Updates from a Small Cat 4

This morning, the cat adopts a terrible French accent. He wishes to discuss his neighbour, El Cato.

‘Why do you wish to think in an accent you cannot truly speak,’ thinks the people mama at him.

‘It does not matt-air,’ says the cat, for this morning he shall speak with an accent different to his own because it is fun, and he shall speak because he is a cat of nine lives. When one is a cat of nine lives, a cat has options to don whatever character they choose.

‘Be shush,’ says the cat, for the people mama was speaking to other people and not him. ‘I em calling from ze fenz end you mest sive moi.’

The people mama decides to check the fence where last she saw le chat and see if he truly needs saving. She opens the door to the rear of the building and he dashes in, chatting excitedly.

It sounds a little bit like, ‘Meh, mow, mioh, me.’ What it means is, ‘I ev sived myself from ze fenz, and now I mest check on ze Farza Figga.’

The cat has tap-danced into the master bedroom, checked on the father figure, and tap-danced back out, only to throw himself into a luxuriously verdant position on the floor that resembles hardwood but isn’t. He is a cat of short thinking today, and it is difficult to keep up with him.

He decides to talk around his breakfast. ‘Did you see ‘ow well El Cato’s human counterpart played last night, mama,’ he mumbles around his food.

‘I did,’ says the mama. ‘His own mama must be very proud.’

‘She is, I think,’ says the small cat. ‘Although we think he may have been slightly distracted by distractions at some point during the evening match.’

The people mama pushes her mouth together and tries not to smile. ‘Yes, well. That is none of our business, and we shall not discuss it.’

‘Not any of it?’ The cat is determined to be naughty this morning.

‘No. I am sure he is a very good boy.’ The people mama is also determined, but she is determined not to start laughing. ‘He played very good tennis, and that is the whole point. Just like the falling apart old man down the other end played very good tennis.’

‘Fallin’ apart old man?’ The cat is confused. ‘That man is not so old.’

‘I suppose it depends on how one looks at age in certain aspects, like sport for example,’ explains the people mama. ‘In sport, that old man is absolutely ancient, and falling apart at the knees. Plus, he has small children, and that makes him even ancient-er.’

‘It does?’ El Cato’s human counterpart is curious now. ‘I thought it would make him younger? Perhaps I should reconsider the idea of making small children any time soon.’

The people mama decides her time is up. To upset other mamas is not why she is here. She smiles and waves, and quickly leaves on wings shaped like bonnets and a crash-helmet shaped like a yellow flower, one she had tied to her head with two very thin pieces of grass.

‘Is that who I think it is,’ said the small boy’s father. He grinned to himself as the ladybird flew off. ‘I think there might be a story about that ladybird around here somewhere.’

But that might be a story for another day.

‘Will You Dance with me, Cirro.’

Cirro glances up. His eyes are sharp and he takes in the person who is asking.

‘You are not supposed to ask me that. I am supposed to ask you.’

‘Well then.’ The one who has asked turns and begins to walk away. The one who has asked will sit down, and wait, if that is what is required. Perhaps, someone else will ask them to dance instead, or they will ask someone else.

Cirro leaps to his feet. ‘Wait.’ He does not grab the one who has asked him to dance by the arm, nor does he touch them, but they stop anyway, and turn to face him. ‘How do we do this dance,’ asks Cirro, because he was not the one who asked to dance in the first place, he is merely watching, and he has been watching for a long time.

‘I think you know,’ says the other person, and she smiles. ‘But I will show you anyway. Let us “expand” on this idea of one hundred and eighty degrees.’

Cirro begins to smile. He knows there are many things that are one hundred and eighty degrees, although some other people do not. ‘Do I turn my back on you now?’ he says.

‘Yes. And I will turn my back on you as well. This way, we are both facing outwards, and we are both at exactly one hundred and eighty degrees. Extend your arms, Cirro.’

Cirro extends his arms from his sides, and spreads his stance just enough so he is comfortable and strong. He feels the pressure of the other’s back against his, and knows the other is gazing out just as he is gazing out. What he does not see, the other one can see. This is the purpose, in this dance of one hundred and eighty degrees.

‘Now turn,’ says the other from behind him, and Cirro begins to turn.

‘Are we still at one hundred and eighty degrees,’ he asks politely.

‘I am, and you are. Despite our turning, we are both still at one hundred and eighty degrees. This is good.’

