In honor of International Cat Day. This little cat tale first appeared in CONTRARY CATS, an anthology of feline stories, as well as my own SPOOKY AND KOOKY TALES, available on Amazon in a Kindle edition.
Chopin for Igor
Carla Sarett
The Cat People might
well have become, had the times been different, the premiere online community
for all things feline. At its launch
party, the brash young CEO, Lily Gold, handed out sparkly pink cat t-shirts— but
those souvenirs were all that remained of the company a year later.
As it happened, I was
wearing my Cat People t-shirt when I saw Lily years ago in a coffee bar
downtown. It was late on a pearly-gray
afternoon, when the days become short and sad.
When she waved, I admit that I hesitated to join her. I sensed how raw her defeat was, and her brand
of ambition was foreign to me. Besides,
the only cat I had owned had been strangled by the rough boys next door, its
neck cruelly broken, and its runt-like body abandoned in the street. After that, I had never wanted another pet.
I knew nothing about
Lily Gold. For lack of anything better
to say, I said, “You must miss working with cats. You seemed like such a cat person.”
She did not smile. “No, I was never a true cat person—not like
my sister, not at all.” And that was
when I heard the story of Lily’s younger sister, Rose.
##
Rose Gold rented a
house in a small town called Narberth, about ten minutes or so outside of
Philadelphia. Her house was no larger than an apartment—it was delicate in
structure, with a tiny flower garden and a white picket fence. It sat slightly behind a far grander house and,
in an earlier century, had probably served as servants' quarters, but now was
rented out to young singles like Rose. In the large house lived her landlords,
Herb and Sally Taylor, who owned an antique store nearby. All in all, it was an ideal situation. Rose
was a quiet tenant, the rent was fairly reasonable and the Taylors were
responsible landlords. Rose and the
Taylors saw little of one another.
A few months after Rose
had moved in, a dog-sized gray tabby showed up at her doorstep. She immediately recognized it as one of the
Taylors' cats—they had a few. Even so,
she allowed the cat to enter, taking great pains not to touch it. The huge animal moved slowly through every
room of the house, with complete freedom. Then Rose prepared a plate of left-overs
and watched as the cat nibbled a portion, as though extending her a courtesy.
Over the next weeks,
the cat visited Rose at its pleasure – and Rose looked forward to its
appearance. She stocked her cabinets
with gourmet cat food, just in case. Sometimes the cat climbed on her sofa
while she read and permitted her to stroke its warm soft fur. And one day, the enormous cat jumped in her
lap and purred. It rested with her for
hours until Rose fell asleep. Rose felt divinely happy.
The next day, Rose found
it impossible to concentrate on her work.
Her thoughts were only of the cat and whether it would return that night.
To her joy and amazement, the cat was waiting at her doorstep. The cat meowed
and brushed against her as she walked through the door. Rose knew that the
cat had decided in her favor.
"It’s strange, but
understand, it wasn’t my decision," she let Sally Taylor know. "I’d never just steal your cat, or any
cat. This just sort of happened."
Sally Taylor was
gracious if somewhat chilly. “What can you do? We have two other cats, they’re Siamese, and
they’re both so sweet and loving, they’re wonderful.” Her tone implied that this other cat was not
as sweet, and, it went without saying, not as loving. In any event, Sally
insisted, “we cherish all of our cats.”
“Of course, I can
return him right now,” Rose said quickly.
“No, I have to respect
his decision. If you ever get tired of
him, we’ll gladly take him back, no questions asked,” Sally said.
Rose almost hugged
Sally. “I’ll never get tired of him, don’t worry,” she promised.
“I’m not worried,” said
Sally. “But cats have a mind of their
own, don’t they?”
Rose named her cat,
Igor, after her favorite composer, Igor Stravinsky. She filled her house
with catnip and toys and all manner of gourmet delicacies. She sliced
tiny pieces of melon for Igor’s dessert and watched him eat, slice by slice.
She learned the music
that made Igor purr—not Stravinsky, but Chopin, especially the Ballades. Tears streamed down Rose's face as she heard
Chopin’s chords and Igor's soft purrs.
If someone visited Rose
– a rare event, to be sure --Igor hid in a large desk drawer, curled in a ball.
As Rose entertained, she pictured Igor, waiting for her, soft and warm.
The moment she was alone, Rose opened the drawer, picked Igor up and
clasped him to her as tightly as she could. When she slept, Igor lay
beside her, “not too close, just close enough.” Rose's family became
accustomed to hearing stories about Igor.
Their life together
went on this way, for about two years, when Rose met Alexei Cohen—an IT
consultant brought into her research department at work. Rose’s family was relieved—Alexei had a
natural charm and confidence, an ease with people, so Rose’s solitary ways did
not matter to him. As for Alexei, he had no doubts about dark-eyed
Rose. Within months, he asked Rose to
marry him and she accepted.
"I’m a cat
person," Rose told him. “My cat found me, I didn’t find him.”
“Cats always find
people,” said Alexei. He had his own cat
story -- his family's cat had jumped from a speeding car, on a highway, and
had, miraculously, found Alexei days later at his college dorm.
“That’s the thing, you can
never forget a cat,” he said.
When Alexei stayed with
Rose, Igor concealed himself in the desk drawer and only emerged when the
stranger left. “I’m worried, Igor’s so
sensitive. But maybe when two people
love him, he’ll feel more secure,” Rose told her sister.
