The Other Cats: #1. The forgotten

The Other Cats #1: The Forgotten

I say my latest is number eight. Not true; she’s really the eleventh. I could list my eight in loving detail. Those other three I don’t count, and tend to forget. 

Let’s count them, this once.

#1 The forgotten.

#2 The invader.

#3 The feral.

I mostly forget #1. How could that be? He was my first – or she? – and I’d always longed for a cat. I remember what she looked like: small, black-and-white, scarcely past kitten-hood.

Where did I get him? What was her name? I probably answered an ad. Something in a shop – or house – window? A neighbour whose cat had kittens?

I was renting a house with two other young women: my first independence. Of course I got a cat! They didn’t mind, so long as all care and feeding was mine. 

They worked full-time. I was a student, living near the uni, with time between lectures. I guess I spent some time home with the cat. I recall she was outside a lot during the day. I think I brought him into my bedroom at night.

I was poor. A scholarship took care of student fees but little else. There must have been a meagre living allowance. Also I pawned things; seldom reclaimed them. Many weeks I lived on a head of lettuce; sixpence worth of mincemeat (a lot back then) which I shared with the cat; and oranges which one of the others had plentifully, from her family who grew them. I remember the cat eating eagerly, at her little bowl near the laundry. I must have named him; no idea what.

After a year, our tenancy ended. I went home for long vacation (across Bass Strait, from Melbourne to Tasmania). What did I do with the cat? I vaguely think I advertised, and gave it to a neighbouring family.

How could I, always feline-besotted, forget my first cat?

‘Some people break down very quietly,’ said my psychiatrist, a few years later. 'No-one notices.'

I look back and see I was already starting to break down then: so quietly, I myself didn’t realise yet. 

Could I even connect with a cat? Surely I was kind, responsible? 

I don’t remember.

(To be continued. See #2 and #3.)

For Weekly Scribblings #70 at Poets and Storytellers United, Rommy asks us to write a list poem, or a piece of prose that incorporates the idea of a list. Although this piece does that, and even supplies the list, I apologise that it doesn't complete the details. I expect that will take two more episodes.