitten friend. They both share the same father, so we can think of them as half brothers.

Their father is a black cat with large cat balls. Cat balls fascinate me because they are cute as they remind me of those cotton-ball-ish hair bands some girls use to tie a pony tail. The one thing about these macho male cats is that they have this air of confidence and arrogance when they stride around the back alley. They squirt their pee on the flower pots and live their presence without heeding to the call of affections from fellow human beans.

"Chuut" "Chuut", but the bugger just glances at you and goes on with his stride. These macho alpha male cats are seen only close to cat's spring break. Other than that, you'll never see them.

Most of the time, you'll hear the whining and pouting of my poor Giggy. He is one of those sensitive cats who are usually seen crying at the backdoor demanding to be fed or loved. And he hangs out with a group of girls. Maybe exchanging self-grooming tips. He is at the most quiet when he is being stroked.

This poor unfortunate cat who lived his earlier years a pampered soul, finds that at his prime; a tormentor named Jackson cat who wishes nothing more than to chase him away from all his girlfriends and utopia. Jackson cat has a fat face with slant Japanese eyes, another macho cat whose fur is slightly that of orange rust. He never comes when we call. He is neither afraid unless we open the back grill door and is within two feet in radius. Does he run? He walks with a faster pace.

It has become the unfortunate fate of Giggy, as Jackson cat made it his mission to chase the poor miserable mama’s boy cat upon catching sight of him. For months Giggy was living underground. He would frantically beg to take shelter inside our kitchen. Climb through the window if it is a must. I've caught him hanging with two paws at the ledge when we refused his entry. The pitiful fellow hanging there in midair like that. Once inside and Jackson's presence is scented somewhere unseen by us, Giggy would refuse with all of his might to be pushed out through the door with our foot. He leaves with great hesitation. And does his best to accept his fate like a man, but quickly runs away to hide when our doors are closed.

He has a pitiful wail, like a spoilt cat. But that's how we knew him. He introduced himself when he was just a young kitten, one early morning he came up to my mothers' lap and snuggled his head between her arms. I guess he wanted the warmth and security any child would. Since then he must have fallen in love with my mother, because he stalks her. Crying for her attention. My mother was not fond of cats as she is more a dog person. But, Giggy was her exception.

Our house is cat-free except the small area next to the aluminium sink and back door. However Giggy has stalked my mother from the front of the house. Then climbing to her balcony one late night into her room. And when that wasn't enough he found his way to my bedroom window at the back of the house. For a time she felt harassed, trying her best to avoid that persistent cat. She constantly peeked out the kitchen curtains to see if the coast was clear. Then quietly, she carefully opens the iron grill and makes a dash to throw out the garbage; which is just behind the block – some thirty steps or more in between. She is not always lucky, and if he was lucky - he would dine the food of cat gods.

Giggy was indeed a handsome cat. He is just like his sister, Fluffy. Their mother was a cat with mostly white with black patches named Yukiko. Giggy tries to act like the man when after demanding loudly for food, he indirectly calls out to his girl cats to run from all angles across the block to signify that food is on the way. And when food is thrown to the grass, he doesn't eat. He waits for his girl cats to dine first and watches over them with some pride. The reason he is called 'Giggy' is because he is such a 'Gigolo Cat'. His chivalry lasted until the moment of desperation when he was starving during the Jackson Persecution, where would he eat thrice hungrier than the others, but at least together with them.

He is indeed an odd cat, a pitiful one too. Some times at night, while I’m working at the computer; I can hear his tormented cries while brawling with Jackson. Twice he came with a fresh wound on his paw, among minor scratches. He limped for awhile. Clearly he was depressed. He came from such a sheltered happy kitten life. Now it seems fending himself and living in fear with bouts of frantic chasing occupied his now teenage life.

My mother had to save him from a few fights. He never defends himself, just lying on his back submissively when the quiet Jackson approaches. In the fight all the noise comes only from one cat. I don't need to mention which. Once, my mother happened to be in the kitchen when Giggy shrieked. She shooed Jackson away but Giggy was still too scared that he splattered his brownies onto the wall. My mother didn't tell me this until many months after, but I did remember her scrubbing the outside wall. I thought it was unusual but didn't think too much about it. She said she felt so embarrassed for the poor cat that she didn’t tell me earlier.

Giggy I remembered, always focused his attention at my mother, even though after hiding around my legs and getting a good stroking; would leave to be near her. So that's how Fluffy had most of my attention despite making silent meows. She isn't mute, but when she meows, it is silent. Quietly she enters the kitchen and sits below the stove whenever I’m up late to cook a midnight meal. Hoping I would share some, and indeed I cannot resist and would.

After awhile, Jackson left. But so did Yukiko. I would like to think the both of them ran off together and eloped. Yukiko was quiet a caring mother, but she got obsessed with licking her two offspring. She licked herself a lot too. Probably she was getting old, and silver hairs made her look worn out. But while she was around, Fluffy introduced her first successful kitten which lived long enough to savour the full flavours of our kitchen. He had taken after his grandmother's coat, but he neither had the good looks of his uncle Giggy.

During Giggy's hiding, Fluffy took that space in the kitchen as hers. Her kitten, now grown somewhat and playful; pushed at his mother while lying down on her spot. He too wanted that space for himself. I noticed that cats are generally gentle, they nudge with such tenderness. But they too can be contrastingly vicious. Fluffy with her moods, I had a plaster on to understand when to let her go, but never knowing her reasons why. Just about the time Yukiko left, so did Fluffy's son. She tried again another time, but nothing came of it. Only recently with the Black Fluff is there hope for another generation of cathood.

Giggy, the last time I saw him was him being seduced by a slim black cat from the adjacent block. She kept eyeing him as if to say: follow my tail. I hoped he found love because soon after his disappearance, I had three separate dreams of him visiting me; and as if saying a final goodbye. Well, may you rest in peace, Giggy.

