At the Center with Brumous Siam

The Tangled Tango: Part 4

2010-04-12T07:52:00.005-04:00

Even a cat who has walked the Earth since the time of Pharaoh Siamun can learn too much, as I did four weeks ago. Since then, I've entered Josie's office every Sunday night to write my journal. And every night, I've been unable to tap words into meaning. All I could do was sit on her computer in the darkness, licking my psychic wounds. I was alone in my thoughts, but I could not walk alone in the world, not with the minions of Lususnaturae free. It has now been a month and the Cat's Cradle crew and I have traveled far. Perhaps even far enough for me to look back and start writing clearly again.

In my last entry, Uthopia had just run out of the Dancing with Karen studio and Boris had stopped my pursuit, reminding me that Hyaline was our quarry.

"Hyaline is not here, Boris," I answered dully.

His distinguished gray face was expectant, but I could not tell him more. I had finally read all the scent data processed by my Sherlock organ and the conclusion was gutting all comprehension.

When I first walked into the Dancing with Karen studio, the surprise and pleasure of seeing Uthopia had stunned my suspicious nature. I had been suffused with the Proustian scent of her, and inappropriately comforted by the absence of other toms. I'd read what I wanted to read of her perfumed biography, and stored the rest for the day-after-never.

But the day-after-never arrived when she darted out that door, Hyaline artfully woven into the fur of her left hind leg. I hadn't so much recognized Hyaline as identified the dissonance in the silky fur that I knew so well. I was no longer able to protect Uthopia from my suspicious nature; scores of suppressed questions rushed to reopen the Sherlock organ.

At first, I relived Uthopia's bright and genuine happiness at seeing me. I could have stayed there forever, but suspicion clawed me down to the shadowy engine underneath her pleasure. In Buenos Aires I hadn't just left her with a broken heart, I'd left her humiliated. She had come here for revenge, and when she saw me, she knew it was at hand. Encouraged by success, suspicion pressed my face into the sharp, odorous ire of a molly scorned, and it took my breath away.

"Brumous, where is Hyaline?" Boris asked, his eyes narrow and suspicion brushing his whiskers forward.

"Take Sheena home," I gasped, "Get Brie and Casseopeia. Now."

"And return here?"

"Yes - but just the three of you."

As Boris loped out the door with Sheena, she gave me a soft look. It was that twelfth sense of mollys: she didn't know what she knew, but she knew. I scanned the cat H.A.T.S. clowder as they diligently continued their search, despite the growing suspicion that Hyaline was not in the room. Confirmation would have to wait. The next step could not be taken until Sheena was safely home. Even as that decision returns to life on this page, I get a whiff of the madness that compelled it.

© Silver Cat Works

The Tangled Tango: Part 3

2010-03-14T12:09:00.016-04:00

At Sheena's scream, the entire feline tango class dropped into a battery of defensive postures. Fur of every stripe exploded into full-body Mohawks while tanguero hats tilted over dangerously blazing eyes. Some of the younger toms hissed in tense accompaniment to the faint breathing of Piazzolla's bandoneón solo.

As Sheena and I stared down Main Street, the last nanoglimmer of the Hyal twin twisted out of sight. The shape-shifting Selofainian had eluded us.

"I didn't see Hyaline, Brumous," Sheena whispered giving me a sidelong glance, "and they are always together. That means she's still here."

We heard a sharp spitting tussle and Boris shouldered casually between us, shrugging at my quizzical look.

"Longhairs should have better manners," he explained gruffly, whiskers twitching.

I turned to see the offended Persian rapidly licking himself, as if such an unmannerly skirmish were utterly beneath his notice, much less his participation. It might have been convincing had it not put him at such odds with the rest of the class. His was the only pair of elliptical eyes that were not staring at the three of us with expectant menace. Most had retracted their fur from red alert, though their backs and tails maintained a brushy warning caution. We had disrupted their fun. They wanted a good explanation but did not expect one. I gave a sharp, guttural growl and spoke.

"That was Hyaloid. Hyaline is here."

A kittenish calico gasped and looked around with wide eyes.

"Lususnaturae?" demanded the burly tiger who had been dancing with Sheena.

The music drifted to a gypsy singing Tango Notturno in a sultry tremolo purr, but at the mention of the ruler of Selofaine, the chords of love were forgotten. All felines know of Lususnaturae, bladed suzerain of the seventh dimension who grows stronger with each attempt to enter ours.

"Not yet." I replied, "Never if we do our job."

There was no need for more explanation. The clowder had already begun to prowl around the studio in search of Hyaline. Ears twisted at every sound and tails flicked as they jostled one another in distracted concentration. I reflected that the midnight H.A.T.S . class did not have to dance to exude its powerful grace.

Sheena's delicate murmur slid into my ear.

"Brumous, I think you need to talk to Uthopia."

In the bitter realization that I forgotten the molly who had followed me here from Argentina, my eyes darted around the room until they found her. She was near the door, staring at the floor. Her slender back was toward me and her silky ears trembled with tension. She heard me walk up behind her and raised her head, but refused to turn around.

"She's beautiful. And smart," Uthopia mewled unsteadily, twitching her tail in Sheena's direction, "the little Manx."

"Sweet, too, but she's not mine, Uthopia. Sheena's looking for a human home."

"You can't expect me to believe that Sheena hasn't had her choice of homes, Brumous. She's adorable."

"There are a lot of homeless cats, Uthopia."

She faced me abruptly, "And what happened to our home, Brumous? What good was having five lives if you weren't in them?"

She darted out the door.

