NINE AND THEN
Below is the first chapter of NINE AND THEN, a fictional memoir written by Doug's cat from the afterlife (with Doug's assistance in this life). Watch for news about its publication.
Chapter 1:
My name is Serendipity. Sera for short. This is my story, but first a bit of bad news. I was euthanized a few days ago. It’s not the way most of us would prefer to begin an autobiography, but the story’s still pretty good, so stay with me.
Oh, you’re having a hard time getting past the euthanasia part? OK, a short explanation, then let’s move on. I was old. 21 and a few months. A long time for a cat. 101 in human years. And let’s just say I wasn’t living my best life. Couldn’t hear. Stumbled when I walked. Had to be carried by the humans to the litter box and one of them had to hold my tail up so I could pee. How demeaning.
Now, back to my life. I had two humans. I don’t know what they called each other – that was their language. The one who fed me is Cook, because when she came around, she’d say, “What’s up, Cookie?” and later “What’s up, Cook?” I don’t know what that meant so I assumed that’s what she wanted to be called. The other one is Scooper. He probably had other qualities, but no sooner had I done my litter business than he showed up with this little shovel thing. It seemed to be a highlight of his day. Poor man.
Again? More about euthanasia? OK, OK, then give it a rest! I had issues with my heart – fluid around it, problems with it beating right. For a 21-year-old cat, it causes some concern. And I really did look a mess. Skin and bones, balled-up and matted fur where I couldn’t lick. I’m a Maine Coon cat and I’ve got my pride. Scooper used to say that I was like Betty White – my body was going to hell, but I still put on a great face. Anyway, Cook and Scooper struggled and then decided to help me out. It was great for me. They were a mess for a while, still are. They just don’t realize I’m still here as much as I ever was. I guess they didn’t understand that they’d have more free time. Poor Scooper doesn’t know what to do without that little shovel in his hand. And Cook set up a shrine to me – my photo, candles, a box with what’s left of me. So cool! She hit it out of the park! I know they loved me, but a shrine . . . it’s the best!
So, the details: nice doctor shows up to the house. I relax in my comfy bed. A couple shots, and it’s over. It’s like I’m back to my best self. Cook and Scooper can’t quite grasp it, but I’ll try to give them signs every now and then. But first, a joke: Q – Why was the euthanizing veterinarian always sad? A – Because her work was in ‘vein.’ Get it? In vein?
OK, bad one, I know. You stop obsessing about my death and I’ll stop with the jokes. Actually, jokes seem to be more a people and dog thing. I prefer sleeping and hanging out with the humans, until, of course, I want to do something else. They call Maine Coon cats the dog-lovers cat. I’m not sure about that. If you love a dog, get a dog. If you want to love me, why compare me at all?
I thought about organizing my story into 21 chapters, one for each year, but since cats can’t read (or prefer not to), I thought maybe I should tell it in 101 chapters – my life in human years. But the whole question is already making me sleepy so I’ll just remember what I can.
So, my name. Cook came up with Serendipity. Has a nice ring to it, although a bit long. She thought she could shorten it to Seren. Scooper pointed out that Seren sounds a lot like Sarin, a horribly lethal gas, and so they came up with Sera, which means ‘evening’ in Italian. I was born on a human bed in Lawrence, Kansas, on the 11th of September 2001, an unforgettable date, I know. In November, when Cook and Scooper showed up to have a look, I was the last kitten left. Sounds like one of ‘those stories,’ right? Readers tearing up because of the poor little kitten that no one wanted. Relax. I come out smelling like a rose. But if you want to feel sorry for someone, feel sorry for Scooper. This is what happened. Cook had done her research and found out that I was in Kansas, nearly 350 miles from their home. Cook said to Scooper that they should just take the day to go look at this little kitty. Scooper wasn’t sure he wanted a pet. He had had a cat as a child, but that cat got hit by a freight train (news flash – don’t play on the tracks!).
Anyway, she convinced Scooper to just go see the cat. It would be fun. Take a drive, stop for lunch, stop for dinner. (Hey Scooper, do the math – 350 miles one way, which means 350 miles the other way.) And Cook also convinced the nitwit that the travel cage in the back seat didn’t mean anything.
“We’re only looking at a cat – nothing more.”
Now you can see why that guy was only bright enough to scoop litter. Anyway, needless to say, I had a long ride late that night back to Iowa City. And I didn’t like it. Howled the whole way. Makes you wonder how I made it to 21, but I got charming right away.
So, that’s how my story with Cook and Scooper started. And you can already tell which of the two of them was more qualified to give me the best care. Cook thought about things. She wondered about the right food, did I have enough water, made sure I didn’t get stuck behind the stove. Scooper liked to play with me, which was great, but just like he didn’t realize you don’t drive 700 miles just to look at a cat, he also didn’t know when it was time to quit trying to rub my belly. I taught him that the answer is just a few seconds before my claws rip his skin.
I should probably say more about still being here after the little visit from the veterinarian. Obviously, I don’t show up around the house like I used to. And I know that people say that your dearly departed is still with you in spirit, like you sometimes read in sympathy cards. It’s not like that either. For me, it’s perfect. I call all the shots. I come and go as I want, a little like when I was alive, but a whole lot cooler. It gives me the chance to drop little hints, many of which Cook and Scooper never pick up on. Let me give you an example, one of the earliest, and one of my best. Shortly after I died, when Cook and Scooper were really down in the dumps, they decided to bring in Chinese food. Not my favorite, but hey, if that brought them a little comfort, great. Anyway, they have this thing with fortune cookies. They always read their fortunes to each other, and then they look for the six lucky numbers. The game they always play is to see how many of the numbers match. Usually, there are not any matches, but when I saw what they were doing, I went to work. All day they had been moping around and then they’d console each other with the fact that I had lived to 21, longer than most cats. You see where I’m going with this? There were no numbers that matched. Except one. 21! Pretty good work on my part, if I do say so myself.