Peter Gethers - The Cat Wholl Live Forever: The Final Adventures of Norton, the Perfect Cat, and His Imperfect Human

CONTENTS

FOREWORD

One of the reasons I moved to where I live now is because its right near Washington Square Park, in the heart of Greenwich Village, and ever since I came to New York City, this is exactly where I fantasized about living. For human beings, however, wanting to do something and actually doing it are often two very different things. Which leads me to confess that the real reason I finally made the move is because my cat wanted to live on Washington Square Park.

Do me a favor and please dont ask how I know that this was his abode of choice. I know many strange things about my cat and Id rather not discuss them because anyone whos not a cat fanatic will think Im insane and anyone who is a cat fanatic (or has read about my particular fanaticism) will not even question the above statement. In fact, the only question those readers might ask is, What took you so long?

What took me so long was that I never realized that Norton, my exceptional, geniuslikeand did I mention dashingly handsome?Scottish Fold pal, liked the dog run quite as much as he did.

My ignorance lasted until one day, when we were strolling around the Village on a sunny afternoon. Well, I was strolling; Norton was in his usual position, relaxing, half in, half hanging out of his cloth-and-mesh bag that hung on my shoulder, swivelling his head at everyone and everything around him. At some point we found ourselves in the middle of the park. In addition to the sounds of guitars and bongos (I know it sounds like youve suddenly been plunged into a Dobie Gillis episode, but I swear there really were guitars and bongos), there was also the distinct and incessant sound of dogs barking. We made our way to the south side of the square and, sure enough, there was this caged-in stretch of landsome grass, mostly dirtin which twenty or thirty dogs of all shapes and sizes were rolling, running, jumping, fetching, yapping, growling, howling and generally acting like happy, idiotic canines. Norton was fascinated by this undignified but free-spirited behavior, so we mosyed up as close as we could to the wire fence that separated the dogs and their owners from non-dog-owning humans. Norton twisted himself further out of his bag, sticking his headwhich would easily have fit whole into most of those dogs mouthsas far across the boundary as he could muster. Several of the dogs raced over and barked hysterically but Norton stayed fairly serene, safe in the knowledge that none of the barkers could quite reach him and, if they could, all I had to do was take a step backward and hed be out of harms way.

I knew he was enjoying all this so I found a nearby bench, sat, and spent a decent part of the afternoon watching him watch the dogs. (I think Ill skip over the fact of how much time Ive actually spent during my adult years doing nothing but watch my cat do things that most people would not find all that entertaining. All Ill say, so I keep some modicum of self-respect, is that Im a total Knicks fanatic and I tend to live and die with that very aggravating basketball team. Nonetheless, if forced to choose, Id have to say, Watching Norton do just about anything, one; watching Latrell Sprewell juke to the basket, two.) A few days later we went back to the same bench and my little pal seemed to have just as good a time, so after that we started going more often. And very soon after that I bought my new apartment, which I tell people I bought because its right on Washington Square Park but which I really bought because its only about fifty yards from the dog run. Even though I dont have a dog.

Once we were so conveniently located, Norton and I went by there almost daily. We liked to take little strolls together in the afternoon; it got me away from the stress of sitting at my computer for hours on end and it got him away from the stress of... well... napping by my computer for hours on end. After a few weeks, we didnt just sit on the bench on the outsider side of the fence, we started sitting inside the dog run. At first, the regular inhabitants (both human and canine) were not thrilled to see a feline intruder. They (the canines, not the humans) would come running up, barking ferociously, and my cat would retreat hastily into his bag. But gradually, the ferocity stopped and curiosity took over, and then it was even possible to spot a kind of friendly wariness. Norton, throughout this process, usually just nestled calmly on my lap, half in, half out of his bag.

One day, the two of us were sitting in the sun, in the middle of the dog run, and a woman came in and sat down beside us. I was reading, Norton was sitting on my lap, totally out of his bag now, soaking in the rays. The dogs were basically ignoring us, except for one small one, a Scottie, I think, who didnt seem to understand that Norton wasnt a dog, because he couldnt seem to comprehend why Norton had zero interest in running around and playing fetch with him. The woman next to us sat there quite a long time; I was vaguely aware that she kept staring over in my direction. Then, finally, she nudged me. When I looked up, she didnt make a big deal out of it, she just said, Thats Norton, isnt it? I nodded once, muttered something like, Yup, then she didnt say anything else for a while. She did start nodding, though, repeatedly, as if finally grasping some long-sought knowledge. Then, her head still bobbing slowly, her voice betraying just the tiniest bit of awe, she said, So its true...

I knew immediately what she meant. She had read about Norton. She had heard about him. His travels, his adventures, his remarkable effect on everyone around him. And now she had seen him in the flesh (or the fur, as it were), which is all it ever really took for people to understand how genuinely special he was.

I looked at my little cat and patted him on the head. My hand lay there, taking comfort in the smallness and the familiar fit within my palm.

Yes, I said, smiling down at my beloved gray pal, its definitely true.

DEDICATION

Theres only one possible choice for this...

To the greatest little cat there ever was.
Au revoir, pal o mine.

THE CAT WHOLL LIVE FOREVER. Copyright 2001 by Peter Gethers. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information, address Broadway Books, a division of Random House, Inc., 1540 Broadway, New York, NY 10036.

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