I wanted to go after her, but a thick white-gloved paw stopped me. Boris planted himself in my line of vision, white chest and chin emphasizing his serious gray face.

"We're here for Hyaline."

Closing my eyes, I allowed the scent data stored earlier to wash over me. A mocking illusion of Uthopia heated my eyelids and for the hundredth time, I considered my infinite lifespan as nothing more than an echo chamber for regrets.

I turned back into the studio.

© Silver Cat Works

The Tangled Tango: Part 2

2010-03-01T06:49:00.011-05:00

As the bandoneón cried Adios Nonino, moonlight wept through the windows. Her vague, silvery memories of sun-drenched days flashed on the pyramid ears and rhythmically twitching tails of the feline tango class. The scene flickered like a film on the cusp of the grass-green eyes that held my attention. Suffused with Uthopia's scent, my jaw dropped. It is the unfortunate side effect of our Jacobson's organ. Located just behind the front teeth, an open mouth gives the Jacobson a direct line to the nasal cavity. Cats call it the Sherlock organ for its ability to deduce copious amounts of information from microscopic bits of evidence. Even as the music swayed, I could read the last week of Uthopia's activities with stunning clarity. Her home was close, her route a dull glow in my receptors. She lived alone and she walked alone. I was grateful to detect no tom.

It had been wrenching to leave Uthopia in Buenos Aires but I could not take her. Even with my experience, the trip had cost me five lives. Although that is a drop in the bucket to my infinite span, it is more than half of her nine-lifespan. Like many feral felines, she'd already lost several lives in kittenhood. A journey like that could have cost her all that remained.

And yet here she was. Her grass-green eyes blinked inquisitively. I decided to store the rest of the scent data and read it later.

"Uthopia."

"I'm as surprised as you, Brumous. I lost your trail in D.C." Her accent was a melody sweeter than any bandoneón.

"But how…"

"I knew you had come to the states so I insinuated myself with the first two-legged American accent I could find."

"And they brought you here…safely?"

She smiled, "I have the same five lives as I had when you left," the last word was almost a sigh, "Brumous."

My name was never so at home as when it slipped through Uthopia's sharp little teeth. Why did hers sound so alien on mine? I tried again.

"Uthopia…" I said with a pang that must have been guilt, "When did you get here?"

"Six months ago."

"It didn't take you long to become the belle of the Dancing with Karen studio."

"Only because the felines in Harrisonburg are so sweet," she said modestly, "Are you here to meet someone?"

"Yes, my friend Boris," I answered smoothly, not wishing to admit that we had been casing her joint.

"Which one is he?"

She scanned her students curiously and that was when we noticed that they were all making a point of not looking at us. I turned back to find Uthopia blushing.

"They wonder about this mysterious cat with their teacher," she murmured with a smile.

"Brumous!" Sheena's howl crashed across the room.

As I bounded over, I could see Sheena's claws just miss the almost invisible sliver of light as it darted under the window. The slippery Hyaloid of Selofaine had made his escape. I pressed my nose to the glass alongside Sheena and we watched him streaking down East Market Street, his trail nothing more than a series of staccato nanoglimmers.

We turned to find Uthopia staring at us, stricken. Seeing the look, Sheena swiveled back to the window before whispering sotto voce.

"Brumous - Hyaline is still here!"

© Silver Cat Works

The Tangled Tango: Part 1

2010-02-08T13:59:00.011-05:00

Today Harrisonburg is cradled in a thick blanket of immaculate white snow. At least that's what humans think. But when sunlight hits snow, millions of transparent ice crystals shatter the beams into zillions of colorful photons that dart in every direction. The three primary color receptors in human eyes record all the reds, blues and yellows in equal amounts, so human brains level the chaos into pristine white. But Selofaine eyes from the fourth dimension, the transparent world, can't do that. To Hyaloid and Hyaline, the kaleidoscopic explosion is blindingly colorful. To protect their sensitive eyes, they've hidden inside. And we know where.

Recently the Dancing with Karen studio down the street started offering midnight tango lessons for felines. It's an outgrowth of H.A.T.S – the Harrisonburg Argentine Tango Society - and it's become quite a hit with the young ladies at the Cat's Cradle Adoption Center. Ella, Juliet and Bess are regulars, and the other night Juliet talked her brother into going, because Buzzy made such a dashing escort in his tuxedo markings. Buzzy, however, was not quite so happy about the whole thing and asked Brie to chaperone.

And again it was Brie of the tanzanite eyes who first saw Hyaloid. The shape-shifter had iced over the mirrors to watch the dancers, spreading himself to cell-thin invisibility. The following night, Sheena signed up for the class and confirmed the minute distortion in the mirrors as characteristic of Hyaloid.

It was a surprising move, hiding in a roomful of cats. Even though tangoing felines are not the most alert of clowders, the shape-shifter would never have risked such a thing had he known we were aware of his arrival in Harrisonburg. He was confident in his skills and was using them to spy on us. That put the element of surprise on our side.

When Boris and I arrived the following night, it was almost half past midnight and the class was well underway. Stunning mollys and stalwart toms slinked across the floor with flashing eyes. As I stood in the doorway, the room swelled with the heartbreaking bandoneón of Adios Nonino, a nostalgic reminder of my time in Argentina. Sheena flashed in front of me, gliding across the floor with a burly gray tiger. As a Manx, she had to finesse an alternative to the gancho-tail-step so popular among felines, and she did it beautifully.

Then I saw the instructor and my heart lurched. Of all the dance joints in all the towns in all the world, she slinks into mine. It was Uthopia, the magnificent molly who first taught me to tango in Buenos Aires. As I stood riven in the doorway, she glanced over and I heard her little trill of surprise. So did the entire class. A cat with my age and experience doesn't blush easily, but in that moment, I was grateful for the blessing of fur.

