NOTHING EVER GOES AWAY

NOTHING EVER GOES AWAY                                                                       

         SmiLing, the cat, is no longer with us. For a mere blink of an eye, a flick of a tail, or a twitch of a whisker, she graced us with her presence. Yes, she has passed on to a better place. She's now living with my daughter, Danielle,  in their new apartment.                                                                                                                        

         My home was just a temporary oasis. ( It has the necessary sunlight, exotic greenery, water supply, and sand.) During a seven-week span, I operated a bed and breakfast. It was rather an exclusive establishment. I catered to the whimsy, the needs, the manipulations of a single feline. SmiLing was entitled to only the best a five-star resort could provide.                                                                                

         Upon her arrival, the attentive concierge was quick to notice her cattiness' discomfort and dishevelment. When the door to her carriage, ( okay, her tiny cat carrier), was pulled open, SmiLing chose to slink away without a backward glance. SmiLing was sulking.... under the bed.                                                                                

         The concierge was not in the least bit offended. She'd been rebuffed, ignored, dismissed before. Her role was to make the sullen guest comfortable. She would organize the supplies, co-ordinate the staff, field any enquiries, handle requests/complaints, shield her charge's privacy, and repel the riff-raff.                    

         Thinking perhaps Mademoiselle was a little peckish after her journey, the house chef set out a tempting meal of fresh water and kibble. Her furriness had brought her own dishes and a weight-reduction blend from her private stock. ( Within a few days, she was accepting hand-delivered  kitty treats.)                              

         It was impossible for the maid to leave one of these treats on SmiLing's pillow. Despite her well-intentioned efforts to fluff the blanket several times a day, the maid would find chewed crumbs amongst the cat-twisted material. Obviously, our guest preferred her sleeping area to be lumpy.                                        

         Her finickyness also expected the maid to scoop out her litter box daily and provide fresh litter once a week. She pretended not to notice when this same litter had to be swept up from every corner. How it became scattered was none of her concern.                                                                                                                        

         SmiLing insisted that every door remain open. She was very liberal this way and she didn't hesitate to remind the forgetful chambermaid. Often, all it took was a firm 'meow" and a pointed stare.                                                                      

         Sometimes, (  actually, rarely), she had to clear her perch at her preferred viewing window. The negligent staff abandoned books there. This was tolerable, but drawing the curtains closed was inexcusable. Promptly, the maid was reprimanded.                                                                                                              

         One of SmiLing's favourite staff members was the groomer/stylist. Anytime was the right time to brush her sleek black fur. Because of its length, her coat tended to snarl. She really appreciated this personal attention which revealed her softer side. Tangle-free, she was known to purr contentedly.                                        

         The most rapturous purring, however, was saved for the best in-house staff member. SmiLing could flop over and assume the exposed-belly-position anywhere: on the bed, next to her window, across the room, splayed on the couch, or at someone's feet. Instinctually, the masseuse understood this to be an invitation not to be ignored. Rub my belly.... NOW! Come to me and commence the deep-muscle massage. I'll let you know when you may stop. Take your time, I'm in  no hurry.                                                                                                              

         Often, this was SmiLing's take-it-or-leave-it  approach to exercise. Clearly, she thought her personal trainer was too eager. Wrestling and boxing required too much effort  and it could ruffle her carefully maintained fur. Sure, once in a while, she could be enticed to swat a ball around or chase a catnip mouse, but, really, why bother? The toys always ended up out of reach under furniture anyway. An occasional climb or a sudden loud noise kept her reflexes in shape.          

         SmiLing indulged in some sessions with the resident therapist. The two of them would share a quiet cuddle and a confidential conversation. This one-on-one venting was so relaxing.                                                                                          

         Nowadays, Mom's Motel, ( or perhaps it should be known as "chateau", after all, "chat" is French for "cat"), is feline-free. No more kitty litter underfoot, no more puddles of water, no more early morning visits just to see if possibly I was also awake, no more rumpled duvet, no more feeling as if eyes were staring at me, no more cat sprawled at my feet, ( or behind my head), no more "meow" greetings when I return home, no more peeks into my shopping bags....                    

         I am comforted by the words  of The Commoner's 2 Law of Ecology: NOTHING EVER GOES AWAY. Yes, I have my SmiLing memories, and more. Apparently, whoever coined the above phrase was referring to cat fur and its super cling power. After extensive sweeping and dusting, the maid has  noticed  that the dust bunnies are now black and bigger. Once in a while, the concierge will just stop and wipe tears from her eyes....... Damn irritating cat fur!!    ( 810 words )