Writing of a best friend ought to be a delight. But when that friend departs unexpectedly, well, even if the story is 99% uproarious fun, knowing what lies ahead makes it a struggle. The writer, unfortunately, is aware of the conclusion long before picking up the pen. Still, any story of great love needs to be told, though the writer's heart may be on the verge of bursting.
Then there's the problem of where should such a tale be published. In a way, this could easily have been filed in the previous section, Beneath the Gemmèd Azure, since it too is a love story. Moreover, there are all sorts of other uncanny similarities. But in the end, I decided to keep this separate, in another category.
This is the story of Frankie, the neighbors' cat who adopted me some four years ago. Our first meeting one hot summer day wasn't particularly auspicious. I had seen her before, here and there in fleeting moments, but we never paid much attention to each other.
But on this day, for whatever reason, she decided to follow me around as I unloaded groceries from the car to the house. After grabbing the last bag, just as I was about to close up the car, she jumped into the driver's seat.
So with some urging of the sort I thought a cat might respond to, I attempted to lure her out. No luck. As I approached her in the front, she hopped into the back seat. Then trying to corral her there, she leapt to the back cargo area. I should mention, since we didn't know each other, I was uncertain if she was friendly, or a slash-and-gnash type of cat, so didn't want to get too close.
All my pleadings fell on deaf ears, as she pounced from seat to seat, staying one step ahead of me. So as I say, now she was in the rearmost cargo area, and what does she do next?
Bonk! Apparently not understanding the concept of glass, Frankie took a major leap, as though she would exit the car completely, only to smack into the rear window. This convinced her to leave, though, and she did look a trifle addled!
Well, that's how we met. Almost immediately after that in the next several days she began to come over for visits to my backyard. It took me a good half-year to determine she wasn't going bite or swat me, and so the various pats and rubs were done quite gingerly in those days.
I should mention that in some ways, Frankie was always just a trifle stand-offish. She clearly desired physical affection, but still never wanted to play all her cards at once. So, it was with great surprise one day when she leapt into my lap. Here are some pics of the actual occurrence. The camera was fixed to a tripod, and I'm concealing a wireless shutter release in my left hand.
This was the actual start of our great romance some four summers ago. From then on, she was always to be found--every day--hanging around my backyard sitting area. The carpeted stoop became her very own sleeping pallet.
Frankie was an exceedingly patient feline, for I've always been notorious in my exotic sleeping habits: staying up all night, then waking in the afternoon bleary-eyed. Nonetheless, I could always rely on her to be awaiting me when I finally did wake up.
Every date we had consisted of an inordinate amount of rubbing. Frankie loved to rub against my calves whether I was seated or standing, and would also rub against any nearby inanimate object as well, such as chairs, tables, my Android tablet, flower pots, you name it. And she was also fond of a weird sort of dental flossing in which she'd smoosh her teeth again the corner of the park bench on my patio.
For this reason, our conversations almost always began with me saying "Rub, rub, rub, rub!" And she always responded to my call of "Kit-cat, kit-cat!" As we got to know each other better, our chats became longer and longer, and even crossed languages from time to time. Since I was just beginning to study Latin in those days, while petting Frankie I would purr, "Puella parva mea es." (You are my little girl), and then "Tu feles pulchra es." (You are a beautiful cat.)
And speaking of appearances, Frankie really was one gorgeous feline, with an intriguing mixed DNA: sort of a cross between a calico and a tiger, with the most stunningly beautiful white fur. And the jewel-like green eyes were captivating. That was all some weird synchronicity, for in this same era a human version was playing out in my life, too.
Actually, it took at least a year before Frankie could bring herself to look me in the eyes. Whenever I would turn in her direction, she'd avert her gaze. It always sort of seemed to me that something from her past had left an imprint on her. According to her owners, early in her life she went missing for six months; hard telling what kind of experiences she accrued then.
After a couple years of dating on the back patio, she finally decided to visit me inside. Typically she'd arrive around 3:00 a.m., and join me while I carried out my Latin studies. Oh, those were such peaceful nights together!
Her first time inside, she tried to test the limits by leaping onto the dining room table. I raised my voice and sternly said "No!" She immediately jumped off and ran to me with a meow which instantly came across as "I'm sorry!"
And from then on, for her final three years here, Frankie was always perfectly well-behaved in the house.
I always worried for or about her, especially after an attack in the backyard. One day as I was taking the trash out, I came across a huge pile of fluff and fur. At first I thought that one of the neighbor cats had decimated a bird, leaving nothing but the down.
But with horror, I noted that weird mix of pure white and tiger tufts. And then my heart sank completely, and I felt sick to my stomach. For there was Frankie's little collar with the ID tag proclaiming its ownership. Running to the neighbors, they were in fact aware of the circumstances and had just returned from the vet. Frankie had taken a major attack to the neck, but somehow had escaped and survived.
From then on I worried, and also lectured her endlessly on the dangers of fighting in the backyard. I wanted to love Frankie forever, don't you know.
I used to tell her, "You're just a little girl in a really big world." I mean, I'm 6' 4" tall, and standing next to her, while she rubbed against my calves, made me realize just what a giant I must have seemed to her. So, thinking it might make her more comfortable, I took to lying on the living room carpet, just so I'd be the same height as her. Well, dumb idea! For whatever reason, Frankie always hated that and became very standoffish. But once I was back on the sofa or standing up, she was normal again. I never figured it out, but she really did seem to prefer being just a little girl in a world of giants.
Another fright: last summer one night, she showed up around 2:00 a.m. The minute I opened the front door for her, I could tell something was wrong. She was far more lethargic than usual, didn't want to rub anything, and said nothing. (Normally the first ten minutes of every date included lots of speaking). Instead, she headed straight to her little pallet (the foot rest for the sofa) and lay down.
I moved in closer and gently asked what was the matter. Frankie looked me straight in eyes and mouthed the word "meow," but with no sound coming out. She then proceeded to fall asleep and slept straight through for three hours, never awakening and paying no attention to me as I moved about the house. Very unusual that, for she always followed me when I went to another room.
But at daybreak, she finally roused herself and was completely back to normal. I always assumed that she had gotten into something she shouldn't have, or worse that some evil person had tossed out tainted treats. Like I say, I always worried for Frankie.
But even in good times, winters were always the toughest, for she really wasn't much of a Minnesotan and stayed inside her own family's house for those five or six months. Damn, how I would count off the days to spring.
And when it came and Frankie and I got together for another warm season, let me tell you, it was one incredible homecoming. Lots of meowing and rubbing, just as if there had been no hiatus at all.
That brings us up to the present. Another spring and summer to enjoy each other's company. More tom-foolery chasing my shoelaces (one of Frankie's favorite games). And lots of rubbing and conversation, in feline, English and Latin. And late night/early morning dates.
But now no more, after Frankie was struck by a car, on the Summer Solstice of 2020. I miss her no end, my throat still knots up, and I expect to hear her at the door any moment now. Perhaps I will. For in so many ways, Frankie was no ordinary cat; she was my familiar. I have wept more for this crazy little kit-cat than anyone else who has ever passed through my life, recalling to mind Charles Dickens' wise aphorism:
"Heaven knows, we need never be ashamed of our tears for they are rain upon blinding dust of earth overlying our hard hearts."Damn, I hate good-byes. Still, my life has been so enriched thanks to Ron and Jill generously sharing their furry friend with me. I'm truly grateful to them.
So good-bye, Frankie, puella parva. Thanks for taking up with this old eccentric. Wherever you are, may you find something delightful to rub against, and another shoelace to pounce upon.
