Cammie McGovern - Frankie and Amelia

For Tara Weikum and Margaret Riley King,

cat lovers both

IM NOT SURE HOW LONG IVE been sitting on the woodpile watching this boy through the window of his house. Maybe a day? Perhaps two? At first, I hardly noticed him because the outdoors is such a busy place and I have to keep myself on alert. Leaves blow, winds rustle, voles have litters of little blind babies that are easier for a larger-sized cat like me to catch.

I started watching the boy in the window on a sunny afternoon following a full meal from a tipped-over garbage can. Lying on the tarp-covered wood, still groggy, I suddenly felt a hair-raising prickle of danger. Somethings watching me, I thought, and indeed, there he was. Standing in the window, staring out.

I crouched in a ready-to-spring position. A misjudgment on my part, Ill admit, considering he was about sixty yards away with a house and window between us.

I have to say, though, his gaze was so intense, I couldnt look away. I sat up on my perch and initiated a staring contest, an old game my mother used to play with neighborhood cats to establish territorial boundaries. Ive got my eye on you is the message behind the game. Not one paw on this side of the driveway.

In a two-cat staring contest, the winner is the one so confident of victory he shuts his eyes and falls asleep first. A one-cat staring contest with some other creature has a different set of rules. This boy isnt staring at me in a territorial way. In fact, as I finally realize, he isnt staring at me at all. Hes watching the same things I like to watch: the play of light through the leaves on the grass, a windblown leaf dancing across. His gaze is so intent I wonder for a second if he might be a cat, somehow disguised in a boy costume.

I drift off to sleep, which, if he is a cat, makes me the winner in this competition.

Excuse me, but do you have a home of your own?

This is unexpected. Im being woken up by a brown dog on the ground, staring up at me. Of course I dont answer him.

My name is Chester, he says. I heard Sara and Marc talking inside. Theyre worried that you dont have a family or anywhere to live.

Of course I have a family, I say, but I dont go into any details: I havent seen them in a long time and I cant seem to find them.

Ive never spoken with a dog before because my mother always told me not to. Dogs are the sworn enemy of cats. My mother taught me this when I was a kitten. The only animals we hate more than dogs are other cats, who, in addition to having staring contests, will pick a fight if you so much as walk a few feet into a territory theyve decided is theirs. Admittedly, I used to do this back when I had a home and it seemed important not to let any other cat near it. Now that Ive been a wandering cat myself, I realize some of those old battles seem silly.

I look away from the dog and blink up into the sun. Are you hungry? the dog says. Sara is inside looking for something you might like to eat. Shes wondering if you like canned tuna fish.

Oh my. Its been weeks since Ive had a meal of canned food, and yes, tuna fish has always been one of my favorites. If this is a guard dog, hes not doing a very good job of scaring me off.

Here she comes! he says. She might tell you to eat slowly. Thats what she says to me sometimes.

Here you go, sweetheart, the woman says. She puts the bowl of food down at the other end of the woodpile, too high for the dog to reach, which is nice. I dont know if he would make a dive for it, but he might. Dogs and cats will always fight, my mother used to say. And cats will always win. Its sad, really. Dogs dont have claws and we do. You should always beware of dogs, but you should also feel a little sorry for them. Most of them dont care about anything except their people. Its embarrassing to watch, franklythe way they follow commands and fetch balls. Theyve forgotten all their natural animal instincts.

Just as my mother once predicted, this dog doesnt realize were supposed to be enemies and he doesnt make a move toward the tuna fish, which smells divine.

Instead he looks at me with his tongue hanging out in a friendly, dopey way. Go on, he says. Its okay. You dont have to be afraid of Sara. Shes very nice.

I walk, tentatively, a little closer. I dont know how long its been since Ive had someone feed me. This whole time on my own, Ive been trying to find my way back home to the family who opened such cans and offered them. Im not sure why, but its never occurred to me that other people might do the same. That if you lose track of one family, it might be possible to take up with another.

I move closer.

Careful, the woman says. Dont eat it too quickly. You might make yourself sick.

Behind me, the dog makes a happy, sneezy sound. See, I told you she would say that!

NATURALLY, I DONT MAKE ANY RASH moves. Cats prefer to consider all their options unless their option is a vole scurrying across a lawn, and in that case, well move quickly. But choosing a new family is a commitment and requires some consideration.

On the one hand, this family has delicious cans of tuna fish. On the other hand, they also have a dog, which isnt a plus. However, this dog, Chester, doesnt seem to understand that he and I arent meant to be friends.

He watched me the whole time I ate my lovely tuna meal and afterward he said, If you dont have a family of your own right now, maybe you can come and live with us!

I told him that was a ridiculous idea; I do have my own family. I just havent seen them in a very long time. Its a long story, I said. I seem to be lost.

Then you should live with us! Were a nice family!

The other worry about choosing this family is that they seem to have a boy and no girls, and Im used to girls. In my family there were two girls, but Emily was my favorite because she spent the most time thinking up games to play with me. Great games like dragging a piece of string around the house for me to chase and pounce on. I was a kitten back then, and up for playing with anythingclumps of feathers tied together with a rubber band, balls of aluminum foil. All of it seemed interesting and worth investing some time and energy in.

I dont know too many boys, but the ones Ive met dont seem all that interested in making cat toys. Theyd rather point sticks and fingers at things and pretend to shoot them. Emily had two boy cousins who once ate chicken wings at our house and used me as a napkin afterward to wipe their fingers off. It still makes me shudder to think about them.

That afternoon when Chester is out in the yard to pee, I tell him my hesitations about living in a house with a boy.

He listens and lifts his nose to the air. I bet that chicken wing sauce tasted good, though.

It did, but thats not the point. The point is, boys like to do things that cats arent interested in. They bounce balls on driveways and aim toy guns at things, and cats dont like any of that.

Gus isnt like that. He doesnt do any of those things.

So far Ive watched Gus mostly stare at me out the window. Ive also seen him bounce up and down when a bird flew into its nest on the porch. I have to admit, Gus does look a little different.