She came toward me, grass-green eyes and a rosy pink nose centered in a delicate triangular face. Uthopia doesn't so much walk as undulate, her lithe dancer’s body eloquently sheathed in silky black fur and suffused in the intoxicating scent of musk.

"Brumous, is it really you?" she purred.

© Silver Cat Works

Brumous Siam: The First Crew

2010-01-25T09:36:00.009-05:00

We cats owe our nine lives to more than just our ability as escape artists. We have nine lives because when we dream, we are the guardians at the nine inter-dimensional gates. It has always been so. It is why the Egyptians, who were a highly evolved people, worshipped us. And that is why Pharaoh Siam gave me an infinite number of lives.

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Brumous Siam and as I told you last week, I am not a good cat. I am too fond of catnip and mollys. You will not find me curled up next to your fireplace or artfully arranged on your cushions. You will not feel me rub against your leg or hear me purr in your lap. But you will enjoy all these things with other cats because I make it possible.

Which is why I have been called to Harrisonburg. The bladed crystal suzerain of the fourth dimension is coming here. Lususnaturae of Selofaine, the colorless world, aches for the richness, the dazzling chroma of our world. And he will have it, unless I stop him.

To that end, I am gathering my crew from the fine clowder at the Cat's Cradle. Boris, the grey ghost, had a rough time of it as a lad, but he's still willing to risk one of his eight remaining lives on this adventure. I take it very seriously when it comes to that. Nine lives can go pretty fast, and no one knows it better than someone who has an infinite number. The lifespan for one is a pawprint for another.

Boris will head my first team and three charming mollys will lend a paw. Casseopeia is a gorgeous silvery-white cat with blue eyes. When she sits in the sun with her tail curled around her front paws and eyes closed, I think of Egypt. But it's her brains we'll be using, for she is a crackerjack linguist. It’s the Siamese in her. Sheena is a little manx minx with calico camo, perfect for undercover operations. Brie is a tortoise-and-Siamese mix graced with amazing tanzanite eyes. She has been tragically de-clawed, but it is her powers of observation that we need.

It was Brie who first saw the dimple hidden in the blue sky. It was only a pinpoint but as she watched, there were two nearly invisible pulses in the light around it and she knew: Lususnaturae was making another attempt to wormhole his way into our world. The light shifts were two of his scouts threading their way through the nanotube they have opened between our dimensions.

We have met before, the scouts and I. Hyaline is a polished operator, but completely degenerate. To listen to her is to skate with razor blades on a dangerously thin shell of deception. Hyaloid is a shape-shifter. His favorite disguise is to ice himself over an object or another living being, even a human eye. And if you were his victim, you would neither see nor feel him. Only the superior oculus of an experienced cat can catch the minute change he causes in the refraction of light.

The Hyal twins are here to make the wormhole large enough to accommodate the suzerain of Selofaine, a job that will take many months. But unlike Lususnaturae, the twins do not love our world. We are fortunate to have these days of constant rain and gray skies because the watery heavens remind them of Selofaine. Homesick Hyaline will be unable to resist swimming unseen in swollen creeks and rivulets, while wistful Hyaloid will play among you as a shower of raindrops or a puddle in the sidewalk. While they play, we will practice, and when the sun restores their visibility, we will be ready.

© Silver Cat Works

Brumous Siam: The Beginning

2010-01-17T12:29:00.004-05:00

"There are times when a wide and silver moon rises above banks of iron clouds to illume their churning edges with lambent pearls…nights like that are, as any feline knows, the calling card for Brumous Siam."

It was my howl that inspired Allen Ginsberg. It was my grin Lewis Carroll drew on the Cheshire cat. It was my purr that moved Tibetan monks to chant. It was my profile Egyptians worshipped. But these are not the reasons I was called to Harrisonburg.

It began in the time of Pharaoh Siamun when the sun and Sirius rose together on the first day of Dhwt in the year 980 B.C. I was slumbering in my temple when the incense smoke, which had been rising in peaceful columns, suddenly twisted toward the ground as if trying to escape the terrifying shriek that clawed the air. When I saw the humans and dogs acting as if nothing had happened, I knew it was a frequency beyond their capabilities, a creature beyond their perceptions. Something was tearing into our dimension. Nothing was visible, so I opened my mouth to amplify the odors and there it was: the sharp, glassy smell of Lususnaturae.

Lususnaturae of Selofaine, the fourth dimension, the transparent world. To us, it looks as if it were made of glass and water. Smudged memories of color exist at certain angles, but disappear if you look too closely. Even the inter-dimensional barrier is transparent: they can see us. And to them, we are a dazzling, irresistible riot of color. And Lususnaturae, ruler of Selofaine, craves color. He would give up his throne to live here, but it is not allowed. There are beings of other dimensions who can and do immigrate to Earth, but no being from Selofaine is allowed. Their bodies are like crystals bristling with razor sharp edges. And they are large, almost 15 feet wide. Imagine the damage such a bladed creature could do walking down our sidewalks, hiking through our woods or swimming in our waters. Lususnaturae doesn't care. Red is his favorite color.

When he first arrived near my temple in the desert of Egypt, he appeared as a ghostly cloud, a shimmer of brilliance in the wide blue sky. Then he dropped to the desert like a mirage. It took six months, but we sent him back to Selofaine. That is when I discovered my talent, and that is when Pharaoh extended my nine lives to infinite because he knew that Lususnaturae would return.

