Tale Of A Tail

I am a cat’s person; owned and manipulated by a clever young male cat colored soft gray with a proud white chest that stands out like a starched ruffle on a lady’s blouse. He sports a white upward pointing arrow on his forehead between his eyes that melts down his nose widening into an upside down funnel shape, covering his mouth, engulfing his jaw, chin and softly settling onto his chest. In the center of all this white is a pert berry pink nose. His eyes are two green lanterns that pick up all available light in a darkened room and reflect it back as two glowing orbs. Because of his eyes Mr. Peepers is the name I gave him when he moved in three years ago. Today his body weight is only ten pounds even though he is a full-grown cat. His body length is longer than most cats with a tail that is bushy, white tipped as though it had been used as an artist’s paintbrush. Nature made him small, physically beautiful, and endowed him with an inquisitive, intuitive nature that sometimes gets him in dutch with other family members.

I remember the first six weeks that Mr. Peepers lived in our home. He had been a wild, feral kitten living in the outside world with his wild, feral mother. Mother cat spent many days during the previous summer months in our backyard. She always had her kitten with her. One day, after the winter cold had set in, an automobile claimed mother cat’s life.

On my backyard patio stoop I kept a large, brown cardboard box crammed full with warm blankets for the feral cats to find refuge in during cold, winter nights. I knew the wild, feral kitten would return alone that night to the security and warmth of the blanket filled box. I waited until I was sure he was in the box, and then I carefully pressed down on the mound of blankets in the front of the box that obscured my view of the back of the box. To my delight there was a pair of large kitten ears visible, followed by a pair of frightened, bewildered eyes. I captured him gently, carefully lifting him out of the box, and took him away from the stinging cold night into the warmth of my home.

Through the patience of his adopted human family, Mr. Peter Peepers was ready at the end of six weeks to make his first visit to the vet. He had begun to relax and explore his new surroundings; I had waited for him to come to this state of acceptance before venturing out on a car trip with him.

The visit to the vet was uneventful until the doctor gave him his first shot. He had been nervous but steady as he stood on the cold metal examining table being poked and probed, weighed and inspected. At the exact moment the vaccination needle pierced his skin he let out a screech heard clear out to the waiting room four doors away down the adjoining hall. His small thin body became elastic, and shot out stretching three times its normal length. I heard the doctor say with a nervous sounding voice, “wild kitty.”

Since the early days, Mr. Peepers has trained me as well as I have trained him. When I am home alone during the day, Mr. Peepers is always near me. He sleeps on a big rust colored pillow on the couch next to my chair while I do my homework. If I am in the kitchen cooking, he is close by under the table always ready to rush out to greet me when I spot him there, and I acknowledge his presence. There are times when he will jump up to the kitchen counter if I say its okay to do so, and he will lean against me as I give him an open arm, circle hug.

I truly am a cat’s person. I am trained to feed him when he is hungry. I book a kennel for both him and his lady friend cat if I am going away on a trip over two days in length. I always know when he wants or needs attention.

It takes patience and careful observation of a cat to understand his needs. In the process you realize that the cat is an intelligent creature. You might find as a result of your study that you become a cat’s person, the same as I am!

This has been a true-life story of Carol Garnier Dutra.

Copyright © 2010/2011 by Carol Garnier Dutra

Note;
I wrote this short story when I was a student at Evergreen College; it was for my first English class, which was with Mr. Jacobs. I am reproducing it here as a tribute to Mr. Peter Peepers Dutra who shared our lives along with Ms. Whiskers Dutra for many years back when my family lived in San Jose, California. Peter was the cat-son of one of Mrs. Gertrude Bold’s feral cats. Mrs. Bold was a neighbor who lived on an adjacent street to the street we lived on, and she was the lady who kept many feral cats in her backyard, and in her garage.

After his companion cat friend, Whiskers, passed away at the age of twenty (20) Peter grew depressed to the point that he stopped washing himself. I knew this was the case because he started to smell!
Healthy, happy cats always keep themselves clean and groomed; this is a cat’s true nature to be clean, proud of their appearance.

Because Peter stopped taking care of himself I had to take a clean washcloth and wring it out with water washing him off following with a towel dry so he would be presentable to be in the house.

I have known people to behave in this depressed manner after losing someone they loved; this was the first time I saw this behavior in a cat, and it tells me how intelligent cats are.

In time, our Peter Peepers grew ill, and left us to be with his cat friend, Whiskers.

I will always be a cat's person thanks to this pair of sweet, loveable felines whom graced our lives for many years with their loving presence.
Carol
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