The nature of things: Bird-dogging the cat at the cottage

I have never had a yearning to be a mother, but I have always loved caring for a cat, and I have written about the various felines I have owned been servant to over the years. Today, I offer a snapshot of what it’s like being at the cottage with our cat. It’s written from two perspectives, a technique I often use in the writing classes I co-teach to switch up the point of view as a way to gain a deeper understanding of a scene or situation. The setting is the same; the voice is different. 

Bird-dogging the cat

Patience. Space. Suspended time. Thoughts and reflection. Sometimes boredom. But always love and concern for the cat, and amusement at Holly, our cat. Her antics. Priorities. Proclivities. For long stretches, nothing but nothing but sitting and watching. And waiting. The both of us. Then. She pounces. Comes up with...nothing. Another day, that same pounce in a different spot produces a catch. My four-legged creature triumphs over that other four-legged creature. So it goes. I watch the inevitable end from a respectful distance. Yet vigilant that a different four-legged creature doesn’t pounce on mine. For also outside, the coyotes visit the property, earlier morning and later evening time. So I patrol the cat. For safety. For respect for the nature of things; death is ever present, always possible. Holly is 15 in human years, 105 in her own. Her end will come one day. I know it. Inevitable. In the meantime, I indulge her outdoor nature in the wild, and I enjoy it, too — space and time to think, reflect, to breathe, to be. She burps, she sleeps, content to be a cat with this human in this setting. I think…

Being tracked by my human 

Dear god, when will she open that door? The boots — put them on! Let’s get moving! I’ve not yet caught a damn thing and I’ve been here ten days now. I have to see if I’ve still got it despite my years. I can move when I choose to, and I’ve seen and heard a dozen tailed wonders in the undergrowth I desperately want to catch. Come on already, human! I think today’s the day! 

(CLICK)

Finally! Out I scoot, stop to sniff the air, consider which direction to head. Up the driveway towards the woodpile. Should be good pickings there ... No. I’ll try my luck behind the shed ... It’s all about the watching, the waiting, the hoping that my human won’t interfere, won’t make noise, won’t distract me. Good, she has that book in which she scratches with a stick of some kind. Seems to keep her happy ... This is a good spot. Smells good today. Alive with possibilities ... Oh! Wait. Patience ... Now! ...

... Oh yum, that was a good one. But a big one. I need a better place to digest than the out of doors — so many flies, too many bugs. Let’s see if I can lead my human to the gazebo. Is she following? Yes, good. Too bad I can’t open the door myself. Sigh. Oh well. If wishes were horses… Through the door, up on the stool (I didn’t use to need the help), then the sofa, the most comfortable spot. Settle in. Clean clean clean. Stretch out. Sleep…

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Land acknowledgement: I respectfully recognize that I live on the original lands of Anishinaabe, Cree, Oji-Cree, Dakota and Dene peoples, and on the homeland of the Métis Nation.