Shadow Cat (2) “Look; in there on the floor in front of the seat. Isn’t that the tail you were telling me about? Isn’t that what you saw earlier?” I looked into the car. I spied the object on the floor. It was partially under the seat and more fully exposed on the floor; now much more than the four inches I saw earlier. I estimated the full length to be at least twenty-four inches. The dead snake was dark gray. I realized then why I mistook it for Shadow’s tail. “Don’t you feel guilty? Shadow was trying to protect you from what he thought was a threat from wildlife.” “Yeah!” I gulped sheepishly. Our kitchen window was covered with frost. Through it we could see our neighbors, Mister Rond and his wife, in their Chrysler New Yorker backing out of their driveway. During the night before they had worked late, packing the car’s large trunk, in preparation for this early morning departure. The Ronds did this routinely every year. Getting on in years, they couldn’t take winter’s harsh weather. Every winter they spent two months in Florida. There they enjoyed the warmth of the sunshine state. “Good bye” we said waving and yelling from inside our window. I felt a touch of envy. “Have a safe trip. See you in two months.” We could hear Mrs. Rond shout back to us, “Say goodbye to Shadow.” Mrs. Rond loved Shadow. Her goodwishes for him was only natural. The Ronds were Shadow’s neighbors as well. Mrs. Rond often gave Shadow caring attention as she tended to her garden at the fence line separating our properties. Their car rolled away down the street. Turning the corner, they were gone. It was a happy morning. We were still celebrating the spirit of the Christmas season. I was wearing the new slippers I had received from Terri. She was happy in her new robe as she took command of breakfast preparations. And of course, we were delighted for the Rond’s; in their escape to the warm south. Turning her attention back into the kitchen Terri picked up Shadow’s food dish from the floor. It was just as she had filled it late the previous afternoon. Not a morsel was eaten. The contents of the dish were dried and untouched. “You know” she said, “I haven’t seen Shadow since yesterday afternoon. Where in the devil is he hiding.” She filled a clean dish with the canned seafood he loved. As she did so, I waited quietly for her to finish. Terri called out for Shadow, but there was no response. Turning to me she asked, “Did you let him out?” “I don’t remember” I replied. “I may have.” I went to the kitchen door and opened it. Stepping outside I called his name. The morning air was cold. I called again. Each time I got no response. Even Shadow’s full feline coat, I feared, wouldn’t protect him for long from the chilly winter air. “You know” I said, “I think the last time I saw him was yesterday afternoon. He was playing with his friend Shorty.” We called Shadow’s friend Shorty because of the shortness of its legs. Shorty was a docile little cat belonging to a neighbor down the road. I never inquired as to whether Shorty was male or female; not that it mattered. Shadow showed a protective attitude toward Shorty. The two got along very well. They would sit together, for long periods on our fence, just facing each other as they engaged in cat talk. “I’ll bet Shadow is at Shorty’s house.” I offered. Terri placed a fresh serving dish on the floor, next to Shadow’s water bowl. THE DOORBELL: Later that morning we got busy with home chores and, for the moment, lost sight of Shadow’s absence. Terri was making room in her closets for some of her gifts. I was in the basement sorting my new golf clubs. I heard the front door bell ring. “Can you get that” I yelled. I could hear the door opening and Terri talking to someone. By the tone of her voice I could tell that she was alarmed. I ran up the cellar stairs to the center hall in three long strides. “Whats the matter!” “These are the children from across the lane” she said bursting into tears. “They say that there is a dead cat out on the roadway. They say it is Shadow.” Frantically we ran into the frigid cold air to the road. There we found, in the ice and snow, the frozen carcass of a dead cat that had been run over. It had been crushed into the soft snow and hard ice by the snowplowing trucks that had continuously worked on our road the night before. The working vehicles had thoroughly trampled the cat. It was hard to tell but it could have been Shadow. Our first instinct was to remain in denial. The color of the body was substantially compromised. The rigid condition of the abused torso made it difficult to be sure of certain identification. On closer inspection I could see that the figure had, what certainly could pass for, tuxedo white markings. Although the markings were in disarray, Shadow had been identified. Terri and I tried to console each other. I led her back into the house. “No wonder he left his food untouched” she cried. “We’ve been so busy with the holiday season that we lost sight of him. This is our fault!” I held her close. “Go get him” she demanded. “I don’t care how hard the ground is, we’ve got to bury him on our grounds. That’s where he should be. On the grounds that he loved.” I wasn’t going to argue with her. Her sentiments reflected my own feelings. I