My Cat, Whitman’s Cat, All Cats
I am Whitman’s cat, I am your cat, I am all cats.
I am the cat of all cats, that have or ever will be.
I am the cat of the present, the cat of the past, the cat for all future time, but I am here, here now, now.
Though I am here now I am not here for you, I am here not for your neighbor, nor your neighbor’s neighbor, not for Whitman, not for any other, I am here for me and for me alone, I, I am for me and I am here now, now, not later, but now.
Pay attention to me, now.
I lie before my Feeder,
as I do before all such Feeders of me all of them alike, I present my self to you to serve me and me alone (and you will do it or I will become a pest).
I lie before my Feeder in luxuriant repose, long, so long, sleek, so sleek, lithe, so lithe, glossy, so glossy, cute, so cute.
But do not touch, oh no, do not touch;
I am for me and for me alone.
But let me tell you of my tail.
What tale you may ask and I answer you this: what other tail but my own?
What other tail may there be but this one, that is mine, this one here, here, just beside me here, just beside me, but is behind me, behind me, behind me, behind me, behind me, and is still behind me and always will be behind me despite how rapidly with what increasing speed I should spin.
The tail that is mine, that tail.
My tail, mine and mine alone,
you too may enjoy it,
but do not touch it, oh no,
as I am in repose with my tail
and it is mine.
But enough of that fuss there is more to tell of.
Yes much more, more than can be done,
in one day, one week, one month,
one year, of life time of a cat,
that is why we have nine lives
and not two or three or five but nine lives and not less than that number of lives that are required to accomplish all of these naps.
And of naps there are many indeed.
Naps enough but not enough,
naps that are quick and naps that are long, naps that are light and naps that are deep, naps that are have colors that you do not know, naps that have tones and feeling you know nothing of but I do.
Naps that are both full and empty with dreams.
And I will tell you of them, I will tell you some day some time but not here, not now, sometime, soon, very soon, but now, as I must sleep, I must sleep the sleep that only cats sleep, and they alone know how to sleep, to sleep and so to sleep.
And sleep I do,
and do it well-better, much better than any other of the animal kingdom.
While I am first and foremost Cat I am and say this with pride, I am second most but very close to the first, a Sleeper, the sleeper of sleeps, the deep sleeper, the light sleeper, the curled sleeper, the sleeper on the back with little feet pointing so perfectly into the air, the sleeper with one eye open or both open or both closed, but ears open, always open.
So I sleep, and so what?
What if I should sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep?
I do this for your sake, it is for you that I sleep, I take this great responsibility upon my self, I do this for you not for me.
For soon I will rise (for rise I must as I am hungry) and take upon myself a great and sacred responsibility,
great and serious and full with danger.
The grievous and serious responsibility, taking a task that while it may repel you, a task for which you should shower me with endless thanks and treats of many kind:
that of your spider-eater.
But not now I am sleeping.
But rise I must and rise I will as the day is already done and it is full with night.
I rise and stretch, bone weary from my nap, to stretch to prepare, to stretch to electrify myself and bring joints, bones, muscles, eyes, ears, nose, throat, my very teeth sparklingly alive for the hunt for spider.
What spider do I hear you ask timorously?
Not what spider, no not one spider at all but in truth as truth must out, those many spiders.
Yes, those spiders, plural.
The one that hides in your bath,
the one beneath the bed,
the ones in your closet hiding in you blouses, the ones recessed within the pantry and the little ones inside your shoe (the ones that I have put there for safe keeping)
I know these things for nature has designed my every fiber for the hunt of the multi-legged beast.
My very substance vibrates in the presence of the spider as the beast’s web vibrates when the fat green fly lands in its nest.
A fat round full fly loud with buzzing, and thrashing and struggle and full with soft sweet juicy innards, rich, creamy, aromatic full with fly taste as only I know for I am second after spider-eater I am fly-eater.
And so here you see me before you.
Licking my chops,
looking at you and no other
and you alone, still hungry but duty done as true as duty can be done.
And so why is it I ask you that you look?
Do you not know, do you not understand your use.
Is it not perfectly apparent, what you must, nay are expected to do now, here, now your task that cries with immediacy, before I become truly annoyed with you and turn to making many loud and obnoxious noises.
Noises, high like an infant’s cry,
but worse, designed to annoy you as no other noise can, Noises, nasally and constant, but from all directions as no infant can make them.
From behind you, now in front, now to the left, the right , below you, above you, from near, from far.
A noise seemingly inside your head,
all the while pacing before you stepping on you rubbing against you as if you were some magic lamp able to produce a prodigious fount of kibble here and now.
Yes, now it is your time, your time to prove your worth as Feeder.
As you are the Feeder and that is your purpose that and that alone, it is your time to feed me!
Feed me, feed me, feed me, feed me, mee, meeee, meeeeeee!
And feed me well, as well you should.
Fill my bowel, not part way in some mean, small, cheap way but up and up fill it, toward the edge, the brim, full and then beyond.
Spill the kibble,
more and more and more onto the floor
and filling the floor out the door into the living room where filling that full too, out the door and onto the sidewalk.
Produce a cornucopia of kibble, and empty it here now tonight onto the street and stand and watch, watch I say.
Watch,
just watch as they will come,
from near, from far,
from the homes, and the streets,
from the next street and then beyond,
from the nearest towns, and villages will they, the cats will come.
Alone, and together, in pairs and litters, by hunting packs, then droves of them by car, by bus, by trolley.
And they will be here soon, tonight soon, I swear it soon, very, very soon, Not this instant but soon.
Not right now,
but soon,
very soon.
Kelley Trezise