Cats are strange. Cats are creatures of strange habits. Among the many astonishing ones one stands out big: their tendency to die early. I donít know if itís indeed about the supposed nine lives, but Iím puzzled. Why do they break our hearts so irresponsibly and so often? Doní they know?! (So, I ponderÖ)
With the exception of one of the first three cats that came to my life in my young adulthood, all the rest expired way too early, often tragically. All were grey tabbies - Cirmies, as borrowed from a language more suited to cat names. (I vaguely remember some other kittens from my early childhood, whom I picked up, all cirmies; they were there for a few days and then they were gone. I missed them, but I couldnít yet ponderÖ (And then, there were the hedgehogs. But those, I think, do come and go, itís not necessarily about dying).

How I met Death

I was in my late twenties. And I had a woman. And I was very sick. No, correct that: I was dying. Of something or the other. It was turning to evening as I was lying (dying) on the sofa. There were some low noises around; my lady friend came home. Then, there was something on my chest. It was Death, I thought. It was dark now, as it should be. With my dying hands I touched death on my chest. It was a very little death. It had no color, obviously it was black. It didnít move. Then it made a strange sound. Kind of low, sustained, confusing sound. Aha, so this is how it beginsÖ Then death licked my chin. Well, if this is how we die, itís not half as bad. Actually I started to feel a little better. Carefully, I touched death on my chest. It was small, bony, and covered with soft fuzz. The strange noise itís been making now got stronger. It had a resonance to it I canít describe. I was decidedly getting better. I ran my palm gently down on deathís back; I stroke it. It made kneading motions on my chest with its front hands. Then it licked my chin three more times. Death was a kitten. Black as night. It had pink nose and tongue and foot-pads - as it turned out next day. The next day I was healthy. But death has spent the night with me; somehow we worked it out not to be uncomfortable (Well, I did the workingÖ) In the morning I renamed death Misu. He was my cat - or should I say I was his human. He has lived with us with 21 years. (As to refute the main thesis of my essay). The doings of Misu will follow here, little by little.

Most of which are fun. (And heís got a song: Talking Cat. 1981)

Then, the series concerning the main subtitle. (Just as a reminder).

Cirmie #8
Sheís the one in the song Petsí Christmas. 2017

Cirmie #9
She also has a song, Grey Kittenís Garden. 1995
And a longer story.

Weíll follow here.

Cats and Kittens
That came and went. Mostly, went...