Some days are harder than others. A lot harder. During this time of enjoying my friends’ grand hospitality, there have been hours or portions of the days when both have been off at work, or at other business and I have hung around the house on my own. But not really on my own since the presence of Charlie and Max has always been either at hand or in the periphery. On Thursday I sat on the patio watching Max perched on the birdbath lapping at the water, seeming to tease the cat waiting below with his lingering enjoyment, finally jumping down and stalking off on long legs. And about the same time old Charlie stumbling out from behind the Japanese plum, catching his balance the moment before a tricky back leg throws him down. Two black and white cats living the life of Riley in their diamond years, Charlie and Max have always been around, asleep in a sunny spot on the patio or maybe curled onto a sofa dozing the day away, and on some days dashing at squirrels or birds across the driveway.
The older of the two cats, Charlie, was born in 1993 and came to live with Raymond and Dee from an animal rescue service in Baker, just north of Baton Rouge. He was named after a good friend. Anyone who has ever brought a cat home will tell you that cats are quick to exhibit a distinct personality. From an early age Charlie learned to drink Snapple from the bottle, as long as someone held the bottle. Another favorite was cheese which always brought him running. We don’t often associate the game of “fetch” with cats, example telling us that it’s a dog’s game, but don’t apply that rule to Charlie, a cat expert at retrieving balls of paper.
Max, by coincidence also came to Raymond and Dee from the rescue service in Baker, but two years later in 1995. His name came from the character Max Prince in the Neil Simon play, Laughter on the 23rd Floor. Despite the two-year difference in age and the fact that both were male, the bond between Charlie and Max was instant—tight buddies from the start. But of course their personalities veered. For many years Max was a standoffish cat slow to approach anyone but Dee, but age mellowed him and just the other night he crawled up on the sofa to rest against my leg. A favorite trick of Max’s was frequently digging up the plants in pots, but there were also the times he was fascinated with nudging or pawing his water bowl in a circle around the kitchen. Friends visiting the house sometimes called him the cartoon cat for his way of arching his back and bristling his short hair to resemble a Halloween cat.
No doubt it sounds trite and obvious, but when they come into our homes, cats (and certainly dogs as well) become a vital part of our lives and the house we share with them. Trite maybe, but all too true, especially to those caring for the animals. Like it or not, we are all subject to the ravages of time. In January of this year Dee first began questioning the health of Charlie and Max: Charlie was 19, Max 17 and it was visible in their movement. Both cats enjoyed excellent health over the years, but age forces us to face hard questions.
On Friday Raymond and Dee took the two cats to see their longtime veterinarian. Following his advice they said their goodbyes to these family members and stepped aside to allow Dr Stringer to do his work.
Charlie and Max have moved on to a favorite spot near the back patio, a spread of ground where flowers can grow up around them and redbirds can tweet their memories.
CHARLIE • 1993-2012
MAX • 1995-2012
Still reeling from the Memorial Day crowds around my stretch of beach, Tuesday was a stay at home lay around kind of day, a time for me to do a little more toward putting the unordered piles of old photographs into a shape a little less random and scattered. Really don’t like to do too much of that because a personal preference nags me to leave some of the randomness to those old pictures, an order that is closer to life and to my eyes at least, more interesting. So, at the end of the day my shuffling and juggling was like a good new haircut—not too noticeable.
A long time ago I had two cats. Though at separate times, both joined the household in New York, followed me to California some years later, and after long well-spent lives went to sleep under neighboring fruit trees in the backyard—Philip under an orange tree, Husselbud under blooming apricots. No question it’s a sad experience to say goodbye to longtime pets, but in both cases the end came easy and not many could call it premature. After that I never had another cat. I moved to Japan soon afterward and…well, the thought just never occurred to me to acquire another pet.
