by Nic Tatano
She had a weird game she liked to play in which she would wait for us to go to bed, then scratch and howl at our bedroom door. When I’d open the door she would run away. It reminded me of that old practical joke in which kids would light bags of manure on fire, throw them on someone’s porch, ring the doorbell and take off.
Siamese are one-person cats, and I was her person. Being a night owl and cats being nocturnal, we bonded during the late hours of the evening. I noted she was particularly loving when I had endured a bad day. It is hard to stay mad when a bundle of fur jumps in your lap and purrs.
I noticed that turning the computer on always brought her out of one of her many hiding places. While working on a novel for long periods of time she would always jump in my lap and go to sleep.
She was the original laptop.
***
After two days of the vacant look from Pandora it was apparent she wasn’t getting any better. Still not in pain, still purring, but clearly confused. She would stare at a wall for hours. She couldn’t seem to remember to groom her hind quarters, which meant a guy who had never changed a diaper now had to clean the backside of a furry animal equipped with claws.
“I want my cat back,” I told my wife.
“Her personality may be gone. All we can do is make her comfortable.”
“I want my cat back. If only for a day so I can say goodbye.”
***
“It’s time to go,” said the angel-cat.
“No,” said Pandora. “I told you I still sense the bad day. He needs me.”
“You Siamese are soooo stubborn. We have a joke that all Siamese should be sent to south Florida instead of heaven.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re already wearing black socks.”
“I don’t get it,” said Pandora.
“If you were a cat in Miami you would.”
“If you’re going to tell me jokes then fix me so I can understand. Put me back the way I was.”
“I can’t fix your body. You’re seventeen years old. You can’t run around like a kitten anymore.”
“Then fix my mind. You heard my person. He wants to say goodbye and so do I. I don’t want to see him with water in his eyes anymore. Besides, if you’re going to explain this mission I’m on then I’ll need a clear head.” Pandora sat down and put her nose in the air. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The tabby looked up for a moment and then back at Pandora. “Okay. But just for a while. Then you realize you have to go.”
“Fine. Only after I deal with his bad day and get to say goodbye.”
“Deal.”
***
I walked through the house wondering where I’d find Pandora this time. Litter box? Staring at a wall? Instead she was sitting up next to her food dish, and began the loud Siamese chant as soon as she spotted me.
I crouched down next to her and tilted her head up to look in her eyes.
She looked back and licked my nose. Then she nudged her food dish and started yakking again, as if to say “Okay, I’m back, now where’s my egg yolk?”
My wife and I were amazed. She ate, she drank, and most important, she recognized us. She was moving slowly and still couldn’t jump, but it was definitely Pandora.
She was back.
We’d made the right decision.
For the next three weeks Pandora was her old self, at least mentally. She was smiling again. (Cat owners know what I mean.) She slept next to her favorite toy, a wind-up stuffed cow. She walked very slowly, but wasn’t favoring either side. Jumping of any kind was history. And we settled into a routine with her grooming ritual. She couldn’t reach around to take care of her backside, so I got a tub of baby wipes and dealt with it. I now have newfound respect for anyone who works in a nursing home.
Watching the little Siamese deal with her limitations was inspiring me. I’d gone though the worst year of my life career-wise, and had been losing the most important thing any creative person can possess.
Hope.
But Pandora wasn’t quitting on me or herself. Each day she took forever to get across the room, but she did it.
“She hung in there for you,” my wife said.
In Greek mythology, Pandora is the first woman on earth. Her name means “all-gifted.” You probably remember the tale in which she is given a box and told not to open it under any circumstances, but her curiosity gets the best of her. Pandora opens the box and lets all the evil out into the world. She tries to close it, but is too late. The only thing left in the box is Hope.
In this case, she gave it to me.
My hope returned. I started making some career calls which panned out.
Things began to turn around.
And just when they did, Pandora turned as well.
***
“You’re done here,” said the angel-cat. “He’s doing better.”
“I know,” said Pandora.
“We have to go. Today.” The light behind the angel-cat was growing brighter. “Just follow me.”
“Can I just say goodbye one last time?”
“Okay.”
