CATSPELL

By Steve Coe
Cats have always been linked with witchcraft. To my mind this association is entirely justified and actually quite rational. The evidence is there to be seen all around us. How else can we explain the incredible power that these small, spiteful, and totally immoral carnivores wield so effectively over the otherwise sane and rational people, chosen by these parasites to be their hosts?

Of course the victims are always totally unaware of the spell that binds them so firmly. They persist in the delusion that they are still masters and mistresses of their own fate. Once infected, oblivious to reason, these poor souls proceed with the façade of their pitiful lives - hollow lives, henceforth dedicated solely to providing for their sly and deceitful fur-covered owner’s insatiable love of luxury. And as for the cat, it is never enough to simply enjoy the rich material fruits that come with this incredible dominance. Oh no - it’s far more than that! Have you ever watched a cat playing with a mouse? Well I’ll let you into a secret. The most preferred mice of all are much larger, walk on two legs and do not sport tails. In this game the claws reach right into the brain and they never let go!

There is no cure, no vaccine for this affliction; it’s always permanent and ultimately terminal. However there are some of us, a small minority, who are totally immune to the machinations of the nasty creatures. Through some accident of birth or fate, the power of their unholy spell craft has absolutely no effect whatsoever upon us, a fact that any cat will recognise instantly and adapt its behaviour to suit. To us lucky few, it is painful in the extreme to witness the extent of the degeneration so evident in the actions of the afflicted. It is resoundingly depressing to observe the degradation of a mature adult specimen of the genus Homo sapiens, babbling stupid baby talk and begging for attention, whilst an aloof and bored feline simply cleans its sleek coat and pointedly ignores its adoring slave. What is even more amazing, is how quickly the spell takes effect to enchant and secure the chosen victims. One casual sidelong glance from the cat towards a susceptible prey and its all over, the entrapment is literally completed in an instant. Another poor dupe is lost forever.

Let me give you an example of how effortlessly the wretched feline is able to acquire a bevy of enthralled slaves and then permanently take over their miserable lives. Sadly this is the story of my very own family and to my enduring shame, I have had to come to terms with the indignity of it. It’s a miserable tale indeed! I only hope that my sad story can be a warning to others in my situation.

Some time ago, in the pouring rain of an early summer’s storm, I was travelling home from my workplace near a construction site on the fringes of the city. I was making my way carefully past a rubbish dump, where a bulldozer had recently been flattening rubble heaps, when suddenly saw I saw something moving. I pulled my car to an abrupt stop and peering through the driving rain was surprised to see a tiny animal staggering along the centre of the road in front of me. Thinking that it was a small, half-drowned mole, I went across to help the poor thing to safety. To my surprise I found that the little creature was a minute black and white kitten, still much too small to be weaned. It was bedraggled, filthy, incredibly thin and its eyes were gummed shut with mucus. It was so weak that it could barely walk and it was falling down with every step. Obviously the bulldozer had destroyed its home and possibly its family too.

Although decidedly no lover of cats, I took it home, resolving to drop it off at the SPCA, if it was still alive in the morning. My wife and twin daughters had been away for the past week and were due back the next day, so I set out to cleaning up the little waif. I towelled it dry and warmed some milk, which was enthusiastically taken from an eyedropper. My old bull terrier bitch, Suzie, came upon the scene and, contrary to my expectations gently started licking the mucus from the tiny creature’s eyes and face. Eventually the kitten could drink no more and I put it to bed, snuggled into a nest of handkerchiefs, secure within a shoebox. Then I carefully carried the sleeping creature into the bathroom and placed the shoe box into the empty bath, just in case the animal wandered out and messed during the night.

My family returned from their trip the next day and my lovely daughters and dearest wife hugged me and raved on about their holiday. They had all missed me so much that they couldn’t get enough of me and I was the centre of the universe. I was given all the news and gossip at breakneck speed. That was the last time that I can recall, ever again having been the centre of attention in my own house.

I went into the kitchen to make coffee for them and suddenly there was a squeal of delight. The twins rushed back to the lounge and one glance showed me that they had acquired THE LOOK. My wife’s face also took on THE LOOK, as soon as she saw what they were carrying. The incredible soppiness in the expression of the true cat-lover, in the presence of the beloved, is sickening in the extreme. My vain protests about the SPCA were swept aside, unheard. Completely ignored, I was left to myself, although I did hear something muttered about cruel people who leave poor little kittens in cold baths.

