My Life as a Cat

My Life as a Cat

By Anastasia Mink

©2011

     I awoke at dusk and stretched my body on the soft, down comforter.  As I slowly opened my sleep crusted eyes, I immediately knew something was different.  Everything seemed louder.  Various odors assaulted my nose: last nights dinner from the kitchen, the hint of fragrance from the dresser, noxious fumes from cars passing by, rotting food from the dumpster in the alley behind.  Glancing around the room in bewilderment I slowly sat up.  The way my graceful body moved was alien to me.  I sat on all fours, like some kind of animal.  It was then I saw it.  My hands were covered in soft black fur. I turned my head in various directions trying to get a view of the rest of me.  Black fur seemed to cover my entire body.  Panic rose to my chest and then my throat as I let out a startled cry.  Did my ears deceive me?  Did I just meow?  I leapt from the bed and jumped with ease up to the dresser, despite its seeming menacing height from the ground.  I stared in both awe and dismay as my reflection stared back at me.  A strikingly handsome black feline blinked at me.  I lifted one paw, then the other; I stood up and arched my back, poised for a confrontation as the realization that I was in fact a cat sank in.  How had this happened?

     For a few days I lived in relative comfort sleeping on the soft bed or the plush living room sofa and eating what food I could find left from before I came to be in this ridiculous position.  The phone rang several times and several messages played on my answering machine: my boss wondering where I was, my best friend with whom I was supposed to have lunch the other day, the cleaners reminding me to pick up my dry cleaning, my landlord reminding the rent was now past due. I mewed silent cries of self-pity and helplessness. In an effort to quell the angst of my human self, my cat-self wandered around the apartment sniffing the numerous scents in the carpet and the furniture. I jumped up on tables and counters.  I had imaginary fights with shoe laces and a stray piece of plastic I found behind the entertainment center.  I sunned myself in the window as I watched my neighbors hurry to and fro.  I pondered how I could turn on the TV.  Did cats watch TV?  Soon I realized I would have to get outside if I wanted to continue eating.  I mulled over this dilemma for some time as my stomach growled. 

     A while later someone pounded on my door. I scurried under the sofa by instinct.  “Hello, Ms. Gordon?  Are you there?  This is your landlord.  Hello?”  I heard the sound of tape being put on my door.  No doubt it was an eviction notice, I thought. I was filled with fear and resentment.  How could this happen to me? I swatted the check I had written before this demise struck from the kitchen table.  I stared at it as if that might magically make my human self reappear.

 A day later someone else knocked.  “Sarah? Hey, Sarah?  It’s Beth.  Are you okay?  I’m really worried about you!”  Beth knocked for some time before giving up.

 I meowed helplessly, growing weak from hunger. Moments later I heard footsteps and voices approaching my apartment.  “I’m really worried about her.  She hasn’t shown up for work or called in almost two weeks,” Beth said

I listened from under the sofa as keys jangled and one fit into the lock.  I heard the door handle turn as the door opened.  My landlord and my best friend stood looking around.  This was my chance, I thought.  Taking one last glance at Beth I scurried from beneath the sofa and bolted toward the open front door.  “I didn’t know Sarah had a cat,” I heard Beth say.

 “If she does she’s in violation of her lease,” I heard the landlord reply tersely.  I ran as fast as I could toward the main door that led outside hoping it would be open.  It was not.  I scrambled under the lobby desk and waited for someone to enter or depart.  Finally, my chance came.  I dashed for the door as a woman came in.  She let out a small cry as I bolted past her.  I squeezed out just as the door closed.  As I rounded the corner into the alley I slowed down with relief.  Aaah, bittersweet freedom.  I set about the business of finding something to eat. 

    I approached the dumpster cautiously sniffing for the scent of other cats.  I wondered how I knew to do that.  I had never been a cat before, after all.  The coast seemed clear, and as luck would have it, the lid to the dumpster was open.  I gauged the distance I had to jump in order to make it inside and leapt.  Yes!  I made it, I thought, as my hind legs hit the edge of the dumpster rim. Various stenches wafted about me: some rotting meat, spoiled vegetables, something unidentifiable in a can.  My stomach recoiled, but hunger overcame me as I fished down for the rotting meat.  I ate voraciously, thinking only of my need.  Without warning, another scent reached my nose.  Before I even had a chance to define it, a loud growl and a hiss filled my ears.  Instantly, I felt a growl rise in my throat as I eyed my aggressor.  We engaged each other in a growling match as we sized each other up.  I was bluffing.  I was an indoor cat after all.  My human self disliked fighting and confrontation.  My cat-self seemed braver, but knew that my opponent would be far more vicious an opponent than I. I flattened my ears and crouched in an act of submission.  Then I hurriedly climbed out of the dumpster and slinked away.  The sound of other cats fighting over scraps of food filled the air.  I began to wander down another street.  Scents of baking bread and coffee reached me.  I remembered the last time I had fresh baked bread.  I had been with my now ex-boyfriend.  Why did we break up?  I was not entirely certain anymore.  My cat self could not think of a valid reason and accused my human self of pettiness.