The best moments of my picture jumble yesterday came with the nineteen different cat photos that came to the surface in different stacks. In each of those photos were so many details apart from the cats and their personalities, and for a while there I enjoyed recalling rooms, objects, window frames, verandas and the small hints of home revealed in each one. So, let me try and not bore you too much with a montage of Mr Philip and Miz Husselbud at home in Manhattan and Los Angeles.
This is a shot of the two cuddled in a winter coat on the sofa, circa 1975, in the Charles Street apartment, Greenwich Village. Husselbud, the red point Siamese is on the left, and big ‘brother’ Philip, a solid white tomcat is on the right. This shows another case of Husselbud over-grooming Philip and ultimately driving him away. There is another shot taken a minute later that shows Philip leaping away and Husselbud reaching out to hold him back.
Squeezed in between bottle and glass, Husslebud seems focused on the ice cubes but more likely it’s something Philip is doing across the room. Another of those late nights in New York when sirens from the Sixth Precinct wailed and people sat on fire escapes watching the street action below.
Handsome Philip posed on the bedroom carpet just off the edge of the bed. Not quite as approachable as Husslebud, he never did shy away from cameras.
This is my favorite of the bunch, a shot of the two sitting in the dining room window at Beachwood Drive, Los Angeles, looking out onto the veranda, 2,500 miles away from their New York apartment. These were the days the two discovered the outdoors and liked to spend most of the time outside exploring. Philip was good about coming home, but the Siamese was always brought home by neighbors.
Husselbud half dozing on a kitchen shelf in Hollywood. Like most cats, she liked high perches to sit and survey her surroundings. Philip was probably outside in the garden dozing in a patch of sun.
By this time long used to his new surroundings and the occasional movie star drive-by, Philip is on his way down the veranda stairs and for some reason collarless. But like I said, he always came home at a reasonable hour.
A common sight in Japan is the coffee shop. Unlike the shared and almost predictable commonality of coffee shops in many American cities, those in Japan come in a funhouse of types and themes. If you’re looking for a simple cup of coffee the choices are myriad and if you’re in a Starbucks mood walk twenty yards and look around—you’ll probably see two of them. Want to be waited on by a young girl in a French maid’s costume? Easy to find. How about boys in French maid’s costumes pouring tea and coffee? Yep, that too. Coffee shops in Tokyo come in all guises.
One increasingly popular type of coffee shop is the cat café. There are anywhere from fifty to sixty coffee shops in Tokyo catering to cat lovers, cozy shops where you can sip your coffee with a cat on your lap. The Calico Café in Shinjuku has about twenty cats in a wide variety of breeds.
What kind of customer goes to these cafés? First thought is probably of odd old ladies who live alone and moderate lonely afternoons petting and nuzzling cats. But in fact, the cat cafés attract all kinds of people. You’ll find singles, couples in their 20s and 30s, and lots of people who simply like cats and for one reason or another can’t keep one at home.
In most of the cat cafés, walking in, finding a table and ordering a cup of coffee is not the way it’s done. Rates vary, but the average is $9.00 or $10.00 for an hour of cat company, with coffee extra. There are also rules and picking up just any nearby cat may not be the thing. At the Calico Cat Café there are six rules: (1) Customers must wear a ‘cat-access’ pass around their neck. (2) Cats wearing a scarf are too young to be handled or picked up. (3) Customers must not force themselves on any cat that resists. (4) Napping cats must not be disturbed. (5) No catnip or cat treats allowed, and (6) children under eleven are not allowed in the café.
I probably know at least ten Japanese people who would consider relaxing in a comfy chair, sipping a cup of cappuccino, flipping through a comic book while scratching the ears of a purring cat the ultimate in relaxation. On the other hand, I probably know a good many who view the whole thing as just a little screwy. Think I might be more comfortable if there were just one cat instead of several, and him or her dozing on the sill of a sun-splashed window across the room.
Note on the bottom photo: A cat I used to have, a red point Siamese dozing on the veranda. Her name was Husselbud.
