Alone In All Places Alike

“Shall I never again ride over golden hills upon the back of first servant?” the woman whispered into the stillness, her mind whirling around memories of sailboats and father’s faces, cats gone by, dogs, trees, horses, hugs and laughter.

Generations had passed since the milk pots had gone “Pfssst!” and cracked in half, remembering the words that the woman had said to the cat in their bargain; and a horsehide hanging down at the mouth of the cave had fallen in a heap in the dust, “Whooosh!”

Men and women have kept the same deal for all time. The details of their arrangements have undergone drastic changes, yet the basic characters and their motivations are consistent throughout history. Interaction with children has taken on new dimensions. Progeny are not necessary contributors to the household but a source of pride, a glimpse of hope for the future.

When the ancestral woman cut armloads of the wonderful grass the future woman could picture it from a distant world, sensing something very natural about giving the horse fragrant hay. He shuffled, delighted, “Huh-huh, huh,” chuckling with velvet nibbly lips; exactly as he does to this day.

Well, the woman hasn't changed much from that day to this and truthfully, neither has the man or the dog -- and everyone else is the same -- including the cat. And so, Best Beloved, we find the woman eternally entertaining the cat who walks by himself to whom all places are alike.

* * *

The original woman developed a bond with the cat out of mutual respect. She spoke aloud, even, though she never would if the man was near. Incidentally, the fact that the cat was a much better conversationalist than the man was immediately obvious.

“Oh Cat, I am so glad you and I decided to work together. You are just absolutely the cleverest.”

The cats gaze was audible, Oh, my companion, wife of my enemy, and mother of my favorite small person, we have spent many pleasant times next to the fire and out in the sunshine.

In ancient times the woman marveled that she would take the time from her day of survival to bother with something as trivial as stroking soft fur, or get such entertainment from anything as she did from the cat’s acrobatic antics. The cat had taught her to laugh!

The cat closed his eyes slowly in assent, thinking aloud, and I never imagined I would allow another creature to touch my fur or watch, let alone make that noise with their hands, when I do my tricks, but it seems over time we have grown somewhat tolerant, if not actually fond of each other.

That was an understatement. “I can't even begin to pretend that you are not my favorite among all the animals from the wet wild woods.

“I mean, I appreciate the companionship and protection, the transportation, the good food, and yet, between us there seems to be a kindred spirit.”

There was a quiet time. Just sitting, breathing deeply.

Eventually, a thought occurred to her as she sat allowing her mind to rest. She took it as a message from the cat.

While everyplace is not alike to you because you are so ridiculously high maintenance, you are quite clever in your own right and, whereas Wild Dog has been called (hairball sound) “First Friend” all these years, I am ready to be given a name by which you may call me and, in return, I will trust you to answer when I call you.

Her eyes opened wide.

“Well! I don't know what to say! I am speechless!”

BRRRRoow?

“What an honor!” she exclaimed, “I only hope I can choose something that will do you justice.”

Well, you've known me long enough, but why not consult the blade bone? Unable to resist sarcasm? As always -- cats!

“You know that darned blade bone was more trouble than it was worth!” Her whole being clouded over. Her eyes bulged out; they overflowed!

With uncharacteristic apology the cat replied, “I know, settle down.”

“Well that was destroyed and good riddance! Whatever I wished fir I got, but in some convoluted form. Finally, I got wise and wished not to wish anymore.”

They recalled so many occasions when she “got what she wanted, but…”

 ”I shall call you Shadow,” she announced as the cat circled on the corner of the rug, settling down next to the baby.

* * *

Babies now play with cell phones instead of pebbles (turns out, pebbles is not a good baby toy -- the jury's out on phones) but still the cat is there, walking by itself wherever he pleases, whenever he wants, leading the way to adventure and discovery. Just keeping an eye out, curious thing.

At that moment, Best Beloved, the wind howled through the door which had been hewn of heavy wood and fit into a house (an upgrade of the hide in the mouth of the cave) -- and the cat who walked by himself and the woman looked at each other and remembered. Generations later, women still relax to the purring of a cat after a long day. Yes, the modern women have gotten what they wanted, just so -- yet, usually not exactly the way they wanted it.

* * *

The man was asleep but the woman was restless and sat up late with the cat remembering the words that had been spoken.

“What have you made for dinner?” he had asked, innocently enough, as he did every night when she walked through the door after working eight hours.

Tonight, Best Beloved, her reply was different.

“You and I both work equally hard all day. Why must I then serve you? Why don't you help me and it will be done with half the time and effort? And we can be together, during and after.”

“What a strange look he gave me,” she confided to the cat.

Perhaps it is time for a change.

“Perhaps so … Hmmm… Where do I want to go?”

Not that I have anything against going wherever you want, but why not have him go this time and we can just enjoy being here in peace. He can take the stupid dog. Maybe go hunting or something.

“Good idea. I could finish my book.”