And now Lususnaturae is coming here. I am gathering my frontline crew from the fine clowder of felines at Cat's Cradle. But your cat will also work with us. The next time you see your kitty sleeping, feet twitching in hot pursuit, don't lull yourself into the tender reflection that he is mousing. He is not. He is guarding your world. And the next time you think your cat is staring at nothing in particular, remember this: it is the duty of all felines to repair the small inter-dimensional leaks that occur almost daily. A simple glare from our magic eyes will do it. But when the leak becomes a flood, the call goes out for Brumous Siam. I am not a good cat. But I am very good at what I do.

© Silver Cat Works

Caught in the Act

2010-01-01T23:54:00.003-05:00

I promised Freddie I would have this blog up by 9AM this morning and it would have been, too, if Josie hadn't worked so late on the night I was supposed to write it. I don't know what she was thinking. She cut off the storefront lights, headed to the back room, and sat down at my computer for hours!

It wasn't just my blog that was delayed – it was our entire cat business agenda. We are nocturnal, after all. Superb night vision, sensitive hearing, an exquisite sense of smell…you get the picture. The point I'm trying to make here is that for us, it was nerve-racking to be in the glorious dark, yet unable to exercise these primo night skills. Especially at a time when there was so much depending on them.

Ultimately we had to ignore Josie's disregard for protocol (she was, after all, working for us) and get down to cat business, albeit with the utmost silence so that Josie could continue typing away, blissfully unaware of our front-room activities. After a few diligent hours, we agreed to take a feline break and the moment we did, Josie popped out of the back room and flicked on the light!

There I was, balancing on a teeny-weeny ledge heading to Little Man's crate for a bite of kitten chow. It was really embarrassing, but I just wanted some comfort food and it's not as if Little Man cared. He was too busy playing with the other kitties in the window, which, of course, was another complete surprise for Josie since Little Man is usually hiding in his crate. Then she saw the desk drawer kitty, Cassiopeia, lounging in the middle of the floor with a big grin on her face. Why? Because the bashful Velveteen cat was industriously licking the itty-bitty Cinnamon kitty. At that point, Josie just laughed out loud and asked what we'd done with her demure daytime felines.

We all breathed a sigh of relief. Our ploy was working. Even though Josie had caught us in the act, she didn't really know what the act was. Humans aren't very good at keeping secrets and it was important to keep this quiet…until tonight.

Anyway, as soon as Josie left I jumped on the computer while Little Man and the gang dashed back into our preparations. Several nights later, I'm proud to say that we are ready – and just in the nick of time. Because tonight there is a wide and silver moon rising above banks of iron clouds to illume their churning edges with lambent pearls…which is, as any feline knows, the calling card for Brumous Siam. It means that he is due at the stroke of midnight. Suffice it to say that life around here is about to get a lot more exciting in 2010. So from all of us to all of you – have a very Happy New Year!

Home for Christmas!

2009-12-25T20:38:00.000-05:00

When I blogged about cat dreams last week, I had no idea my own dream was so close to coming true: I got a forever home!

I'd had my eye on the Cat's Cradle treasurer for sometime, but Peggy was already an eight-cat woman. Getting into her home required some tactical maneuvering. I mean, you have to be super-adorable to become the ninth cat. The first point in my favor was that she had a weakness for longhairs, so I always kept my fur fluffy and soft. But the deciding moment was during the last board meeting when I made my intentions blatantly clear by curling up on her lap for an hour. I guess this proves that the wiggle-worm-of-love approach is irresistible.

One advantage of moving into an eight-cat household is that the human is already so well trained. They have the right food, the right beds, the right toys, and a smattering of cat language skills. You can't expect them to understand all the complexities of the meow dialect, but it's important to have some interactions on a higher cognitive level. It's going to take some time to break in the other cats, but I know they'll be compelled to appreciate my charms eventually.

I got to meet Peggy's family the other night at a Christmas celebration. I was nervous about being around so many new people, but it turns out she comes from a long line of folks who know how to appreciate cats. Good breeding always shows.

The other good news is that my best bud Benny is back at the Adoption Center, much improved after being pampered back to health by Ashton. Now that my own dream has come true, I'm going to put my feline dream skills to work to find Benny a forever home, too.

But before I return to work in what might appear to be a luxurious holiday slumber, Merry Christmas to all – and to all a good cat!

Freddie Returns!

2009-12-18T10:48:00.000-05:00

This is Freddie and I want to tell you right off the bat that it is not my fault this update is late. I was going to write as soon as I got back to the Adoption Center but heavens to murgatroid! From the moment I entered the door I couldn't get a moment's peace. The staff was all over me, picking me up, petting me, scratching me, and talking, talking, talking. It was exhausting.

And, of course, they wanted to know everything about my best bud Benny. I told them he sent his purr-regards and would be back as soon as his skin gets better. He's a sensitive fellow, you know, so we have to be extra careful. For now, Josie and the staff will just have to make do with me as the center of their universe. I must say they're doing a pretty good job.

I'm also happy to report that they did an excellent job taking care of the Adoption Center while I was gone – with one glaring exception: no one stepped up to the plate to assume my responsibilities. I know they're only human, but really, they could have made an effort. Was one catnap a day too much to ask?

Okay, I understand that humans don't have as much stamina for sleeping as felines. In fact, it does me proud to say there is not a mammal on this planet that works as hard at sleeping as cats. We are the masters! And for goodness sake don't bring up hibernation. That's practically a coma AND you have to forgo eating AND, well, have you ever tried waking up a hibernating bear? Talk about grouchy. Now when I wake up, I rise and shine, sweetly, daintily, a symphony of luxurious stretches, every move a work of art. One reason is because I know that while I slept, the Adoption Center humans were able to bask in the presence of my majesty. It's what you call a symbiotic relationship, least that's what Benny says.

