Cat Lessons for My Last Nerve

 

Photo by Danny Trujillo

Turning the corner from Clinton onto 32^nd street, I spy two of my neighbors hunkered over Cheeto, the orange Manx tabby. At first, I panic. Is he sick? That cat is ancient, yet he keeps on greeting and meowing every time I walk by.

            When I reach the little group, I try to keep the worry out of my voice, “Is he okay?” I ask. The Scottish Lady, the neighborhood know- it- all, turns to me, “Oh, hello! How are you?”

            “I’m okay.”

            “Aye, when the Pandemic first started, everyone said they were ‘fine’ but now everyone is just Okay.”

            I nod, thinking how actually, I’ve always just been okay—it has nothing to do with the lingering relentlessness of the Pandemic. Or does it? The ongoing constant no end in sight aspect to COVID is wearying. I am tired of it. Tired of not being able to swim. Tired of not being able to see my friends. Tired of not teaching in person. Tired tired tired.

Photo by Laura Chouette

            So, yeah, maybe I am being affected by COVID, but then who isn’t? I just wanted to make sure Cheeto was okay today. So, I shrug and ask again, “Is Cheeto okay?”

            “Isn’t he marvelous?” Scottish Lady exclaims, continuing to ignore my question. “This is Joe. He takes care of Cheeto.”

            “Hi, Joe,” I smile behind my mask. Isn’t it weird that you don’t see people smiling anymore unless they’re on a screen? Another consequence of the pandemic.

            “Hello. I actually don’t take care of him. I just feed him. Another neighbor was kind enough to take him to the vet and he’s doing pretty good for 20 years old. Got some arthritis, but other than that, he’s healthy.”

            “Wow!” I exclaim. “20 years old! That’s amazing!”

            “Isn’t it though,” Scottish Lady nods, enthusiastic. “He is just so present, you know? He lives only in the moment.”

            “Yeah, he always comes to greet me,” I agree.

            “Exactly!” she gushes. 

            “He is the Prince at the Table!” Joe proclaims, bending down to pet Cheeto who’s rolling round in the driveway. Cheeto, obviously, is not sick at all. I don’t know why I thought he was when I first walked up. It was something about the way they were crouched down, surrounding the cat. Or maybe it is just the Pandemic. Everyone and everything is suspect. We could all be sick. Even the cats?

            No, we’ve been over that one already. The cats don’t get it. And we can’t get it from the cats.

            What about the birds? The next day, I’m walking up 36^th street, the late afternoon light filtering through the line of majestic sycamores. It’s the only street in my neighborhood that is ‘tree lined’—I love it.

            I am marching up the hill when I spy an open car door of a big old Buick parked halfway up the block. A tabby cat is standing on its hindlegs, trying to get into the car.  I see one big white old leg in a crappy tennis shoe sticking out of the car door, and then a hand coming down to pet the cat. As I come even with the car, I see an old lady petting the cat. “She wants to go for a ride!” I holler at her across the street.

            “She just wants me out of here. I’ve been sitting her for 15 minutes. Those darn birds!”

            I glance up to where she points, not seeing any birds, but hearing the loud ‘Caw Caw Caw’ of many crows.

Photo by Qurratul Ayin Sadia

            “Yeah, they’re noisy,” I offer.

            “I thought we got rid of them, but now they’re back,” she gripes. “I tell you, they have hit my last nerve!”

            She shakes her head in disgust. The cat has stopped trying to climb in the car with her and is sauntering over to me. I don’t want it to follow me, so I pick up my pace, thinking how one’s last nerve has been hit a lot in the last few months. I know mine has.

            “Have a nice walk!” she calls out to me as I press on.

            “Thanks, I will,” I wave goodbye, wondering what is so offensive about the crows. How could she be so incensed by a few crows cawing? Or is she scared to get out of the car? Will they attack her?

            Who knows. I can’t imagine being so bothered by a group of crows. There are certainly many other things that can hit your last nerve, right?

            I will just be repeating myself if I list them, but what the hell: Covid, Fires, Unrest, Trump!

Photo: Library of Congress

            My last nerve is worn thin, I think, wondering how the cats do it. They don’t seem fazed by anything. I guess that’s what the Scottish Lady meant by Cheeto being so present.

            Wish I could take some Cat Lessons, you know, be more Cat Zen. But alas, I am not a cat. I am an old lady, and yeah, my last nerve is frayed. Yet, I walk on. Cuz what else can I do?

            I reach the top of Clinton Hill. Coco, the spunky white kitten, romps over to me. “Hey, Coco, how’s it going?”

            He pauses for a pet, then a leaf blows next to us and he’s off.

            Yup, Cat Lessons.

            I hear a leaf, blowing cackling up the street. I grin to myself. And follow it…..