The cat rolled their eyes. They had developed a pronoun preference.

Let's stay home. All places are alike, why leave here? Relax.

Next morning the man wakes up and performs his morning routine, carried on from cave days until now. All men, proper and otherwise, yawn, cough, blink, stretch, fart, scratch and shuffle out to the kitchen expecting something. And that's where the story takes a twist! Lo and behold, he stops in his tracks. There is a note taped to the coffee maker that says, “Gone for the day!”

The man scratches his head, confused, yawns, stretches and farts, shrugs, gets dressed, hoists himself into his gigantic truck, heads for breakfast Mac and coffee, then goes to work. While he looks down at the machine he operates throughout every day, on this day the woman looks at the sky and makes a thinking magic. Only one note of a long musical chord of thoughts, connecting this moment to all those so long ago -- the original idea, which set in motion the vibrational pattern weaving the lives of generations of women into eternity.

Things have not changed that much from that day to this, Best Beloved. There are many more men, not all proper, in fact, most are dreadfully improper much of the time; and many more women with various degrees of properness who had learned to adapt, often with the assistance of a feline comrade. Now, the bargain is implicit and men can like it or lump it. Women and cats are friends and that's that. Women will also walk by themselves in all places alike.

When the man came home from work the dog rushed in, making the turn on the tile floor at top speed -- tail, legs, nose and ears, flying in all directions. The cat and the woman exchanged glances. Do cats roll their eyes?

“Foolish dog,” thought the cat. “You would think he would learn to walk on that part of the hallway.”

Do cats laugh? Yes, Best Beloved, they most certainly do. They have a marvelous, dry sense of humor, immensely droll.

“There’s my boy! Who’s a boy? Come on buddy,” the usual knee slapping banter and out goes the dog.

The cat meanders up to the little girl's room. Though he (ahem, “they,” if you please) purred louder and louder there was a commotion downstairs they couldn't resist investigating. politely taking their leave of the little ones they strolled out where they could see and hear everything but no one thought a thing about whether they were there listening.

“I never see you do anything around here,” he explained boisterously. “I just see you lying there.”

“I am daydreaming, thinking,” she explained, but it sounded snappy and angry. Then she thought, “If you want to see me do something, you shall. We shall both see what happens next.” With Superwoman strength she shut her lips tight and hummed one magical note in her mind while he kept talking. She caught his final words as he turned his back to her.

“Why don't you cook something?” He complained loudly.

As he raised his voice, the cat raced through his legs, tripping him, passing the woman through the doorway, echoes of ancient boots and hatchets ricocheting off the door and she slams the door behind them.

Next night when the man came home he found everything tidy. The heater pulsed warmth and comfort from the wall and something that reminded him of wild fenugreek and wild granadillas (whatever that is) was simmering on the stove, ready to eat. The note said, “Help yourself.”

As the last traces of magenta neon gave way to stars, her eyes closed. The only sound was the purr of the cat. Her hands were unusually motionless as she listened to the stillness, slowing her breathing. It was surprisingly loud (the stillness). She longed for a change but was constantly brought back to the truth. There was little she could do to alter anything in this moment.

With intention she vigilantly watched herself for unseemly behavior. Her resolution not to automatically give into impulses, or at least to think, to notice them, gave her pause. Awareness increased her power. Gratitude surged in. Stroking the smooth fur, she reflected. The only change she could effect was within. What was “without” could be worse – as she was frequently generously reminded. Therefore, she put her situation with the man on the back burner, attending to her own considerable talents and how they might help her. And the purring -- very soothing, grounding.

Yes, quiet concentration is good. Life is good. Her hands were still. Her greeting rhythmic. Her soul one pure, bright tone of joy. She was alone. Mistress of her fate! Accountable for her good decisions, ideas and behaviors.

Then he crept into her consciousness. She did not want to see or hear from him just now. Even though she didn't have to, she remembered things he had said and done and instantly it made her react physically, almost as if it were happening again. Lo and behold, it was only in her mind. In fact, it was not happening right now! Now, that thought could only prevent her growth, if she clung to it. So she let it go.

It grew so still that the cat stopped purring and wondered if she was asleep. Then, they felt her energy and spoke into her meditation, “Is that wee idea part of your magic?”

Startled, she replied to the silence, “Oh yes, it is.”

“Then we will do all we can to keep it alive.”

So the cat calmly observes and listens as the woman follows her internal guides, developing her power to work through difficulties instead of avoiding, ignoring or denying them. Strong, honest effort, same as ever, but with a clearer vision of her reward.

That is how the woman changes things. With that tiny idea -- that past pain could not prevent her present success -- one woman wrote this story. She worked to prove she was not dependent on a man or a cat or anyone. Still, she does not really like being completely alone and the cat knows that, and they love her.

And so from that day to this, Best Beloved, when women are imagining their lives differently, the cat confidently illustrates the wisdom of walking alone in all places alike.

(Katherine Jones lives in Boonville)