And believe me, cats don't spend two-thirds of their lives sleeping for nothing. We are very busy in the dream world. I can't tell you any more until Benny returns. He's the studious one and can explain it better. I'll just say this: if we didn't dream so much, this world would be very, very different. Nuff said.

Well, it's time to get back to work. Usually, I put in thirteen to sixteen hours of shuteye a day, but obviously I have some catching up to do so I may go pro for a bit and hit twenty. A cat's gotta do what a cat's gotta do.

Late

2009-11-18T09:23:00.000-05:00

The senior management “At the Center with Freddie and Benny” regrets the late appearance of the blog. We were delayed because… um

...we were abducted by aliens who realized that tuxedo cats were the most intelligent life-forms on the planet and wanted us to mediate intergalactic peace efforts and the flying saucer just dropped us off.

No, no, no too crazy. Well, not the ‘most intelligent life-forms’ part. But humans don’t like to be reminded.

…we were trapped in a helium balloon shaped like a flying saucer and went careening across the Midwest.

Been done. Something more local, maybe.

We were hiking on the Appalachian Trail without telling anyone, especially our nearest and dearest, where we are.

Sounds fishy. And not in a delicious way.

…Freddie invaded Rockingham County where the natives hailed him as a god and he could only tear himself away by swearing, paw-on-heart, to return.

Possible.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Oh, hi, Benny. I’m just coming up with a plausible explanation for why our blog is late.”

“Late? Our blog was late? Oh no! It’s a disaster! Call the board! Send all the volunteers to Siberia for cultural reprogramming!”

“I don’t think it’s really any big deal. We say we’re sorry and move on.”

“I don’t think so, Freddie. There’ll be hearings. We may have to resign. Our carriers are in ruins! Oh! I’m panting.”

“Here, use this paper bag!”

“Thanks!”

“I meant to breathe into, not to play with. Oh well, whatever works. Feel better?”

“Yeah. Thanks! Hey, why don’t we tell the truth? Our typist is a bit of a flake.”

“We could, I ‘spose. Honesty being the better part of not having to remember what you said later and all that. There’s just one problem.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“We’d have to get her to type it.”

I heart NY

2009-11-10T20:29:00.000-05:00

On what seems to be one of a series of gray Tuesdays, my esteemed colleague Benny and I were having a wash and a nap. Truth be told, we were feeling a little forlorn. Much as we loved living with Ashton, we felt stranded between our customary place at the thick of the Cat’s Cradle Adoption Center and the certainty of a forever home. We lacked the certainty of one and the excitement of the other.

“And nobody had cc’d me on the most recent fiscal report. I don’t even know which grants are due when.”

“Yes well, excitement is in the eye of the beholder.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Not a thing, Benny. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“I’m not happy. That’s my point. I’m out of the loop.”

“Which was my point.”

“Which you weren’t making.”

“Life is short and art is…”

“Not as interesting as spreadsheets.”

“If you say so.”

“Don’t look at me like… what’s that noise?”

“Just the mail. It’s never for us. Ashton says it’s because we’re cats.”

“She’s right. Most cats trade e-mails. It’s hard to hold a pen, even with both paws.”

“Hey Freddie, I know some cats who took the trouble to hold a pen. We have mail!”

“Oooh! From who?”

“Remember Minnie, Merlin and Boo?”

“The black kittens who our volunteers…”

“Transported to the North Shore Animal Rescue League on Long Island- a group which practices Cat’s Cradle’s compassionate approach to ending pet overpopulation and has demonstrated marked success in the vast area surrounding…”

“New York City! Benny, we got a postcard from New York City!”

“Yes, well as I was saying.”

“Oh, put a paw over it. Listen”

Dear Freddie and Benny

We arrived safe and sound. Speaking of sound, you wouldn’t believe the noise here. Merlin hid in his cage for two days! But it didn’t matter because we all got forever homes! And Minnie is auditioning for Cats.

Love,
The Kittens

“Feeling less out of the loop, Freddie?”

“I love New York!”

The Purrfect Costume

2009-10-29T12:20:00.000-04:00

It was a dark and stormy night…

“No it wasn’t. I mean, it was dark, but it’s always dark at night. That’s why it’s called ‘night.’ You don’t have to say it. It’s implied. If it’s a dark lunchtime, now that’s worth mentioning.”

“Benny, hush!”

“Also, it wasn’t stormy. It may have drizzled a little. But stormy?”

“Benny! This is the Halloween blog entry. By international statute, all Halloween blogs begin ‘It was a dark and stormy night.’ Even at the South Pole where there are only about six hours of darkness this time of year, all the cats begin their Halloween blogs that way.”

“Oh. Sorry. Go on.”

It was a dark and stormy night when Benny and I began to feel of the call of darkness. Wisps of fog trailed across the Shenandoah Valley as two intrepid cats streaked through the night searching, always searching for that ineffable something that comes of mystery…

“We were looking for Halloween costumes!”

Well, yes, we were looking for the ineffable mystery that comes of disguise. For Halloween we would be transformed, transfigured. Would the effect be wonderful or terror beyond telling? Who could tell?

“There’s this shop on just off of 81 and they kind of don’t know cats can sneak right in through an old air vent after they close.”

“Um, Benny, perhaps we’d better not mention that part. Er… …too many details… detract from the um… and our legal team did say…”

“Is there something in your eye? Oh, right… …you’re winking. Legal team. Gotcha.”

