Morris is no tiger.
But when we first got him almost a year ago, he made me nervous. I could hear him roaming the house early in the morning right before we got out of bed, or even more disturbingly, hunting for imaginary prey right before we went to bed at night. My house from 20:00 to 21:00 is a shit show of baths, brushing teeth, and children running around, so Morris has plenty of shadows to chase.
Then I read a bit about cats and learned that they are crepuscular creatures, and my understanding his nature a bit better eased our coexistence. Now, I have come to expect him on the bed at around 6:00, watching any movement to see if we are alive and getting up, so that he can twirl around our legs demanding some food. I also don’t get so alarmed if, at around 21:00, once the children are in bed, he jumps in front of me just to keep his hunting skills sharp, or at least sharp-ish; he has been an indoor cat since he was born and we started to suspect he was agoraphobic one day we brought him out to the communal garden in our apartment building and he got in the house the minute he saw an opening.
We have brought him to Spain for the holidays, and this has been his first exposure to the big bad world. He has put on some weight since we arrived because, in the heat, he just moves from one spot on the cool floor to another, and that has been most of his physical exertion, but he has slowly warmed up to the idea of strolling around the garden. Once, he almost caught a bird, and he also bit off the tail of a gecko. P found him with the head of the gecko sticking out of his mouth with a look of- “What am I supposed to do with this thing now?” Half puzzled, half disgusted, only to drop the poor reptile on the floor and move on to the next thing. But he has been mostly just lying around looking bored.
There are plenty of homeless cats around here. There is an old lady who apparently keeps feeding them, much to the chagrin of her neighbours, and you see them coming in and out of the gardens. My mother doesn’t mind them too much because they never venture inside the house and keep the mouse population under control. The children think Morris can make friends, and C looks at Morris and his aristocratic ways and says- “Friends, you say… At most he will be kidnapped for ransom; I’ve heard there is the well-known and dangerous gang here called ‘Los Gatos’, and they make neither jokes nor friends.”
At night, we want to make sure he is in the house, and if we don’t find him immediately, we look for him in the garden to bring him in. We start thinking that if he doesn’t show up, we might either find him the morning after all filled with scars and an ear missing, or we might have to watch out for the post to see if Los Gatos send some nail clippings or the tip of the tail demanding ransom. All of our wonderings last about 30 seconds since we only have to shake the bag with the kibble to have Morris jump out of his hiding place to claim some extra food.
But yesterday night it was different.
August 9th 2024, 10:30 pm. I lay a straw mat and a couple of beach towels on the lawn. We are going to watch some shooting stars tonight. P, CA and E are excited to be sitting in the dark with us; it could be the prospect of wish-making or that they are high on the second peak of cortisol that winds them up to keep them going way past their bedtime. Go figure.
C is joining us with a very ill-advised outfit that includes a fluorescent yellow running top, which will not only attract all the mosquitoes in the area but also, one could argue, be a source of light pollution.
“Babe, we will not be able to see any stars if you wear that t-shirt.”
“Look! I see one there!”
“That’s a plane, E.”
“Ana, you say mosquitoes are crepuscular creatures?”
“Yeah, like Morris.”
“But it’s pitch dark now. Shit! I’m under attack. Do the mosquitoes here carry 50ml syringes?”
“Oh look! A falling1 star!”
“Falling? The only thing that is falling here is my hematocrit.”
“E, don’t run around in the dark; God knows what creatures of the night they let loose here.”
“You mean, like us?”
“Eh! Land here, you hear me? Eh, pilot! Over here!”
E stands up, drunk on his own adrenaline, and waves his arms to point the pilot where to land. In the dark he slaps CA, who loses a tooth that was already wobbly.
War breaks out.
“Let’s go to the bathroom, CA; you are bleeding all over your t-shirt!”
“But I lost my tooth! Pérez the mouse2 will not give me any money.”
“We’ve lost Morris! Where is he? We cannot go back inside without him!”
In the chaos, I turn around and see that we were looking at the wrong part of the night sky.
“It’s here, guys! Come see the falling stars! I’ve seen four in two minutes!”
“What is more important, mum, the stars or Morris?” questions P as he shakes the bag of kibble.
I hesitate to answer. “Shit, Morris, how untimely you are” I mumble as I start looking for him in the dark. I spot him by the bushes; someone has switched on the light in the kitchen, and I see his silhouette in the glow. But above all, I notice his eyes, the dilated pupils. I swear he is looking at us and judging. I am almost sure I see a look of contempt, or is it relief?
Relief that he got the rabies vaccine before flying to Spain, so he doesn’t have to worry about catching it from us.
In Italian a shooting star is called a falling star (stella cadente).
In Spain, the tooth fairy is a mouse called Pérez. El ratoncito Pérez.
This is my submission for the Soaring Twenties Social Club Symposium. We are a group of idlers who share ideas and companionship. Each month, STSC members create something around a theme, this month's theme being “Flight.” I hope you enjoyed it.
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These small intimate meanderings of family life are so warm. Nice.
Ooh, family chaos, you write about it so beautifully. I can’t even pick my favorite moments. Maybe if I knew what Morris was thinking as he quietly watched his family through the bushes. Yeah, that would be the one.