The Astonishing Thing

Chapter 1: A Sweet Life

Let me tell you about my mother.

Mother is soft curves and encouraging coos. She gives careful scratches to my head and is cautious with my whiskers and ears. Mother holds me calmly and never yells. Her hair is long and dark and curly, and I love to chew on strands when I can get close enough.

Mother has many names for me: Sweetie, Cutie, Pretty Girl, Fat Fat, and Lovey. When she calls, "Here, Boo!" I run for her, because that means food.

Mother is my life, my constant companion, my soul mate. But she has not said my name in several days. Mother went out, and I am waiting for her to come back.

I don't have clear memories of the day she picked me out, but I have a recollection of being one among hundreds of cats in dark cages along a very long wall. When Mother lifted me out of my cage, I hung limp in her hands and felt secure as she pressed me gently against her chest. Her scent was instantly pleasing to me, like fresh milk. She was so confident that I was the right one that she passed me around, first to Girl, and then to Boy, who would become my sister and brother. I was a perfect fit, not just for Mother's shoulder but also for this family.

Mother is kind. She feeds me the food I like, on time, morning and night. Mother is home all day, and I sit in her warm lap if she is watching the television. If I choose to lie right in the middle of the kitchen floor, my long, cream-colored fur sticking up with static and my tummy fat spread out over the tiles, she carefully and considerately steps over me.

Best of all, I nestle with her at night, first right by her head for a good purr and then down by her feet. In the morning, I push the comforter aside with my head and extend my claws to gently scratch her hand so she will get up and feed me. And she always gets up. Always!

Of course, we are not alone in this house.

My brother, the oldest child, is tall and lanky. He is friendly to me but sometimes trips over his own feet, so I watch out when he comes running. Brother spends a lot of time at his desk in front of a big machine, pressing buttons and occasionally giving a cheer or cursing his head off. Sometimes I sit and paw at the little things moving on the screen. He always laughs and doesn't seem to mind.

My sister is good with me, and I will sit in her lap if she is reading. She stays in her room a lot, where it is warm and the light is welcoming. She has a poster tacked onto her wall that she touches or kisses when she enters or leaves the room. There are boys on this poster, and she seems to worship them. Sister also taps and talks into a small phone, mostly about things that sound very, very exciting and dramatic.

Sister has a child, a strange fluffy brown creature who is Not a Cat. He sleeps with her, like I sleep with Mother.

Not a Cat will try to get me to chase him, but I have no interest. He chirps and barks, spinning in circles. I just sit and watch, occasionally doling out a scratch with my meaty paw, which sends him running. I am bigger than him, and outweigh him by quite a bit. I am also smarter.

Then there's the man. He has silky hair on his head and face the color of tarnished gold, and he is the biggest of all. When I was a kitten, I thought of him as the Man-Lion. He is not my father, and he does not cuddle or feed me, but he is Mother's mate. He lies down with Mother at night, and I avoid his side of the bed. I know he is strong, because I have seen him lift things. He tromps around, and I hustle to get out of his way. Not that I am afraid of him. I am just smart enough to move when I see a bull charging at me. We have a mutual dislike. But I reluctantly see why Mother likes him; he is handsome in his way, and proud, and speaks with a low tone that commands respect.

Still, I'm not sure why Mother needs him. She is the hunter and feeder of this family.

I have a nice home. This house is in a cold place. Summers are short. During most of the year, when the humans come in from the outside they are surrounded by a cloud of chilly air. Not a Cat comes in with ice and snow caked onto his paws. I know what snow is, even though I am never allowed outside, because the humans track it in and down the hall. I'll bat it with my paw and lick any ice until my tongue turns numb .

I don't mind being kept inside. This house is more than enough for me. And when Man gets the fire going, it is very cozy.

I don't know what Man does most days when he leaves the house, but I have heard the children say that he fights with fire. Occasionally he gets up in the middle of the night when a loud horn is sounding from somewhere outside. He comes back smelling like the fireplace but much stronger, so acrid that it makes my eyes water, and I realize he must have walked through fire. It puzzles me, because I know that fire gets very hot and I cannot sit too close to the fireplace before it starts to feel uncomfortable. I wonder how he can stand it.

The family avoids him until he has washed off the black dust and bitter scent, and they know to stay away if he broods after that. Sometimes he seems sad or exhausted, and he avoids my siblings, finding a seat away from them for a while.

He acts no differently toward me, because to me he is neither kind nor unkind. It is just as if I am invisible, as if I do not exist.

Man calls Mother "Carrie" when he is being serious. Maybe because she carries this family with all of the work she does. He calls her "Care" when he is pleading or he wants something. It seems he always wants something.

She calls him "Tom" or "Tommy." Or "Stupid," when she is mad at him.

Mother has the right touch, and I am her constant companion. She gently caresses the space between my ears and very carefully tickles my nose. At night, things get busy, but she doesn't forget about me. Late at night when my brother and sister are in bed, I have her to myself.

If Mother stops petting me and decides to touch the man, I don't get upset. I sit on the back of the couch above their heads waiting my turn. He likes a scratch behind his ears too, and she'll run her fingers through his hair like she does to my fur. We all must share Mother. I understand.

Sometimes at night when Man gets into bed I have to jump down for a little while, because he moves around too much. But I always return. Sometimes I catch him staring at me, only for a second. I cannot interpret his intentions. I ignore humans that I don't understand. As I said, we don't like each other, but we are stuck with each other.

And now I have lost all happiness, because Mother has gone out and not returned. Days and nights have passed. And yet the rest of the family is here. They are unusually quiet, and only mention Mother's name in whispers.

This has never happened before.