Cirro knows now that this is his friend. This one protects his back, just as he protects hers. This time, and by this person, he has not been asked to turn and face them, nor has he overstepped his mark. He has not gone to three hundred and sixty degrees, nor has he overstepped by five degrees. He is comfortable at one hundred and eighty degrees and knows his back is always protected, just as he protects the one who protects him.

‘Thank you,’ says Cirro.

‘And thank you,’ comes the reply.

And it is good.

Updates from a Small Cat 3

The human observes the cat digging a small hole. The cat does things in the small hole by balancing over the top of said small hole. The cat then pushes sand into the small hole and proceeds to run in short aimless leaps around the tiny backyard.

The cat thinks the human is boring and should make what the cat just did sound a little more exciting. The human nods in agreement.

‘The cat has attempted to dig a small hole in the direction of Bermuda. It is highly likely he will not be able to dig all the way to Bermuda as there are things in the way, but he has attempted it. As I watch, with slight horror, the cat’s tail resembles the actions of a small lever which, I assume, means there is something coming out of his (the cat is a male) rear end (his bottom). This does not take as long as it normally would, so perhaps I am incorrect in assuming it is what I thought it was, and perhaps the cat is ‘releasing water’ instead. The cat then hurriedly covers whatever it was he deposited in said hole and makes the decision to run around the small backyard with gay abandon.’

The cat would sigh if it could sigh. The human has heard it snore before, so thinks to herself it is highly possible the cat could sigh.

The cat thinks the human is boring. The human nods in agreement. The cat notes there may also be a couple of words one could consider “politically incorrect”. The human frowns, then makes the decision to use a lot of words that, if taken with context when joined with other words, may be considered highly amusing even if they are “politically incorrect”.

The cat, if the cat could smile, would be smiling right about now. The human is showing her teeth on the inside, and her inner teeth are surrounded by a very large upward smile.

‘Hehehehehehehe,’ thinks the human.

‘The cat has decided to start removing sand from my backyard, from the desperate attempt of a garden bed to be exact, and has also decided he is helping to fertilise it. This is acceptable, even though I do not wish to be observing it right now. He now covers it all up, like any cat would, as they do their best to be clean, even if it is not always in a situation where a cat can be clean. Having done that, he proceeds to use a Thesaurus to describe the motions he is performing around the backyard. Perhaps the motions are considered joyful dancing in that he has helped to fertilise the planet? Perhaps the motions are considered thoughtless, although he seems to land with incredible precision in certain places so as not to injure himself? This is debatable.

Perhaps, thinks the cat, if the cat could think which is also debatable, the human could ask other humans to describe what it is their cats do in backyards when they are doing what this cat has done. Perhaps other humans cat companions do not have the pleasure of having a backyard and need to use small boxes instead?

Perhaps they should have a bloody go then, thinks the human and considers the fact she has written that down. This may be considered as thinking as not out loud but as ‘being recorded’. In her head, the human dons a nondescript yet rakishly attired head covering and waves a pen shaped like a sword or a feather.

‘Speak to me of an Irish cat,’ she cries, then smiles in a slightly lopsided manner as she makes a dashing yet fabulous exit from the area within which she has been writing.

‘Ah ha!’ A distant persian laughs with glee. ‘I recognise this dance.’ He turns to his performers and claps his paws. ‘Begin.’

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About Face

Walk with me, Cirro?’

The man does not ask this in an unkind way. He looks to his tall friend and asks politely.

‘What is it?’ Cirro is not feeling as friendly.

‘I wish to discuss with you the idea of one hundred and eighty degrees. Can we move this discussion to the horses? Will you mount up and we shall talk?’

Cirro does not remember his friend’s name. Cirro has forgotten many things. He looks down upon his friend who has taught him, and thinks he is better.

‘Your eyes are not blue this morning,’ Cirro says. ‘They are green.’

‘It is a trick of the light, Cirro. Shall I remind you who I am?’ 

This man’s hair is brown. It is not black, it is not the trick of gold, it is brown. Cirro is confused. He wants to view his own face, but is unable to see it as they move towards the ponies. There is no reflection for him.

The man holds a stirrup and turns back to Cirro. ‘This one? Or would you like to get up on the other?’

Cirro has been given a choice now. Should he take this horse or the other? The man has offered him this pony. Is there something wrong with it? He looks at the animal. Its hocks are low. It has a nice short back. Its tail carriage is neither high nor is it tucked under. He looks at its eyes. There is no ring of white around them. They are a horse’s eyes, not a demon’s.

