Cats on Tuesday: The Adventures of Ragpuff: Episode 4

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Ragpuff had never forgotten his plan to return to his first home. The only place he'd ever known before he had been whisked away from an apartment complex in the trunk of a car, dumped in an isolated gravel pit, miles from the funny talking woman and the man who didn't talk much that he so loved. He soon found a wonderful new companion, a big, burly round man that worked at the gravel pit, and a whole new way of life. But when fall came on and winter was near, Ragpuff's mind filled again with the memories of his safe home, his safe chair behind his safe window. As much as it hurt Ragpuff to leave the sweet round man who'd taken him in, fed him, groomed him, and loved him, he was determined to strike out and search for his first home. He hated to leave his new companion, but he had a plan and desperately wanted to stick to it.

Episode 4: The Stomach or The Heart

I have been following the creek towards the rising sun for three days now. There are good things to eat among the tall grasses and leaf litter of the cottonwood and willow trees that line the little waterway. Although, yellowed and singed with the nightly frost, the blackberry bushes still have some of their leaves and even a few dried berries here and there. There is plenty of cover in the day, and even that black ribbon that carries the roaring cars to and fro all day is still far distant.

When I left my second home and my little round man, who had become my favorite human, I felt sure I was doing the right thing and I felt brave with the excitement of finding my real home. My mind and body is surging with super-sized energy to keep on the move.

The first full day away from the gravel quarry where the round man lived, was exciting. There were all kinds of new things to explore at every turn. Every night I'd find refuge in a tall tree and reformulate my plans, convincing myself that I was on the right path home. To keep from turning back to the round man's little shack, however, I purposely kept a mental image front and center in my mind's eye every minute; my safe home, my safe chair behind my safe window. The weather, too, couldn't be more perfect for striking out on my own than if I had ordered it so.

The morning grasses are always sopping wet with dew so I avoid traveling through the tall grass until after the sun begins its descent towards the other side of the field. The nights are frosty and cold. But I am feeling well from the abundance of mice and vole, and other hapless creatures which fill the little line of trees that I am following.

On this particular new day I was filled with hope. From high atop a leafless cottonwood tree where I had spent the night, I could see wispy streams of white smoke drifting up over a small white house not far across an open field. The grasses around and near the creek were brown and three times higher than me, but just beyond, a couple of hundred steps or so, the ground was covered with a short stubble. Fields that had been cut short, lay golden in the morning rays of sun. When I reached the edge of the cropped field I could see under a misty layer of white fog hovering just mere feet above the empty ground, and there against a darker line of trees, stood the little white house. Even in the dark shadow of the trees, it looked friendly and warm.

With my tongue I took a few swipes at my dirty fur which is quite filled with burs and weeds. Traveling solo like I do, I'm apt to look a bit disheveled. The burly round man kept a broken comb by his big easy chair, and at night after supper I'd sit in his wide lap and he'd comb out the days debris from my roaming in the fields behind his house.

Mesmerized by wisps of white smoke blowing this way and that from a shaft of stone on top of the roof, I studied the little white house for some time; hidden in the tall grass just at the edge of the stubbly field. But I didn't move until the late afternoon shadows stretched out into long blue lines on the open ground. Then one by one the lights came on behind the windows of that little house and an aroma of something meaty and good drifted across the field towards me, beckoning me to move forward. My belly rumbling, saliva dripping from my mouth, I was reduced to a drooling cat.

At this time of year darkness comes early and the night air turns cold quickly after the sun is down, creating frosty puffs of fog from my warm breath as I stealthy and swiftly make my way towards the back porch of the friendly looking, friendly smelling house. From four small windows in the door, warm beams of yellow light spread their warmth upon the cold gray slab of concrete. Before I could catch myself a painful mewl had left my mouth and I found my paw scraping at the wooden door.

I don't know what came over me just then. I was about to dart off into the darkness and hide, but the door opened quickly as if someone had been expecting me. The tall, thin, human figure was silhouetted against a brightly lit kitchen. I couldn't read his face, but I could sense his spirit.Like the round man, kindness radiated from him like the light shining through the windows.

The man slowly knelt before me, holding out his hand for me to sniff. His hands were thin and frail, his skin loosely wrapped around his bones. He cooed to me with that familiar sound humans like to make to cats: "Here, kitty, kitty." Before I knew it I was rubbing my chin all over his hand, salivating for his kindness, his friendship, his good smelling supper cooking on the stove. I was cold and hungry and when the man stood up I trotted shamelessly into his warm kitchen and plunked myself down on the rug.

I admit that was a very foolish thing for me to do. I am only three days on my own again and the very first human dwelling that I come upon I lose all my inhibitions and make myself at home. This could have been a dangerous place, a place filled with dogs or cats. The man could have been a mean person or perhaps had a household of mean children ready to tug at my fur and pull at my limbs. I mean, it really was a foolish thing to do. But somehow I just knew. I knew from the moment I saw the lights come on in the house that there was someone caring and friendly there. Someone who was cooking something very delicious. I realize that my stomach may have had something more to do with my brazenness than my head. Mice and voles and birds are fine—I love 'em, but there was something on the stove of that house that was just too tantalizing to pass up.

It was worth it. I dined with the frail old man at his table, just as I had done with the round man, on chunks of tender beef and vegetables. And after dinner, after he'd cleaned up the kitchen, he invited me into the parlor, to his favorite chair. The chair moved to and fro when he was in it. He patted his lap and up I jumped, just as if I'd been living here all my life. I lolled shamelessly on his lap while he pulled at my burs and picked at the bits of dirt and grass that clung to my fir. Then he pulled a pocket comb from his hip pocket and began to groom me. It felt wonderful. While he ran the comb gently through my dusty fur, he cooed and sang to me, his voice a bit rusty. Perhaps he'd had no one to talk to for a long time. No one to look after. He sure smiled a lot when he talked to me, though. When he'd finally run out of words, and my coat was clean again, we just sat together, quietly gliding back and forth in his chair. The only other noise was the soft ticking from a clock on the mantel over the fireplace that popped, hissed and squealed every now and again as the fire died down.

I don't remember sleeping through the night. But somehow I had been carried off to the bedroom and when I opened my eyes, the early morning light filtering in through faded curtains, I found myself atop a cushy pillow next to the old man's empty one. The pillow was wonderfully soft and plump, I was cozy and happy and never wanted to move from that spot but there was a tantalizing smell of fried bacon coming from the kitchen. My heart sank and I was hooked on the old man.

After a scrumptious feast of eggs and bacon, I even lapped a little at the old man's creamy coffee that he'd poured into a saucer for me, then I went and stood by the back door. It was time to do my business. The man knew all about cats and opened it wide for me. I could have left right then and there, continued on my journey as planned, but when I looked back at the wrinkled old face, his twinkling eyes smiling at me, patiently waiting for me, I couldn't leave. Well, yes, there was the fact that it was colder than ever outside, especially after spending the night in front of a warm fire and sleeping snugly on a plump pillow, so I decided to spend some time with this man. I'll stay awhile, perhaps until the snow melts.

You see, when I trotted off to the edge of the lawn to do my business, tiny snowflakes had started to fall. Well, at least I am three days closer to finding my first home with the funny talking woman and the man who doesn't talk much.