***
Her final day was a Sunday. That morning I found her laying in a sun square, lethargic and unwilling to eat or drink. Even worse, she wasn’t purring.
I stayed with her all day, watching football while stroking her head. When the game ended I went to the kitchen to get something to drink and I heard a loud meow.
It was the first sound she’d made all day. For a Siamese, it meant something.
I ran back to the living room and got down on the floor next to her. She stretched out her two front paws and looked at me. I took her paws in one hand, stroked her head with the other. She took one more breath and was gone.
***
“Are you done yet?” asked the angel-cat.
“Filed my report a little while ago,” said Pandora.
“How do you feel?”
“Physically I’m like a kitten again. I can run and jump like I used to. I also like the fact you can eat all you want up here and never have to use the litter box. I sure don’t miss hacking up furballs or going to the vet. I hated riding in cars.”
“It’s not that bad,” said the angel-cat.
“All cats hate cars,” said Pandora. “Ever see a cat hanging its head out of the car window?”
“I guess you’re right,” said the tabby. “So … do you miss your people?”
“I miss them a great deal, but I don’t feel badly about it. Strange.”
“That’s normal up here. It’s not possible to feel badly about anything. You get to keep all your good feelings, though.” The tabby twitched her whiskers. “So, do you want another assignment, or do you want to wait for your people?”
“I’ll wait,” said Pandora. “And in the meantime, I’ll watch over them.”
***
It is much too quiet in the house these days. Without a talkative Siamese, the proverbial “peace and quiet” leaves me cold. We’ve had a magnet on the fridge for years which reads “a home without a cat is just a house.” No kidding.
I look at Pandora’s pictures quite often, a favorite one now the screen saver on my computer.
I spend a lot of time wondering where cats souls go when they die.
Is there a cat heaven filled with mice and birds and sun squares? Do they share heaven with people? Is her spirit hanging around the house? If they do share
heaven with us, will I be able to talk with her and ask her things I’ve always wanted to know, like “what was your problem with Ray?” My friend Laurie once told me “if there are no dogs and cats in heaven, I don’t want to be there.” The mere concept of a perfect afterlife should include your loved ones, human or otherwise.
And I wonder how Pandora came to be in my life, and I in hers.
Friends who stopped by always asked to see her, finding her many mood swings “entertaining.” She had an incredible personality for a cat, an incredible devotion to me. I miss her te
rribly, her crazy little games, her running to greet me at the door.
While she was alive I often told friends how I’d bottle fed her, how I had saved her life.
Funny, it was the other way around all the time.
About the Author
I’ve always been a writer of some sort, having spent my career working as a reporter, anchor or producer in television news. Fiction is a lot more fun, since you don’t have to deal with those pesky things known as facts.
I spent fifteen years as a television news reporter and anchor. My work has taken me from the floors of the Democratic and Republican National Conventions to Ground Zero in New York to Jay Leno’s backyard. My stories have been seen on NBC, ABC and CNN. I still work as a freelance network field producer for FOX, NBC, CBS and ABC.
I grew up in the New York City metropolitan area and now live on the Gulf Coast where I will never shovel snow again. I’m happily married to a math teacher and we share our wonderful home with our tortoiseshell tabby cat, Gypsy.
You can follow me on Twitter @NicTatano.
Also by Nic Tatano
The Lost Cats and Lonely Hearts Club
The Love Triangle
Twitter Girl
Cover Girl
It Girl
Boss Girl
Wing Girl
Jillian Spectre & the Dreamweaver
The Adventures of Jillian Spectre
About HarperImpulse
HarperImpulse is an exciting new range of romance fiction brought to you from the women’s fiction team at HarperCollins. Our aim is to break new talent from debut authors and import the hottest trends from the US, bringing you the very best in romance. Whether that is through short reads for your mobile phone or epic sagas that span the generations we want to proudly publish romance fiction that gets everybody talking.
Romance readers, come and meet the team at our website www.harperimpulseromance.com, our Facebook page www.facebook.com/HarperImpulse or follow us @HarperImpulse!
Writers, we are simply looking for good stories! So, what are you waiting for? To submit, e-mail us at [email protected].
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