For the wedding, Rose
wore her mother's white lace wedding dress, which touched many of her friends
and family. The honeymoon in Tuscany was perfect, or almost. Rose could
not hide her fears about Igor. More than a few times, she called the
cat-sitter to check on Igor. She explained, “It’s complicated. I’m not his original owner. I never can be absolutely sure.”
Alexei paid little
attention. Everything about Tuscany and
dark-eyed Rose pleased him.
Afterwards, they moved
into their new house-- a large rambling house, fit for children, and not far
from where Rose had lived in Narberth. It was one of old stone houses on
the Main Line, with a graceful circular driveway and rhododendron bushes lining
the walkways.
“Yes, it’s
extravagant,” Alexei conceded. “But I’m
in no mood to economize, not now, not with everything ahead of us.”
Rose carefully planned
for Igor’s adjustment to his new setting. She laid down many strict rules:
Igor could never be touched without first obtaining permission; Alexei must
never play music that Igor might not like; Igor needed time alone with Rose;
and Igor must be allowed to sleep with the two of them.
The restrictions
did not faze Alexei. After all, if Rose
doted on her cat, what of it? He laughed, "I'd hate to think if you
had to choose between Igor and me!"
Alexei himself loved
Chopin and would play the piano for Rose and Igor, as Igor rested on Rose’s
lap. Alexei respected Rose’s rules—and he left them, undisturbed.
But soon Igor sickened.
He ignored the pet delicacies that Rose prepared and lost weight. He
became a mere shadow of himself, not the enormous cat he had been, but a thin
and sad looking creature. He slept in the closet. He stopped meowing
“We need to take him to
a vet, there’s one in town,” Alexei said.
“No, I heard he puts
animals to sleep, and their owners don’t even know about it” Rose said,
terrified.
"Nonsense,"
answered Alexei, "How would he stay in business if he were killing
cats?"
Instead, Rose found a
holistic animal practice out in Buck's County, over an hour away, who offered
daily treatments. Her trips to Buck’s County consumed Rose’s entire day –
she had to give up her job. Following instructions, Rose administered
Igor's treatment one drop at a time, with a tiny eye-dropper. She purified the
house, discarding any toxic material that might contaminate Igor’s fragile
system, which was smaller than a human’s.
Igor remained sick and unresponsive.
Alexei’s work took him
to other cities—like many consultants, his work schedule was beyond his
control. When he called Rose from airports or hotels, he heard only about
Igor. Alexei was patient, but in truth,
he knew that Igor was simply an ordinary cat-- and he knew that cats die,
especially when they are denied normal medicine. But there was nothing
unkind about Alexei Cohen. At airport gift shops, he searched for little
cat gifts and souvenirs for Igor.
Rose visited a
spiritual counselor for animals who was famed throughout the area for saving
lost causes. “It’s his past life that’s killing Igor. He once lived with a family who beat him.
He’s signaling his past life,” the counselor said. “You need to assure Igor that the present and
the past are not the same.”
Every night, Rose
whispered to Igor, we love you--no one’s ever going to hurt you again.
“He’s traumatized,” she told Alexei.
“It’s natural that he’s so weak.
He needs our help.”
Alexei said nothing.
For weeks, Rose sat
alone with Igor. She never turned on a
single light. Alexei left silently in the morning and removed his shoes
when he returned home, in order to avoid any unnecessary sound. But he
still played Chopin for Rose and Igor.
Sometimes, the two of them fell asleep together.
And then Igor
vanished. Rose searched everywhere – her
desk drawer, the garden, the attic, everywhere, but he was gone. Igor had been allowed to roam outside, but he
had never failed to come home.
“Cats always come
back,” said Alexei, as he stroked Rose’s hair.
“He’ll get hungry, and he’ll come back.”
Alexei posted signs
around the neighborhood, "Lost Gray Tabby"-- on telephone poles, at
the local supermarkets, anywhere that signs could be hung. Many kind
people called about stray cats, but none of the reports fit Igor’s
description.
“Yes, Igor showed up
for a day, but then he left,” Sally Taylor said when Rose called her. "You never know with cats, do
you?"
Each long day of
cat-hunting became the same as the long day before. Rose woke before
dawn. She drove around Buck's County and around the neighborhood of her
spiritual counselor. She walked through every park and past every
house. At home, she stayed on high alert for the merest hint of footsteps
or meows or a faint scratching at the door.
All of this made no
difference to Alexei’s feelings about Rose.
She was what he wanted.
One night, when Alexei
was out of town, Rose awoke and heard a meowing in the distance. She must
have suspected or hoped that it was Igor—and she walked down the narrow road to
find him. It was pitch black and the road had no sidewalks. Rose was
invisible in the darkness—her back faced the cars. The driver who hit her had no idea she was
there, according to the police report. She was dead by the time Alexei's
plane hit the ground.
Alexei Cohen delivered
his wife’s eulogy. He spoke of all that he loved about Rose, of the
impossibility of her early death and the hollowness that stretched ahead. “But,” he warned, “The future is there,
whether we want it or not. We will do
the best we can.”
About a month after
Rose’s burial, Alexei opened the door and discovered Igor, sitting very
still. He held the door open – Igor brushed against his legs and meowed
until Alexei picked him up. Alexei sat down at the grand piano and played
Chopin for Igor.
"He's a cat
person, now," Lily Gold told me.
--
You can buy SPOOKY AND KOOKY TALES here
