Have you ever looked at your cat, really looked at your cat, and wondered,
just what lies behind those languid green eyes? As you look into those eyes,
you may wonder, just what does a cat do? Do you ever wonder what he does when
you’re not home? What if I told you, your cat might not be a cat at all, but a
person, same as you, inside a cat’s body? No, you say, not possible. A cat is
well, just a cat. Well, I am a cat, and I am here to tell you, don’t believe
everything you see. How am I writing this, you ask? Well, let that be my little
secret. Cats have lots of little secrets, and I am about to let you in on some
of them. But not all. After all, cats are mysterious, and we wouldn’t want to
change that, would we?
My name is Lucy. I am an orange tabby. I used to have red hair as a human,
so I guess it stuck with me in my cat life. How did I become a cat, you ask?
Well, I didn’t wish it, although there may be times when you humans do, looking
at your cat laying with his paws in the air, on his back, sleeping, just when
you have to go to work. How many times have you said to yourself, I wish I were
a cat, what a life? Well, be careful what you wish for, you might just get it.
I did, and it has been a hard life, if interesting. I am getting old now, and
settled into my fluffy bed, I begin to think of how it all started. I wasn’t
always this pampered. A human has adopted me, after many years of roaming. He
treats me well, I admit, but what I wouldn’t give to be human again. Cats don’t
have it so great, you know. We have to dodge cars, run from dogs, scratch
fleas, chase stupid birds; well, you get the idea. We sleep a lot, I know, but
it’s because we are always thinking, always on the watch. A hard life, indeed.
sh, you say, you have to be kidding. Well, until you walk a mile on my paws,
you’ll just have to believe me.
It all began 15 years ago, when my mother took ill. She lived alone in a big
musty house, and she needed me to take care of her. I was younger then, a woman
of 20, but bored with my life. Wishing for some excitement. Boy, if I had only
known what I was wishing for…but anyway….
She wrote me a letter that she was dying, and that she needed me to come
live in her house until she died, and then to take care of her affairs. So, I
quit my job, and went to take care of her. My mother and I had always had what
you humans call a "strained relationship". She was always trying to tell me how
to live my life when I lived at home, and so I moved out. We never really got
along with each other, but there is always a bond between mother and daughter,
no matter how strained the relationship. I suppose a mother tries to keep her
daughter from making the same mistakes she did, to no avail. My mother did the
same, to a point, and then finally gave up.
The funny thing about my mother’s letter is that her handwriting looked
funny. She was always sure in her words, and in her strokes, but it looked
agitated. I chalked it up to her illness.