‘Can I check its teeth?’

‘Are you buying it?’ The man asks. He grins.

‘No.’ Cirro is unhappy.

‘Then why bother checking its teeth? I just wish to know whether you want to ride with me, or not?’

‘I do not want to ride with you,’ Cirro says.

‘That is unfortunate,’ the man replies softly. ‘Can’t you ride?’

‘I can ride.’ His answer is fast, like a whiplash.

‘Can you cook?’

‘I can cook. What does this have to do with anything?’ Cirro begins to pace, and his friend, who is neither short nor tall, neither amazingly handsome (although, Cirro must admit, has a certain flair) or very ugly, begins to laugh.

‘Can you do a half-circle? Have you practiced your geometry?’ The man is grinning openly now, and his teeth are showing. Should Cirro check his teeth? He does not know.

‘I give up,’ says Cirro. ‘Let us ride on your horses and see where we go.’

‘Thank you,’ says the man. ‘Do you wish to know who I am now, Cirro? Or have you forgotten?’

‘I know who you are,’ says Cirro. ‘Let’s go.’

The truth of this is Cirro did not know who the man was. Cirro did not even know anymore if the man was a man. All Cirro knew, was that this person, for person it was, had indulged him for a short time, and was now giving him the opportunity to go. The man would let Cirro go back to his own place and time because the man knew Cirro was now capable of not being mean — for Cirro had learned control, and how to try to keep the lack of control he sometimes had hidden as much as he was able. As ‘the man’ had informed Cirro many times, one uses these emotions in writing to oneself, in writing a fiction, in painting, in music, or in dance or sport. Perhaps, one could even use these emotions in singing, if one had enough control. What one did not do, was steal other people’s emotions or stories, for they would never come across as real or true unless one had experienced them personally. This was what Cirro needed to remember.

I am not a man yet, thought Cirro. But, I’m getting there.

To be a true man, Cirro needed to learn how love changed over the years, and how it is often the man must bow to his wife, for she will be the mother of his children, and he must have respect and understanding. To lose a partner of many years, who is so different to a man, is devastating. Those little things he has grown used to, those little jars and tins of this and that he never used himself, but have remained in a cupboard or on a bench; the smell of a pillowslip, or the long distant memory of a certain scent. This is how true partnerships are formed and how the loss of them may turn a man bad if he does not remember the respect and care that went with them.

Turn around.

Updates from a Small Cat 2.

The human companion and I arose early this morning due to being overheated and having interrupted sleepings. This is because the Father Figure’s sleepings were loud and obnoxiously noisy. It is also because when the human companion overheats she has not-very-nice dreams and it makes her cranky-pants.

Other people readers will notice when I allow the human companion to speak on my behalf sometimes, I have a slightly different way of communicating. This is because I am a cat with nine lives, and I do not need to explain this anymore than what I just have.

I am currently stalking fence. Up and down, up and down, I stalk the fence because I can balance. I am sending human mother updates as I stalk and she listens to me and rolls eyes dramatically. I am not only a cat, I am a sentry. Occasionally I am a sentry stuck on the roof and demand of my human companions to show me the way off the roof. They are not always happy about doing this, especially after the third or fourth time. This is not my problem. I am a cat, and they are supposed to save me.

It is dark, and I have forgotten what I was doing. Because of this I will send the human companion aka the human mother aka… anyway, I will send her messages to come and find me because it is fun.

She cannot find me. This is possibly because I am at the front of the house and she cannot come to the front of the house without making excessive noise that will not only wake up the occupants of the house but the neighbours as well. I think this ha-ha. At least, I do until I require her assistance to come from the front of the house to the back of the house , just in case the neighbours cat, who is rather large and majestic in the human companion’s humble opinion, decides he also needs to travel from the back of the house to the front of the house.

Many times the neighbours cat and myself encountered have each other. Have encountered. Have crossed paths. Sometimes it is not so bad. Sometimes it is not so good. Sometimes I forget how to send people companion messages in English and she leaves it how it was written because she thinks I am a ridiculous cat. I am not ridiculous. Ridiculous was a dog and he was also slightly. I am a cat and I am magnificent. I am not slightly, I am very small.

There are many things I need to say this very early morning. In order to do this, the people companion first needs to make herself coffee. It is going to be a very long day indeed.

🐾🐱🐾🐱🐾🐱🐾🐱🐾🐱🐾

The people companion has just needed to save me from the roof. I required her to come around the side of the building and remind me how to come down, using the exact same way I have alighted from the roof many times in the past. It does not matter how many times the people companion shows me this, I will always forget. I am a cat.