When we reached the site of transformation many strange and wonderful things began to occur. Our killer instincts reared there heads.

“I dressed up as a mouse and Freddy tried to hunt me.”

We came close to flight.

“Freddie dressed up as an angel with wings and everything, but he tripped when his halo slipped down over one eye.”

Yet nothing seemed to suit each turn of our delicately calibrated psyches.

“Or fit. These were human costumes.”

Then it struck us: What inspires awe? Brings Love? We knew what we would become. Nay! What we were.

“For Halloween, Freddie and I will be dressed as tuxedo cats.”

And it will be a dark and stormy night.

A (very) Little Help from My Friends

2009-10-20T13:11:00.000-04:00

No matter how dedicated one might be, the running of an organization such as Cat’s Cradle can sometimes leave one feeling like she’s at the bottom of a dog-pile of work. Such was the case this month with Cat’s Cradle director Josie.

“Benny, you’re going to have to give me a few days,” she sighed when I called to see if she’d broken down Cat’s Cradle’s budget by foster family, kitten, and phase of the moon the way I recommended. “I just have too much on my plate.”

“Ooh! Like tuna fish? Maybe I can help.”

“Too much to do, Benny. Work. Not food.”

“No tuna?

“No.”

“Well you don’t have to sound so grumpy about it.”

“Sorry, Benny. It’s just that we’ve had the auction last weekend, and we re-opened the Adoption Center, and I had a huge grant to write. And well, I’m tired. And…”

“And?”

“Well, you always call at 3 a.m.. Humans aren’t nocturnal, Benny.”

“That explains why you never take naps in the kitty gym at the Adoption Center. You sleep at night!”

“I try to.”

“What’s that noise?”

“My husband. He wants to know who I’m whispering to at three in the morning.”

“Oh, tell him it’s Benny, one of the cats, and say hi for me.”

She sighed again. “I’ll do that.”

After we hung up, I apprised Freddie of the situation. He cocked his head in concern. “Gee, that’s too bad.”

“I couldn’t agree more. We should help.”

“I know! We could take over the newsletter. You know, What’s up, Pussy Cat. Write it for her.”

“Freddie, you’re a genius.”

“Too true, Benny. Too true. I see it now…”

“What?”

“Headlines, Benny Headlines: Cat Save’s Baby from Burning Building. Kitten Wins Snowboarding Championship at Massanutten. Freddie Crowned… Roommate Gives Freddie Weird Look. What’s wrong?”

“The stories in the newsletter are supposed to be true.”

“All of them?”

“’Fraid so.”

Sold!

2009-10-13T11:49:00.000-04:00

In retrospect, I should have realized getting Freddie more involved in Cat’s Cradle’s long-range strategy and fundraising operations was a bad idea. But I didn’t. As they say, live, learn and calm your overly drama-prone roommate down. In my defense, all I did was show him a flyer which Cat’s Cradle is having an auction on October 19th.

“Benny!” he cried, dropping the flyer in the water bowl, “they can’t do this!”

“Now Ashton’s going to have to clean up after you,” I chastised. “Anyway, do what? Sell baked goods? Just because humans have this strange preference for chocolate over tuna fish doesn’t mean selling them unappetizing foodstuff is wrong.”

“Oh Benny, you’re so naive! Foodstuffs, indeed. It’s obvious the humans have caved in to temptation.”

“Would you either stop ranting or make sense? Both if you can manage it.”

“It’s obvious. What’s the most valuable thing they have?”

“Ooh! Did they get new digital scales to weigh kittens?”

“No, dolt! Us. Cats! Tuxedo cats in particular. They’re going to raffle us to the highest bidder! No adoption contracts! No background checks! They must be stopped! I’m sending e-mail to PETA!”

“I think somebody better lay off the catnip. I mean talk about paranoia!”

“Paranoia? Look at this flyer! There’s a picture of two black cats right by the list of stuff for sale.”

“You mean Cat’s Cradle’s logo above the list and to the left of it?”

“Oh. Logo. I knew that.”

“Of course you did. ’Oh’ is right.”

“Um, Benny? When we get back to the shelter, would you mind not mentioning this little misunderstanding to Josie?”

“No problem, Freddie.”

“Should I read the board minutes now?”

“Really, Freddie, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

A Friend in Need

2009-10-06T17:41:00.001-04:00

So there I was, having a nap on the bottom of the kitty gym, when the mewing of a distinctly distraught roommate called me back from sleep. I was not entirely surprised. Benny had just come back from the vet, which is enough to tweak anyone’s whiskers. Yet the degree of distress seemed to indicate a difficulty beyond annoyance. Besides, he was muttering.

“Lost! Alone! Oh no. Oh dear.”

“Benny, what’s wrong?”

“Freddie! Oh let me look at you one last time. I don’t know if I can stand it!”

“What? Stand what?”

“The vet said I have a skin condition and I need to go stay with some humans for a week or so while it’s treated!”

“Well that’s not so bad. I did the same when I had that cold. They were lovely. Not that I didn’t miss you,” I added quickly.

“But Freddie, I’m not brave with people like you are. And I don’t think they have other cats!”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“You’d do that for me. Really?”

“Really. Just let me talk to the director.”

I snuck into the back room at the adoption center and sat down on Josie’s keyboard so she would notice I had something on my mind.

“Freddie,” she said, “how’d you get back here?”

“Paws. Listen, you can’t just ship Benny out. He’s not as intrepid as some of us. He can’t go alone. Send me too.”

“That’s sweet of you, but you’d have to have baths and medication so you didn’t contract his condition.”

I gulped. “I can do baths.”