retrieved Shadow. I placed his dead body in a small wooden box suitable for burial. Still later, using a pickaxe I made a hole for Shadow in the frozen ground behind our bedroom window. The burial site was under the dogwood tree; a location that Shadow preferred. I also placed a small monument flat on the ground over the burial spot. The monument was a slab of bluestone. On it I painted the inscription, “HERE LIES SHADOW”; under that I inserted the month and the year. “Shadow was a lucky cat”, I thought to myself. By that I meant that he had found a good home with us. I may not have freely expressed it aloud but I was aware that we were lucky too! Although he was typically aloof at the wrong times, he had become an integral part of our home. In his own way he showed affection; especially to Terri. Their relationship had bonding. Shadow received daily care and physical attention from Terri. She fed him, brushed him and was able to fondle him. These personal contacts were especially permissive. It was Shadow’s way of showing that he appreciated the care treatment. It also displayed his fondness for the agreeable domestic lifestyle; a far cry from the woods he survived in as a homeless young kitten. Sometimes I would complain because Terri would attend to Shadow’s needs before mine. One needed only to look at his high waving tail tip, floating softly side to side above his proud feline movements, to see that he expected no less. His transition from the wild was highly visible; gaining with each month and year in our care. And so, it was painful for us when we were faced with burying Shadow. THE RONDS RETURN: The morning following the burial Terri and I sat quietly having our breakfast. We ate lightly without our usual appetites. We reminisced on Shadow. We recalled how he had come to us out of the woods. “He was a gift,” I said. Terri sobbed. Watching her, I thought that I should not have said what I had said; or at least not that way. Her sobbing was interrupted by a knock at our front door. I looked out through our kitchen window and to my surprise and confusion I could see Mister Rond. Hurriedly I went to the front door. Opening it I said, “What are you doing back so soon. Is it two months already?” “No” he laughed. “But we’ve got a little surprise for you both.” “Well before you tell us what your surprise is, I’ve got something to tell you about Shadow” I broke in. “That’s what we want to tell you, but how could you know?” he said laughing. Turning the corner coming into view on the top step of our lawn path strode Mrs. Rond. “Look who we’ve found” she sang excitedly. In her arms she held Shadow. He was alive and alert. Shadow was clean and robust. His yellow eyes widened with excitement as he saw Terri. Shadow strained for release from Mrs. Ronds grasp; eager to be placed on the ground. Leaping from Mrs. Ronds arms he hit the ground on a run and disappeared through the opened front door. Terri, in disbelief, ran into the house after Shadow. He did not stop until he was squarely over his food dish on the floor next to the refrigerator. Under the circumstances, I felt that he was treating us rather casually. The Ronds explained how they found Shadow. They had stopped for dinner in Maryland in the late afternoon yesterday; on the day of their departure from home. They ate at a roadside inn. After their early dinner they decided to stay overnight at the inn. Mr. Rond went to his car to remove personal overnight articles from the trunk. To his surprise, when he opened the trunk, he was greeted by Shadow; finally released from his long confinement among the soft carrying bags. The Ronds kept Shadow in their room at the inn. They realized that they could not continue on their trek to Florida with Shadow. After reviewing the alternatives available, the Ronds decision was to return. WHO’S UNDER THE DOGWOOD TREE: We were in celebration and in gratitude. The Ronds stayed for lunch. Shadow was up to his old ways, as though nothing had happened. He ate and cleaned himself as always. He showed no inclination to go outside. Pleased to be on his own cushion, he slept in his favorite corner near the fireplace. But of course something had indeed happened. Terri and I continued to feel the sorrow. We needed time to overcome the emotional upheaval that we had gone through. The Ronds stayed in their house that night with plans to get on the road again the next morning. After the celebration of Shadow’s return had been spent, I was struck with the obvious question. “Well, who the heck is that buried under our tree?” Bewildered, we had no idea. “What are we going to do with that grave out there?” “Nothing” Terri answered. “Let it stay as a reminder to us as to what might have been. Maybe that will encourage you to be a bit more patient with Shadow.” The monument lies in place. I did, however, alter the inscription painted on the bluestone. “HERE LIES SHADOW” was changed to read “ANONYMOUS”. I removed all references to the month and year. The monument would stand as threat notice to any intruders, man or beast, to beware. ANOTHER CALLER: About one week later we received a caller at our front door. It was a woman who we knew by sight but not socially. She lived down the road. After introductions she said, “I