Sometimes, I think the people companion and I have quite a lot in common.

I may have mentioned many times in the past, in various other places, that I am a cat with no nurries. This means I am a ball-less cat. The little furry bag that once contained my family jewels is jewell-less. This is not bad, in my humble cat opinion-ing. This makes me a safe cat. I do not wander too far and that is very fortunate as I frequently do not remember where I am going, or why I thought I would be going there in the first place.

My people companion nods and smiles. She says to me, very kindly, that she understands cats, even male ones, and she says it is much safer for me if I stay in my own home. She says to me to ‘Watch the telly sometimes,’ because sometimes, she says, there are very interesting cats on there I might like and all I have to do is watch them and nothing else. She also says to me to ‘Not be rude’.

I don’t know what that means. I am a cat.

I have observed the people companion has taken to watching a thing called ‘tennis’ lately because there are very many interesting people on it. She tells everyone in the house, who would all be males like me, to be quiet because she is watching the men hitting the green balls. She has favourites, as well, and they are not all Australian! It is mortifying.

She says, ‘Don’t be silly.’ She is this thing called middle-aged and says that means ‘far too old to be playing silly buggers.’

I think she is slightly creepy, but what would I know. I am a cat.

I have also heard the Father Figure admiring the clothing of the weather ladies on the T.V. I did not know the Father Figure had an interest in fashion, but apparently he does. It does not appear to bother the people companion too much unless he says something that she finds nasty, then she is all up in his face from her distant couch, telling him off, or ignoring him completely, because that is what one does, apparently, when someone is being rude and nasty. She says it is none of his business whether someone has put weight on or not, or whether the colour of someone’s clothing does not suit them. She thinks, and very loudly, that perhaps he should look in the mirror sometimes.

As I am a cat, and do not have a female cat companion, I do not know exactly how this works, but most of the time, despite them watching strange people on the box, they seem to get along okay.

My personal people brothers/adult male companions (other occupants of this house) do not always understand the people companion and the father figure. I think that is not my problem. I am a cat.

I think maybe the human companion should get a dog. That would be good I think. A dog would understand the people companion even less, and I can beat it up with my bare paws and spit at it for being a dog. I did this with the old dog before he went to heaven under the lavender bush, and he didn’t seem to mind at all.

It is daylight now, and time for me to go to bed. The Father Figure will be up soon, anyway, and my People Companion will need to start doing more things for free.

Goodbye furrever,

Jodh.

The Answer

A leader is one who can do the things others can do.

A leader is one who has experienced a similar, if not exactly the same, things others have experienced.

A leader is one who educates through example.

One cannot lead if one does not understand what the experience is.

One cannot lead if one is put in a dark space without having been there before.

One cannot lead if one does not see the potential in others for good.

To explore is to be given options.

To have those options taken away reduces the ability to explore.

This applies to both the leader as well as the one/s who follow/s.

A leader is one who asks, ‘Would you like to try this?’ The leader asks in an open and honest way.

Once again, to be given the option to lead correctly, the leader must be able to understand who, or what, or if, they are leading through choice, or through the lack of it.

If they have not been given a choice, the leader may not wish to lead at all.

If I was thrown into a dark space, and did not know who I was surrounded by or if I was surrounded by anyone, then the only choice I would have remaining is to look after myself first: I do not know my surroundings. I do not know if I have enemies or friends in this space. I must try to get out of this space, to a space where I can see.

Where is this space?

What are the rules of this space?

Am I informed in such a way that I completely understand the rules of this space?

Am I given options?

Do I have a right to maintain my own privacy, or is that right continuously taken away?

Is this a prison?

These are the questions anyone will ask themselves if put in such a space.

If one is not given a clear and concise option, one will not lead others. One will not follow others. One will withdraw into a space within that space and only look after oneself. One will, after a time, begin to lash out at anything or anyone infringing on that space because one was not given options.

This is not about language barriers. This is about not being given choices. This is about others infringing on one’s personal space and saying to themselves, ‘I like this space, I will come here.’ The choice of leading by example is taken away. The choice of educating or teaching is taken away. One now does not have a choice. Therefore, one does not lead.

To be mutable is to be able to adapt to one’s surroundings. If one does not know what one’s surroundings are, or why one is there, the ability to be mutable is taken away. One becomes angry, frustrated and one refuses to continue.