Travelling Cat

It began when I stopped by to visit a friend in her place of work, which was the costume area of the city’s opera house. They don’t like backstage visitors, generally, but I, too,  had worked there for a number of years until I got my law degree, so the guard let me in. I loved visiting, a reminder of a happier time.

“Where did that cat come from?”

Mercedes, my friend, looked over where I pointed. “How odd. It’s not much more than a kitten, is it? I wonder if the cat in the storage area had her kittens yet. But how did it get here?”

“Cat in the storage area? How did that happen?” The storage area must be the big scenery storage area, which was way down in the huge basement.

“They had mice, so the workers sneaked her in. I heard she was pregnant, but didn’t realize it was this soon.”

I was dumbfounded. “But  cats running around backstage? What if one gets onto the stage during a performance?” Actually, I thought it might be fun if one did, but I doubted management, let alone the singers, would agree.

Mercedes sighed. “It’s not supposed to happen. They’re very careful and there are several heavy doors in addition to all sorts of stairs between. And management . . . let alone singers . . . doesn’t know about it.” She pulled out her phone and punched buttons. “Harvey? We have a cat here. How did it get out?”

There was a faint squawking noise over the phone. It sounded indignant.
“Well, it’s here. And when did your cat have kittens.” More squawking noise.

“How did another cat get in? It looks very young. As a matter of fact, it looks just like the one you have, except smaller.” There was a pause, and then she said. “OK, see you.”

She looked very puzzled when she hung up. “He’s coming up to check on it. They thought their cat might be pregnant, but when he saw it today it didn’t look so. But they didn’t see any signs of kittens. He wants to see this one.” This one that I had been keeping my eye on. Now I scooped it up and held it. It certainly wasn’t any newborn. Maybe eight weeks or so. It was awfully cute. And it purred.

Harvey arrived, looked at the kitten, and shook his head. “Spitting image of ours. But no way it could have been born and gotten this big without our knowing. Don’t know what to say.”

I piped up, “Could you have someone around here who brought in a second feline? How did the first one get here.”

“From the Humane Society,” said Harvey. “Where else?” He shook his head again. “Looks just like ours. But can’t be. We don’t need another cat.” He looked around at all the racks of costumes. “Maybe you could use a mouser?”

Mercedes snorted. “Not us. And we’re not in a basement with a lot of openings for pipes that let mice and things get in.”

The kitten was so very cute. And I’d thought of getting a cat.  I heard myself say, “I’ll take it, if no one else wants it.” They both looked relieved, and I knew I’d acquired a cat. Cossie, we named it, for costumes.

So they found a box and helped me sneak it past the guard at the backstage door, and I took it home. Left it there a few minutes while I ran out to the nearest store where they would have the necessary equipment—cat food, toys, litter pan, kitty litter and so forth. I was a little worried about how mannerly the young cat might be, but it obviously knew what a the litter pan was for and didn’t complain about the food.

I did still wonder exactly where the cat had come from. Harvey said he’d check and see if there was any evidence of more kittens, but he seemed very puzzled. Mercedes was still quite disturbed about how the kitten had arrived in her bailiwick. But I concentrated on getting acquainted with my new roommate.

We got along fine, mostly. Had a few discussions about not wanting to get up in the middle of the night to play, and so forth. But on the whole, things went well. I did worry about leaving it alone for the long hours I needed to work, but acquired lots of toys for it, and Cossie seemed happy, running to greet me when I came home. A few times, I asked a kindly neighbor to stop by, check Cossie’s food and play with her a bit.

Then there came the startling day when I’d taken my lunch sandwich outdoors, to eat in the little park by my office. I desperately wanted to clear my head after a complicated meeting and this seemed the best way. I was munching away, staring enviously at the pigeons who had nothing to worry them, when they suddenly seemed perturbed. I looked around and was startled to see a cat that looked exactly like Cossie. I stared, and the cat looked at me, gave a soft meow, and ran under the bench. When I peered under it, there was no cat. And no place it could have run to. I looked very thoroughly until I had to get back to work. When I reached home that night, I verified that this cat was the exact image of Cossie. I also thought she seemed a bit more cautious around me than usual.