     I rounded the corner and was enveloped by scents of roasting chicken, grilled fish, and baking pot roast.  I sat in from of the restaurant taking in the scents vaguely hoping for a scrap from someone.  It wasn’t long before a waiter shooed me off.  I wondered around the back.  There had to be dumpsters behind the restaurant, I thought.  There were.  Glorious scents filled the air as barely touched leftovers were thrown wastefully into the bins.  Another smell sent alarm bells off in my head.  There were other cats here.  Of course there would be, I thought.  I quickly accepted that my new life as a street cat would require me to get tougher.  Fear gripped my stomach as I warily neared the fragrant dumpster.  Survival of the fittest, I thought dismally.  Growling penetrated my consciousness.  I had just gotten near enough to make the jump, but already my presence was being contested.  I arched my back and with a hiss leapt toward my opponent.  The orange and white Tom-cat struck with cruel precision, piercing the skin beneath y fur.  I struck back, but barely made a scratch.  Pain stabbed my ear as I felt teeth sink in.  I yelped in astonishment and pain as I struggled to tear myself away.  I scurried away, tail between my legs and sought a place to nurse my wounds.  I vainly thought, at least my fur is black so the dirt and blood would not be so obvious.  I had seen some horribly dirty white cats about and knew they would get less sympathy from humans because of their appearance.  I wondered fleetingly if my cat self would have this knowledge had I not been human.  I found a dark uninhabited corner several blocks away and curled myself into a sad little ball to try to heal.  It was dark and sounds of other night creatures flooded my ears.  I supposed that I should be prowling and hunting like other cats now, but my human logic told me there would be less competition in the day.  I licked my wounds and tried not fight the despair that was welling up inside me.

     The next day hunger pangs drove me toward the dumpster behind the restaurant again. I hoped and prayed (if cats can do such a thing) that that evil orange and white Tom would be gone.  I sniffed the air searching for his scent.  I did not smell him, although the scent of several other cats lingered about.  Crouching low, I made my way for the heavenly scents wafting from the garbage.  Sucking down my fear, I leapt up and into the dumpster.  Quickly, I scavenged the piles for something tasty.  I was not disappointed as my teeth ripped into pieces of fish, although the garlic and wine sauce was not as appealing to my cat tastes as it would have been to my human self.  Nonetheless, I feasted on the fish and scraps of curried chicken and rice.  When I could not eat anymore, I crawled out of the dumpster and lazily strutted away.  Suddenly, I heard the growl.  It was the orange and white Tom.  I knew it instinctively.  I fought the surge of bile rising in to my throat.  What was this cat’s problem, I thought somewhat angrily.  He had eaten plenty last night.  Was I too not allowed to eat?  I was reminded of greedy CEO’s and government officials, greedy men who lived only to get richer without a care about the struggles of the working poor or middle class.  I did not want another confrontation this soon.  I decided to flee.  As ran as fast as I could down the alley and around the corner, the Tom cat hot my heels.  Then a miracle happened.  Another cat came towards us.  He glanced at me with a sniff and then glared at the Tom cat.  He lunged at the Tom, claws poised for attack.  I hurried away and the sounds of the scuffle echoed behind me.  I found a stoop to rest on for a while.  A little girl petted me, and I felt purrs well up in my thought.  Vibrating happily, I thought about this sudden change of luck.  The little girl had to go inside, but when I awoke I found a bowl of milk next to me. Good people do exist, I sighed happily after lapping up the milk.  For the next several days I hug around the little girl’s house.  Sometimes she gave me pieces of her sandwich or scraps left from dinner.  Sometimes I awoke to a nice bowl of milk.  It wasn’t the Hilton (or my apartment), but it was okay for a cat.

     One day, while I sunned myself on the stoop, I saw the grey Tom who had rescued me wandering in my direction. Instinctively, I readied myself for confrontation.  However, the grey Tom did not hiss or growl or assault me.  He sat down and watched me with seeming interest.  I gazed back at him, cautious, but curious.  Slowly he circled his way closer to where I sat.  I watched him, motionless.  He inched closer sniffing at the remains of milk in the small dish next to me.  I glanced at the bowl and then him.  “Go ahead,” I said, suddenly aware that I was speaking to another cat in multi-pitched meows.  He lapped greedily at the little remaining milk and then licked his chops.  We sat side by side in compatible silence for a moment and then he got up and walked away.  I watched as the grey disappeared into the late afternoon light.  Soon the grey began visiting almost every day.  Often he would appear with new cuts and scratches.  I licked his wounds for him and he nudged me gratefully.  The little girl began bringing out two bowls of milk and lavishing us both with attention.  Life was good. 

     I thought of my lost life with some sadness, but mostly I was grateful for the newfound sense of security I had with the grey and the little girl, whose name I later learned was Alice.  As winter came near the grey and I huddled together for warmth.  Christmas lights appeared on the neighborhood houses, so I knew the holiday was near.  One bitter cold evening I was awakened from my nap to feel myself being lifted by strong arms.  I yawned and looked up at the kindly face of a middle-aged woman.  “Come on in you poor things.  It’s freezing outside.”  I saw Alice beaming in the doorway beyond.  The grey sat on the mat with two bowls of food and water set out.  I purred with happiness.  The grey and I snuggled together happily on our mat and purred.