The triumph, in the barely opened blue eyes, told me, that as tiny as she was, the kitten was well aware of the completeness of her victory and the security of her hold over her newly acquired slaves. Waif, or Mama, as she later became known, lost no time in consolidating her position. A couple of weeks after the kitten’s arrival, the old dog shuffled up, to clean the little cat’s face, as usual. She received a slash across the nose for her trouble. The ensuing barking and spitting match brought the zombies rushing to the kitten’s aid and Suzie was banished from the house forever.

All cats know how to recognise those of us who cannot stand them and they constantly engage in clever tactical ploys to gain and maintain advantage over us. A favourite trick is to always make a point of choosing one of our laps to sit upon. However they will only do this in the presence of a nearby cat-lover. This shows how truly devious they actually are. The action serves a dual purpose, it makes the cat-lover jealous and hence easier to manipulate and simultaneously infuriates the cat-hating victim, whose good behaviour is guaranteed by the presence of the nearby fanatic.

Mama was a grand master at this game. Her personal variation was to sit motionless and awkwardly on my lap, purring in anticipation and waiting for the inevitable slight movement that I would eventually have to take to balance the dead weight on my cramped legs. At the exact moment this occurred she would bite at my knees with needle sharp teeth and propel herself off my lap by sinking huge claws into my crotch to increase the power of her spring. The attendant slave would then go hysterical and berate me for frightening poor Pussy. Meanwhile poor Pussy would be crouched low, ears flattened, flicking her tail from side to side like some enraged jungle beast, all the while growling menacingly and staring up at me with baleful eyes, filled with a world of hatred and spite. A truly Oscar winning performance of outraged innocence!

To deal with the major tribulations sent to afflict our lives, it is necessary to arrive at a system of accommodations, to somehow preserve at least a semblance of normality, or life itself would become intolerable. Living with a cat is no exception to this rule. It’s not at all satisfactory, but a person just has to make the best he can of any situation. For my part, I have resolved always to hide my feelings and pretend not to hate the nasty creatures. And as far as possible, if I can’t actually avoid having to have cats around me, I’ll try somehow to get on with the loathsome creatures. Nevertheless I shall never stoop so low as to pretend that I actually have any love in me for the wretched four-legged extortionists. The best I can offer would be feigned indifference.

Although really, sometimes I wonder why I even bother! No-one would notice anyway - for you and all the other poor fools, who bought or stole this excellent magazine, will be far too busy grovelling and vying jealously with one another for the honour of lavishing every last bit of love and attention there is in the world upon your precious little kitty – won’t you?

You poor, pathetic victim of Catspell !

Apollo

Requiem for a Runner

Warm tempter behind, my bed calls me back,
As we run through the gate and onto the track,
Our sleepy, slowed eyes, still straining to see,
Though stars shine bright for Apollo and me.

In splendid chill dawn, near naked we run,
To take our first hill, before rising of sun.
Six legs to be run, two hearts to set free,
Though stiff, slow and cold are Apollo and me.

Down through the valley, quicker we fly,
But faster the day paints light in the sky.
From far below us the scent of the sea,
The gift of the breeze to Apollo and me.

We turn to the mountain, our trial and our test.
Soon lungs are afire, legs crying for rest.
Each step bringing stabs of pain to my knee.
The cruel peak bites hard at Apollo and me.

Through rasping of breath and pounding of feet,
Rises clamour of birdsong, the new day to greet.
The path turns sharply, and beyond the scree,
The crest, blazing in gold, meets Apollo and me.

In wonder we pause - we leave off our run,
As the splendour of life is touched by the sun,
Waking the blossoms on dew sparkled tree,
Prepared by our God for Apollo and me.

A wet nose nudges a sweaty, streaked thigh,
There’s love burning bright in a soft golden eye.
“Come, come, run on – there’s much more to see!”
Life was good then for Apollo and me.

*Cancer has taken my companion from me .
The colours of the dawn are now less bright
Farewell old friend.