I, of course, assumed it was a strange cat, perhaps a relative, of a strain of solid grey cats with slightly longer fur than short-hairs usually have.  Next time I got a chance to take a sandwich outside for lunch in the beautiful fall weather I looked around for it, and then went back to my book. When I looked up, there was the cat, stalking a pigeon that was eying it belligerently. “Hey, stop that, stupid,” I yelled, more worried about the small cat than the hefty pigeon. The cat looked at me, gave a merouw exactly like Cossie’s, and disappeared!  I sat with my mouth opened  until I realized I had to get back to my job. Not that I wanted to.
As usual, I had to stay late, and it did occur to me that Cossie might have long, lonely days. But that didn’t explain how she got out. Well, the big issue was how she got to the park, and how she managed to disappear like that.

She seemed perfectly normal when I reached home, no disappearing acts, eager to be fed and petted. I tried asking her what was going on, but of course she didn’t answer.

Next day, I took a few minutes and called Mercedes. I didn’t want to tell her what happened, so I just told her what a wonderful cat Cossie was, and asked about the mother cat. Was there anything unusual about her? Mercedes thought that was a peculiar question (so did I) and didn’t know what to say. I fumblingly asked if the stagehands always knew where she was in the storage area, and Mercedes hooted. “You know what a huge, crowded area it is. Of course they don’t know. Cats always find corners to get into, but she comes out for food. And she doesn’t get out. They’re very careful about the doors. Especially now. What are you getting at?”
Frankly, I doubted that she never got out—there was a huge elevator and all kinds of other equipment for shifting the scenery around. But I did think maybe she’d never gotten into the upper levels of the enormous backstage area. And if anyone had seen her anywhere near the stage, there would have been a horrendous uproar.

 
I hung up and looked at Cossie. “Was that really you? And if so, how did you disappear like that?” She just sat and calmly washed her paw. I thought and thought and then went and got a bottle of yellow food coloring, putting a tiny dab on the back of her neck where I thought maybe she couldn’t reach to wash it off. She seemed to ignore it.

Next day I cancelled out of an unimportant business lunch and went to the park again. And Cossie appeared, yellow dot and all. I wasn’t exactly happy about it, but I did give her a bit of the turkey from my sandwich and, more important, watched very carefully after she finished. She did, in fact, disappear. This time, I saw a little dark haze that showed up first. She’d sat for a moment, staring intently at a spot, and then I saw it, and she quick darted into it. Well! I was mystified. I was also thinking things about what a neat way to travel that was. Much better than regular commuting. What interesting places might one go to. My life suddenly seemed drab, even dismal.

That evening, I arrived home earlier than usual, and Cossie wasn’t there. I panicked and called, looking all around.  I was just setting out to look for her in the park and anywhere else I could think of when I saw a little dark mist appear in the middle of the room. I leaped over to it and of all stupid things, reached into it. What I thought I was doing I cannot say, but all that happened was I grabbed hold of a startled cat and pulled it into the room. Cossie spat at me for my rudeness and I stared at her, aghast. She stalked over and made an angry sound when she found no dinner in her dish. Since I couldn’t think of anything more sensible to do just then, I fed her. And thought.

My hand, inside the dark mist, had felt a little strange but, on the hold, normal. I wondered if the rest of me could follow. This was last night. I sat up for hours, thinking. Wondering. It’s morning now. I should be getting ready for work, even though it’s a weekend. That’s such a disagreeable idea.  So maybe I’ll wait and see if the dark mist appears. And if Cossie heads into it. And, if I grab her, can I follow her? As she inters it, the mist expands to cover her upright tail. If I’m holding on to her, will it cover me?

Here goes . . .