He leaves behind these two unfavourable female black white cats of uncouth eating habits. They snatch, they pounce, they book the fallen chicken bones. I'm not too fond of them, but they come around when food giving is frequent.

Among them is this black stripped orange sort of cat which I named 'the cat that looks like you' or the Unis cat. She likes to stare, but never likes to be touched. She avoids the touch as though it stings. She is quite a slender cat with nice features; however her cat manners are not as prim and proper as Fluffy's. Once, I managed to lure her into the kitchen, she toppled the bin when she tried to search for food. Fluffy would never lower herself to that manner, she is after all; the queen cat.

Fluffy is the queen in the way she struts when she walks, her hips move side to side like a catwalk model. When she eats, the Unis cat and her two kittens watch till she is done and begins grooming her long fluffy tail. She reminds me of those pretty film noir stars with a fur mink coat and furry scarf. Fluffy made her first introduction when she crawled into the washing bucket full of soiled clothes and curled herself to sleep.

Oh, by this time the Unis cat had two kittens. One which looks and behaves like her is called the Clone cat. For many months I've admired her because she was indeed a pretty slender cat, though I could never get close enough to stroke her. She'd run away. Just today however, I came about a startling discovery! The Clone cat has two fluff balls! I've mistaken him for a her. Anyway, her brother, I mean his brother; is a tuxedo cat which has taken a partial replacement role as Giggy with his crying. His brother and mother merely stare with wide eyes. The Unis cat sticks her tongue out for some reason. I wonder what his fate is like when he grows older. The both of them for that matter. In any case, just recently too; I saw Unis cat’s new kitten which is a second Clone. It stared at me for awhile then ran off. Their shyness runs in the family.

The Black Fluff is lucky. Lucky to be the rare fortunate. I really have hope for these young ones to survive. There are neighbours who don't take too kindly with cats. One of them must have complaint and the Gardener was seen carrying away two crying kittens which looked very much like Fluffy. Helpless and frail, I can only guess their fate. I do pray they are spared from life's frail fate between its choice of who survives or dies. Fluffy was heard crying for her newborn kittens, without her calls answered. She had a small kitten before, a few months back; who laid to rest just outside my kitchen door. I knew it only for a short while. Fluffy came close to it, sniffed it, and just moved away. There are times in those late nights, I comfort her and she accompanies my loneliness without needing to understand. It is just sharing our time together.

Food has been getting scarce, and since I stopped eating meat recently, all the more worst except on those rare occasions. There used to be an old lady at the other end of the block who took care of Giggy and Fluffy - it explained why sometimes they visited looking smart and prim. I don't think she is around anymore.

The half-brother of the Black Fluff, is the child of one of the two female black cats I'm not too fond of. But its mother is the caring sort. It would cuddle and play unlike the queen. Fluffy gets jealous. She usually eats first and steps in the way to disallow me from focusing my stroking on her son. Giggy however, follows my mother around; jealous of the flower pots she waters.

It must be Pavlov's theory, each time the iron grill rattles or the keys are heard; they go on cue and sing hymns to my mother. They have a virgil and at times the cat goddess does bless them with our heavenly leftovers. Fluffy chooses what she likes, or else she huffs it and walks away. The rest gobble almost everything.

There are more cats behind than the front of the house. Though there were these two prominent cats from my upstairs neighbours, whom I regard their pet's nature are more human like than theirs. Their big white cat with very faint orange strips, I admired. I think she was named ‘Chomel’. She is the largest of the other cats around, self-contented and always seen taking a nap on my mother's car hood. When she sleeps, she really sleeps. Other times she is seen at the tennis court opposite my house, surveying her self-proclaimed kingdom. I heard she was taken away back to their 'kampung' (village), when the monkey neighbours returned during one school holiday. To justify their sub-human reference, briefly: they have an odd behaviour to shift furniture or repair stuff in the wee hours, their children litter on my area, and they are filthy with garbage yet to throw from weeks due. Ironically, I heard they are connected to royalty - makes them a real royal pain in the sphincters.

Being such royal pains, I had to release my frustrations by kicking their expensive fur rug of a second cat. You won't be surprised that it never came near us ever again.

So over these two years, I've heard and seen some rather unique, odd and funny cat behaviours. But to mention them all here would leave it disjointed and trivial. Cats however, do remind me a lot of Buddhist monks. In the way they curl in meditation and await the iron grills' satori.

I cannot help but wonder how sad a cats' life must be to struggle to survive among human kind's so-called town living, and depending on each household's food contribution. Too bad they aren’t either vegetarians or vegans or fruitarians or breatharians. The adults hardly care; some find them a nuisance - but their children. Yes, their children, like those young kittens I hope they live to enjoy their youth before the harsh realities of the world emerges to rob them that peace of mind free from worry and anxieties. Or to know the meaning of distance in trusting, loving and caring with the heart.

Being the cat god who descended from space, I wonder if higher beings do notice the suffering of this world; but with compassion allows such natural cycles to rise, fall and rise again; with some degree of non-involvement. And offering comfort and shelter when necessary, but never salvation as to each path their own to sought. Having only hope that we learn to transcend these limiting boundaries. I too wonder if I have taken any liking by any such higher beings beneath God who would remember me as fondly upon my passing into another vehicle. From the compassion of these beings, we, the enslaved beings may find a safe refuge along our life's journey. If so, there may be hope after all.

I did hear the children telling my mother about the fate of Giggy, that someone has taken him into their home to 'di bela orang' (be taken care of). Let's just end this story with hopes that he is living a safe and comfortable utopian life.

THE END

The Cats That Belong to No One

yamashita riki

20070421, 2118

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