Cat Blog Friday

Yasmin

Dear Ellen:

Thanks for the pic of Yasmin. She looks a bit like our cat Kuro, beyond just considerations of color. Kuro almost never stops staring at me with these big saucer eyes, the same color and size as Yasmin's. I anthropamorphically read into it: "Who are you? Who am I? What's my role? What's my mission?" And so forth.

One of four ferals that were born on my back porch four years ago, Kuro is the only one I was able to "seduce" and the only one who lived. . .I think. He is strictly an indoor cat, and I hope that helps him to live a good long life. In all likelihood he will outlast me. Which is the way I want it. Last year when I was in Tokyo, he accidentally got out of the house in L.A. I was absolutely bereft when I learned the news telephonically. Pretty much sat in my hotel room and mourned for a couple of days. Then a friend took me to a Buddhist shrine. And even though I hold no truck with the unseen as opposed to the seen, I prayed and Kuro did return home at just that instant I learned when I went back to the hotel and phoned home.

I have had perhaps a half-dozen cats in my lifetime, but Kuro is THE one. Every night at EXACTLY 6:30 he comes crying at me for his daily fix of bonito.

Kuro: "meowmeowmeow."
Me: "Bonito?"
Kuro: meowMeowMEOW!
Me: "Kitchen?"

By now, he's absolutely nuts, going round and round in circles. Not one to tease animals, I get up from whatever it is that I am doing and head toward the kitchen, Kuro running a few paces in front of me. Reaching our goal, I "fish" into the cabinet for the bag and by now he's completely out of control.

Kuro: "MEOWMEOWMEOWMEOWMEOW!"

The smell permeates the air so much that even though I have put the bowl o' bonito on the floor, the smell of it has so intoxicated him olfactorily, that he begins running all over the kitchen looking for it. . .although it in EXACTLY the same place every night. Sometimes I say, "Hey, silly. Over here," then I lift him up, carry him over to the bowl, and gently push his face down into the bonito. And the mad cat scarfs it all down, though he doesn't like the smaller particles that are a bit like dust (I sprinkle that on his wet food the next a.m).

This happens 365 nights a year and it never fails to bring me unmitigated happiness and joy. Guess it doesn't take a lot for me, hunh?

Best,

Bill