“You’re a brave cat, Freddie. Let me just e-mail Ashton and make sure she has room for two.”

“Ashton? The JMU student? This is going to work out just fine.”

Cats on a Mission

2009-09-29T09:11:00.000-04:00

It has come to the attention of the staff here “At the Center with Freddie and Benny” that this blog, in its inception, was meant to highlight the work done at the Cat’s Cradle Adoption Center and… …what, Freddie?

“Speaking of attention, Benny, did you see all of the JMU students who have stopped by! Oh, my paws, it was one big cuddle- fest! I mean to say, when one is a tuxedo cat of extraordinary lovable-ity, one has occasion to enjoy more than the occasional head scratch, but this week was something special. One wonders…”

“No. This is the problem! It’s never ‘one wonders.’ It’s Freddie who wonders. That’s all you write about. The purpose of this column is to let people know about the important work that the Center does.”

“Well, if your going to be like that- The important volunteers unlocked the front door so that many JMU students, all of whom seemed to be missing their cats at home and in need of a little feline therapy could come in and scratch my ears. Oh, what’s wrong now?”

“Well, it’s kind of more of the same. I mean Cat’s Cradle puts a lot of work into the principles and practices which are making the Shenandoah Valley a places where all cats…”

“Have JMU students! Great idea. It reminds me of the time when I was a kitten and…”

“No. Enjoy the safety of a community empowered to act on their compassion. Oh for the love of laser pointers! Could you just shut up and let me finish?”

“Well, Benny, that doesn’t sound very compassionate.”

“In a second here I can think of one area of the Valley which isn’t going to be safe either.”

“Benny!”

“Sorry. But this is important.”

“I know that! But listen, the column is called ‘At the Center with Freddie and Benny,’ not ‘At the Center with Principles and Practices.’ I mean, would you really want your picture next to that?”

“I see what you mean.”

“So we do what we do best! Be winsome. Be handsome. Charm.”

“We are good at that. But no board minutes?”

“Have you actually gotten around to reading them, Benny?”

“I meant to, Freddie.”

“I know, Benny, I know.”

Et Tu, Benny

2009-09-25T07:48:00.000-04:00

It’s so good to be back at 124 W. Main Street. Cat’s Cradle’s adoption center may not be a ‘forever home,’ but the undeniable comforts of a familiar kitty gym, ping pong ball and patches of sunlight lead me, Freddie, to bound from the cat carrier when I returned from the dark grasp of illness. I was all the more eager to see my dear friend…

“Na,na,nananana, Catman!”

No, not ‘Catman.’ Benny, who, despite certain rumors of disloyalty reaching my ailing ears, greeted me most enthusiastically. I hardly even noticed Ethan (who’s name means he-who-moves-in-with-your-best-friend-the-second-you-turn-around) in the background as…

CRASH!!!!!

“Benny! Why, for the love of catnip, did you just jump off our cage and onto the volunteer’s desk? And why do you have a dishtowel tied around your neck?”

“Isn’t it brilliant? Ethan thought of it! I’m Catman and he’s my ward, Kitten Grayson. It’s a publicity stunt.”

“It is not brilliant. First, nothing Ethan does is brilliant. He has the approximate IQ of a concussed canine. Second, who does publicity stunts when the adoption center is closed? And last, a publicity stunt for what?”

“Didn’t you get the e-mail?”

“I didn’t get any e-mail! Maybe Ethan stole it. He steals lots of things.”

“So, you don’t know??”

“Yes. I mean, no. Know what?”

“We’re moving!”

“What??? First, my best friend takes up with some strange kitten. Then they find forever homes together. No one even tells me. Treachery! To think I…”

“Freddie, no, no, no! you know I wouldn’t leave without you! We have a pact! I wouldn’t break it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

"Then what's all this about moving?”

“It’s the column that’s moving! At the Center with Freddie & Benny will now come out on Tuesdays. Ethan just wants to do some publicity for it because he’s a HUGE fan of your work.”

“He is?”

“Yup.”

“I always said he was a bright one. Come here, kid, let Uncle Freddie help you with that cape. “

Going to the Dogs

2009-09-18T12:35:00.000-04:00

Hello Gentle Human,

Benny here. Normally Freddie, my colleague, roommate and confidant, issues these Friday columns but he is unavailable. He developed a touch of ague earlier in the week. When we fall ill, one of Cat’s Cradle’s foster families takes us for a few days, soothes our fevered brows, scratches that place between our eyes, and keeps our roommates from becoming ill (which is greatly appreciated, let me tell you).

Actually, I was the one who noticed Freddie wasn’t feeling up to scratch. He was lying in the tube at the bottom of the kitty gym looking abstracted and slightly more miserable than one’s average Tuesday warrants. I crawled in with him and nuzzled his head.

“Hey, Freddie, you okay?”

“That depends. Is my head actually incased in cement?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Well it feels like it. My head feels so stuffy I can’t think.”

“Can’t think, hmmm” I began to make some mental notes. “What else? Excessive drooling?”

He nodded. “Little bit.”

“Feel like you smell wrong?”

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

“No, no, no! Just asking. Trying for a diagnosis, you know. No judgment. Honest.”

“Well,” he closed his eyes, “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I have this sort of… well…”

“Heavy, dank overpowering odor?”

“Yes! Benny, what do you think is wrong with me??”

I thought for a moment, hoping not to have to confirm the worst. “…inability to think, excessive drooling… repugnant odor.”

“That’s a bit harsh.”

“Regrettable odor?”

“Better.”

“Well, there’s no softening the truth. Freddie, you’re becoming a dog.”

“WHAT???”

