Cat Tales

An entry about cats, guilt, and books

Hello, friend!

In case you’ve never met him, this is Tião, a.k.a. the love of my life. 

Every morning after we feed him, Tião sits by the window that looks onto our front yard and demands, with a deep, guttural screech, that we open the window so he can smell the jasmine plants, the squirrels that run up and down the trees, and whatever mysterious messages the raccoons leave on their wake. Here he is, on one such morning:

I burn with guilt at the sight of him sitting by that window. Sometimes he’ll push his pink nose against the safety screen and close his eyes, panting through his mouth like a dog. I tell you, there are only so many times a person can witness such a thing before something in her chest cracks.

These are the facts of his life: he’ll be sixteen next month, he’s been under my care since he was two months old, and he’s always been entranced by the outside world. The backyard in our Twin Peaks rental was more secluded, so after we’d fenced and cat proofed it, Tião was free to roam and introduce himself to the California rosemary and lavender bushes. He befriended the bees and the pear tree. Every morning he would ask to go out and he never tired of it, but that was years ago. We’ve moved quite a bit since, and now we have this lush front yard that I don’t let him explore for fear that something could happen to him–for fear of what would happen to me were something to happen to him.

(The backyard in our Twin Peaks rental)

You see, I want to protect him, but more than anything, I think I've been trying to protect myself. I want his life to be long and I've been going to great lengths to ensure it, but I haven’t given much thought to how he would want to spend his days. I suppose it’s a question of ethics: what right do I have to deny this small creature the thing he wants more than anything? Is it fair to impose my desires and fears on him? These days, I no longer think so. It would be one thing if we still lived in the cement jungles of Manhattan and Brooklyn, as we did when he was younger, but of course, we don’t live in New York anymore. Now we own a house with an inviting front yard that Tião sees, smells, and, I imagine, feels in his bones every day. He’s a sentient being who has repeatedly let us know what he wants, but as long as we’re in this place where the front yard leads to the street, traffic, dogs and god knows what, he shall never have it.

Or maybe he shall have a small version of it? 

After debating for months, I went ahead and bought him a harness and a leash. I’ve taken him on three walks so far. My compromise: he gets to enjoy the front yard as long as I’m on the other end of the leash. A happy ending to this story, you may be thinking. Well, not really. The moment we went on our first stroll, a new set of worries washed over me. On account of his age and the early stages of his kidney disease, the vet recommends keeping Tião’s vaccines to a minimum. What if, I thought with trepidation on our first stroll, he sniffs another cat’s poop and becomes ill–is Tião immune to feral cat poop? What if he tries to escape to the front yard when a guest walks in? What if I cause his death? That’s silly, I know (or maybe not silly, but a tad bit over the top.) Plus, he doesn’t love the fact that he’s tethered to me during these explorations. Right now, I’m trying to accept the discomfort. I don’t have an answer to the question of how to give the two of us what we want in ways that will make us both entirely comfortable. But I do have photos of our walks. Wanna see some? 🙂

(All photos taken by F. I mean, the good ones. :)

And this is Miso, our other beloved cat. She’s a stray I met in Vegas in 2018, while attending graduate school. She imposed herself on me one Friday night when I was taking out the trash and what can I say? I’m sure there’s someone out there who can refuse her little face, but I ain’t that person.

Unlike Tião, Miso has zero interest in the outside world. The two times I carried her–that’s right, carried her–to the yard (each time in a different house,) she immediately peed herself and ran back inside, refusing to come out from under our bed. 

Here she is, watching us from behind the safety screen, which she probably wishes were safer. She thinks Tião is crazy, I’m sure. My heart shatters when I imagine all she must have gone through in the past, but I’m comforted by the thought that as long as I live, she’ll never experience hardship again.

Speaking of hardship: 2023 brought us a brutal winter, so for months we’ve been feeding the two feral cats that constantly roam our property. But once word got out that there was free food in the backyard, other critters began to show up. So far, our cameras have caught squirrels, racoons, and a third, unidentified cat, helping himself to the kibble. You can think of me as a raggedy San Francisco Snow White, minus the Evil Queen. 

Here’s a close shot of one of the feral cats, who reminds us of Miso so much (save from its white chest) we’ve named it Double. 

These are all my cat updates for today.

Here are books I’ve read since the last issue of this newsletter:

A Cat by Leonard Michaels

Bear by Marian Engel (!!!!!!)

Indelicacy by Amina Cain

Creature by Amina Cain

I Go to Some Hollow by Amina Cain (I’m obviously a huge Cain fan)

Getting Lost by Annie Ernaux

If Not, Winter, Fragments of Sappho translated by Anne Carson

Sophocles: Oedipus the King and Other Tragedies translated by Oliver Taplin

House of Cotton by Monica Brashears (started it this week, I should finish it tomorrow)

The Book of Longings by Sue Monk Kidd

Death Sentence by Maurice Blanchot

Worshipful Company of Fletchers by James Tate

How to Blow Up a Pipeline by Andreas Malm

Carbon Inequality by Dario Kenner

101 Ways to Go Zero Waste by Katheryn Kellogg

Minimal: For Simple and Sustainable Living by Stéphanie Mandreá

What Climate Justice Means and Why We Should Care by Elizabeth Cripps

Couch to barbell by Casey Johnston

Flex Your Age by Joan Macdonald

I’ll be boarding a plane tomorrow. I’m happy and sad to go on this trip, but when I think I’ll be seeing Beyoncé in a week, some of the sadness fades. :) 

I’ll catch you when I’m back.

Warmly,

Flávia