La Vie est Bella
I always thought that I had full control over my human. My meow was her command. Meow in the kitchen: a bowl appeared. Meow on the bed: my human wouldn't move so that I could stay comfortable. Meow on her lap: an ear scratch. Meow at the door: it opened. Anything I wanted, I had. I was the queen of my scratchpost.
One day, I learned that she had had enough of my demands. I never thought my human would rebel, but she picked me up for what I thought was going to be cuddles and she put me in a big white pond inside her litter box room. How deceitful. She rubbed watery pillow fluff all over me and then shook me inside a towel. I hate to say it, but I felt like a... dog! A part of me wanted to beg for forgiveness, yes I would stoop that low just so it would never happen again, but thankfully I didn't. She picked me up, squeezed me harder than ever and said "Bella, I love you. I'm so sorry about this." If you love me, then why did you bathe me? What kind of twisted love is that?
I must have succesfully splashed some of that filthy water in her eyes, because they were all wet. Good. No time for pity. I noticed a little cat treat sticking out of a box. I writhed my way out of her arms and whoa, a whole trail of treats, what a find! My excitement was just as quickly extinguished when the box closed. Damn it, the vet box. I should've known better. I don't get fooled easily, but I never expect treats to trick me. It's trick or treat, not trick and treat.
Last time I was at the vet, he poked me in the butt with a thin, silver stick. Humans are the most bizzare creatures. What a pathetic weapon. Is it supposed to intimidate me? I obviously wasn't thrilled about it, but I've heard rumours that some vets take out cats' scratch weapons, so it could've been worse. This time, however, the trip seemed different. Human was making a lot of sniffly noises, so I thought maybe she was sick and had to go to the vet instead of me but she needed me there as her guardian.
We stopped and I heard my least favourite sound in the cativerse: barking. And then my second: children. "Is the kitty here?" No. No I am not. My box started moving and the sounds got nearer and louder. Screams! Shit, there went my peaceful afternoon plan of lounging on freshly washed clothes. A human door opened, then my vet door opened and I bolted. "I refuse to be around children; I'm hiding until Human takes me home" I thought. But she never came searching for me, and she never came to take me home.
I stayed hidden for weeks, and only snuck around at night to replenish my food stocks when the miserable humans slept, the dog snored and the children didn't squeel. The humans wore protective clothing to try to get me out, that's how I knew that I was winning. As I observed my new prey, I noticed something strange. The humans left the house, which was normal, but so did the dog: Willingly and often. "How pitiful," I thought, "the stupid beast is slaving to the humans when they could have so much more power by becoming a master." But I was also morbidly intrigued. Curiosity killed the cat they say. Whenever the humans left with the dog, I watched. I saw the dog running around with a string attached to her neck and sniffing trees and bushes. I didn't even know what those smelled like! I needed to know.
I devised a plan where I started to act more like the dog. Going to the humans for snuggles, jumping for treats, eating with the rest of the family, the easy stuff. No "roll over" or "speak." That's just weak. And you know what? It worked! One day, I meowed at the magical door and they opened it for me. They didn't even put a string around me. They must've really understood that I was their master.
Outside was a place that I could have never imagined in my wildest cat nip hallucinations. There were cat toys that weren't attached to strings, and I could chase them endlessly. If I caught one I could eat it and it didn't taste like cloth! Sometimes I brought the humans some because I figured they couldn't catch their own. I also met a few other handsome cats, had some babies which was interesting, but got annoying rather quickly: I hate children, even cat ones. I had to reject one of them because he was too weak, but my humans decided to nurture him instead and keep him! I guess they could relate to him.
Overall, living with the humans was a great compromise. I came and went as I pleased, which my former human never let me do, and I stopped acting like a dog which was a facade that I hated. Cuddles were on my own terms: during the winter months only. I came up with a special sound that I learned in the wilderness: a mixture of a racoon shriek and a human groan. This sound allowed me to get food whenever I wanted, to take up the whole couch whenever I wanted and to be alone whenever I wanted (99% of the time). While the humans bowed at the sight of me, the other animals didn't necessarily follow their lead.
Over the years the humans got more cats and more dogs. I tried to put my paw down whenever there was a newcomer and I would pretend to run away, but I would really just watch from the bushes. I once stayed away from the human nest for six months, until it got cold and I needed blanket hibernation. I think I blew my cover during that time though, there were times when they definitely saw me surveilling the neighbourhood. Sometimes, the other animals in the house disappeared--forever. I wondered if the humans did the same thing to them that my original human did to me, but there was never any bath or vet box visible as evidence. Then I thought that maybe they left willingly, but the dog was limping before she left and let's face it, she's not a cat-- she'd never survive outside. Whenever an animal was gone the humans would be weak and slow-moving, with rainy eyes. I thought maybe the animals rebelled and tried to be a master like me, but that wouldn't explain why they left.
This mystery always lingered in the back of my mind. Everytime the humans picked me up for snuggles, or the dog licked me, or the young cat chased my tail, or an ugly human tried hitting me with a rake, I thought: "I need to go wherever the others went." It was nothing against the humans, I knew they felt human feelings for me and maybe their eyes would rain if I left, but I was getting to old for this. I prepared for about 1/2 cat life in advance. I started gathering extra birds and mice so the humans wouldn't starve when I left. I explored the outside beyond my pee territory. North: human nests, west: human nests, south: human nests, east: trees and more trees! The decision was an easy one. I wouldn't risk getting trapped with unknown humans, I would be my own master.
Finally, here I am: a foreigner to the treeland with animals who fear me. I climb hundreds of trees and play with dozens of leaves. My bed is a decaying tree with soft, green moss and crinkling leaves. It hugs me at night and tells me stories of a world before humans. As I sleep the only sounds I hear are the running river and shivering trees. I don't expect the other animals who left to show up here, somehow I know that their peaceful place would have been different. Humans don't trod here and dogs don't sniff.
My last three cat lives are freedom.
A glimpse at my last days with Human: trying to act happy to snuggle
In memory of Bella: a beautiful cat queen with a calico cattitude.