I nodded. “I know. We always assumed we would grow from kittens to cats, but perhaps it is not always so. I mean, dogs do have to come from somewhere…”

“Puppies, Benny, puppies.”

“Oh. Right. Um, Freddy? You want me to get our humans? One of them is a retired doctor. That’s not quite as good as a vet, but she might know something.”

“Thanks, Benny.”

“And Freddie? I’m so glad you aren’t becoming a dog.”

“Me too, Benny. Me too.”

Walkin' on Sunshine

2009-09-11T09:35:00.001-04:00

It was a gray day here at 124 S. Main; the kind of day which sits heavily upon the feline soul. Even the youngest kitten could not muster the will to bat the ping-pong ball around its track on the toy middle of the adoption center’s floor. Your intrepid author felt that while art is eternal and life brief, he might be better served by a nap. Yet a cat of courage knows that all who…

WE INTERUPT THIS BLOG TO BRING YOU THIS IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT

“No, Benny, we don’t.”

“but…”

“We go back up to the top of the kitty gym and let me finish in peace.”

“No. You have to hear this”

“I have to finish writing my melancholy yet worldly-wise…”

“Listen,”

"Do you know why Einstein was able to discover the Theory of Relativity? Why Tennessee Williams was able to write Cat on a Hot Tin Roof? It’s because their roommates went to the top of the kitty gym and left them alone.”

“But, Freddy, it’s about you!”

“Well, if it’s important…”

WE INTERUPT THIS BLOG TO BRING YOU THIS IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT: Freddie has a sponsor! Steve & Christine Cornwell from Kentucky couldn’t bring Freddie home with them so they decided to pay his bill!

“Really?”

“Really.”

Writing to our director, they said, “We have Freddie's picture framed above our computer, at our home desk.”

It was a glorious day at 124 S. Main! Not even the grey skies could dampen the spirits of the Cat’s Cradle Cats. Everyone, from senior to kitten purred with contentment. It was the kind of day which stirs the feline soul with gratitude.

2009-09-06T19:52:00.000-04:00

Definitely NOT a Dead Mouse”

Benny likes to sleep late. Not that I’m complaining. As delightful as it is to live with Benny, I, Freddie, like a little quiet in the morning. When the first light comes through that high bank of windows at 124 S. Main, I stretch, wash and have a little breakfast before my roommate has even opened his eyes.

But this morning, right after a bit of grooming I went to the water bowl. It was entirely blocked by Benny’s head. He was staring at his reflection in our dish. Without moving so that anyone could get so much as a sip of water, he began to talk.

“Do you like my face better from the front or the side?”

“I like your face over by the litter pan so I can have a drink.”

“Come on, this is serious.”

“So is dehydration. Now scoot.”

“Just answer my question.”

I foresaw a day of thirst if I didn’t capitulate. “You, Benny, have a majestic profile.”

“Seriously? Thanks!”

“Eh hem..”

“Oh. Sorry.” he moved. “It’s just that it’s picture day.”

“And?”

It is often picture day. When one lives in the public eye as Benny and I do here in the Cat’s Cradle Adoption Center, the woods (as it were) are thick with photographers. I am particularly fond of one taken by downtown photographer Deb. It happens to be of me, but no matter.

Benny wasn’t the least put off. “And? And I need a picture to send to Kaitlyn!”

“Ah. It’s all clear now.” It was. Kaitlyn was the lovely young lady who had come in the day before. She and Benny had become so taken with each other that I feared my roommate would be leaving in her coat pocket. Fortunately, it’s hot outside, so she didn’t have a coat pocket. She could not take him home, but so wonderfully did they understand each other that she left Cat’s Cradle a generous donation so that the two of us could maintain the high style to which we are accustomed.

Benny was agitated by a thought. “Or does that look too arrogant? I mean, I could send her something else. But I don’t know what she reads. Or if she’s allergic to flowers. I need to send something anyone would want.” He paced a bit, stopped and began to purr. “I know! I’ll send her a dead mouse!”

Tact was called for. “I think,” I said, grooming his ears for him, “a picture of you would be perfect. In any case, since she is a young friend of the two-legged variety, definitely NOT a dead mouse.”

Allow us to introduce ourselves…

2009-09-04T20:22:00.000-04:00

As two impeccably groomed young gentlemen in tuxedos moved into the rear penthouse at 124 S. Main St. (Editor’s note: the cat cage next to the volunteers’ desk in the Cat’s Cradle Adoption Center ), Harrisonburg wonders, who are these cats? And who is their tailor? Where did they come from? Are two such…

“Why do you always end up sitting on my head?”

“Shh, Benny! That is not what all of Harrisonburg is wondering. No one is wondering about you being sat on, primarily because no one cares.”

“Um, all of Harrisonburg would be wondering if, every time they closed their eyes for a cat nap, they woke when the business end of Freddy caught them right between the eyes.”

“And yet no one is asking because nobody wakes up to that every time they nap. Even you. Stop complaining.”

“I mean, I don’t sit on you.”

“Do you mind? Trying for a tone here.”

“Okay. Okay, just admit you sit on me, say sorry and I’ll be quiet.”

“I’m sorry I sat on you. Now… …may I?”

“By all means.”

Are two such dashing young dandies available? Receiving callers? What is Freddy’s secret ambition?

“I don’t know anything about a secret ambition. What do you mean, secret ambition?”

“Secret! Defined as: Not told to Benny. That kind of a secret.”

“Oh. Okay. Go on.”

All these questions and more will be answered (hopefully without interruption)…

“You mean me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

..in the new Cat’s Cradle blog: At the Center with Freddy & Benny.