have been told by the children across your lane that you have a cat confined to a burial on your property.” “Well, yes that is true” I said defensively. “Are you a town official. Have we done something wrong?” I asked. “On the contrary, sir!” she said visibly holding on to her emotions. “I am here to express my appreciation for the manner in which you have treated my unfortunate little pet.” “Wait a minute”, I said. “Aren’t you the lady who lives in Shorty’s house? Are you saying that Shorty is buried back there?” She could no longer hold onto her emotions; which gave way to a flood of tears. Sympathetically we sat her down in our kitchen; and served her a cup of coffee. Between sips, she talked some more. “I know your cat Shadow. He visited us often”. Another sip followed. Catching her breath. “He and Cleo got along so well.” That is how I found out who was buried under the dogwood tree; and that Shorty is really Cleo; and that Shorty or rather Cleo was female. No wonder Shadow and his friend got along so well. Shadow knows who is buried there, too. During fair weather you can see him occasionally paying his respect to the site. Shadow lies on the flat blue stone for long periods; spending more time under the dogwood tree than he did before. Unobserved during a balmy spring afternoon, I changed the inscription. I can tell that Shadow is pleased. I altered the words on the bluestone to read: aka SHORTY” ******* I had just checked in at the Marriott hotel; in the islands of Bermuda. I was there to attend a three-day meeting of the firm’s regional corporate executives. This was a semi-annual event designed to provide top management with first hand reports delivered by invited department heads. Upon my arrival at the hotel desk I was handed a telegram. It had been received during the afternoon; earlier in the day and was held for my arrival. The sender was my wife Terri. The wire read: I was not aware of a first communiqué. The notion that a previous wire had been sent was in the message I held in my hand; apparently the second communiqué. “Do you have another message for me?” I asked. “No sir” the desk clerk replied. “That is the only one for you. It arrived around mid day.” “Are you sure there is not another?” “Yes sir, Quite sure!” This form of communication, I reasoned, is generally urgent; but with specificity as to subject matter. I had left the States aware of troubling domestic issues. These issues were in connection with the well being of Shadow: our black and white tuxedo cat. A cat that just a few years ago came out of the woods as a feral kitten; who would adopt my home. THE CAPER: While I was reading the wire, it was late after noon on Monday back in my home county. Terri was seated in the kitchen of our beach cabin. The cabin, located just three miles from our home in Northport, was our occasional weekend retreat; especially during the good weather months. It had two small bedrooms, an eat-in kitchen and a family sitting room. There was no telephone, by design, which made it almost impossible for the outside world to contact us. Beaming prankishly over her cup of coffee, Terri whispered to Shadow. “He should have received it by now.” Shadow gave Terri a scheming glance from his perch on my empty chair next to the kitchen table. He seemed to understand Terri’s sentiments, if not her words. “It will serve him right for leaving us when he was needed. I can see him now, stewing in confusion. He’s probably raising the dickens with the hotel in search of another telegram.” Shadow purred approvingly! “I can be very clever at times” Terri mused. “This will teach him a lesson.” A SICK CAT: The root for the artifice goes back to the time before my departure. Terri and I, and of course Shadow, had driven from our home early Saturday morning to spend the weekend at the beach cabin. Shadow had not been feeling well. We thought the change of scenery would do him good. It always had that effect on us; so why wouldn’t it have the same affect for a cat. Amongst Shadow’s symptoms was a general lethargy. He was not eating with his usual gusto. He hid in corners avoiding contact with strangers. Even his bright black and white coat had lost some of its brilliance, as he was less inclined to preen. This had been going on for three days. Terri was concerned. I had insisted that we take him to the vet. Terri wanted to wait for a couple of days because our usual vet, Doctor Farley, was on a short vacation. I tried to assure her that his substitute was just as qualified but she would not budge. Pleading, I reminded her that I was preparing to attend a scheduled management meeting in Bermuda and that I could not hang around indefinitely. In fact I had made arrangements with a transportation service to pick me up at the cabin on Monday morning. Unmoved by my exhortations she went on stating, “You should cancel your trip. If Shadow doesn’t recover in a couple of days you’ll be needed here. I’m not so sure that I can handle him by myself. He has gotten too big for me to wrestle into the carrying case. Don’t forget that I’ll have to haul Shadow and the carrying case to the car, drive to vet’s office and drag both into the office too. You’ve got to help me. I need you!”
Copyright © 2003 John Caruso |