Bella

  Bella

  Other books by the author:

  Stories of Love, Hope and Healing for All Ages

  STOP Family Anxiety: A guide for anxiety disorders in parents, grandparents, teenagers and children of all ages

  Depression: Light at the End of the Tunnel

  The Third Generation

  The Elephant’s Footprint

  The Scent of Oranges

  Copyright © Joan Zawatzky 2018

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  First published in Australia in 2018 by

  VeritaxBooks. Victoria, Australia

  Website: www.placeofbooks.com

  Typeset by BookPOD

  ISBN: 978-0-9945532-3-2

  eISBN: 978-0-9945532-4-9

  Acknowledgements

  This book about cats is the result of my admiration, fascination and love for these small, furry animals that were part of my early childhood and my adult life. Writing this book has brought me great joy. I can only hope that readers will find pleasure in reading the story about the closeness and understanding between myself, and my present cat, Tansy. It is to her, and my therapy cat Zoe, now passed, that I owe my thanks for their cuddles and inspiration.

  I wish to express my thanks to my husband Hymie for all his support, and to my cat-loving friends who encouraged me to write this book. Thanks to Sylvie and Michael Blair of BookPOD for their publishing expertise, cover design and marketing suggestions.

  ‘Where are you Precious? Pre...cious!’

  I pretend not to hear Karen calling, as I toast in a sunspot behind the curtain. I am too comfortable to move. Perhaps she will give up calling soon. Footsteps! She is looking for me. I will curl up and shift to a warmer spot where she won’t see me.

  ‘Breakfast, Treasure!’

  She is trying to tempt me out, but she can wait.

  I stretch, roll and dig my claws into the soft carpet. The sun has shifted and I give in, slowly answering her call.

  ‘So, there you are, Sweetie!’ She says.

  Karen is my human owner, a counsellor, who helps unhappy children and teenagers, and visits sick people in hospitals. She works from home in the front room of my house.

  She has put me to work as her Therapy Cat. While she talks and listens to upset and stressed Humans, my job is to give them my healing love. Cuddles and the positive vibrations of my soothing purrs help them to relax and feel better.

  I am paid with heaps of love, cuddles, food, and my accommodation. It is a good arrangement and I am certainly not bored. I have heard her say that I am an ideal cat for the job, with my easy-going temperament, and because I have experienced sadness. She says too, that I am a special cat, naturally affectionate, gentle and aware intuitively when, and how to help.

  All of this is true, and I am good at my job.

  I like children. They pat and hug me, but sometimes, in the same way as naughty kittens, they make loud noises, pull, or push me. I don’t bite or scratch, but if they hurt me, I leave in a hurry.

  Though many adult Humans are lovable, many confuse me. They can be unpredictable, illogical creatures with unusual ideas. I have observed that the stressed and unhappy Humans that visit Karen crave care and attention. As most cats, I am independent and a loner, and I have trouble understanding their needs, but I try my best to help with a caring touch of my paw, or a rub.

  I realise that Humans have many limitations. They are severely restricted in their movement and are clumsy. They can run, but not as fast as cats. They cannot jump or stretch like us either. Their hearing is extremely poor, and it is sad that they miss so many sounds. I do not know what to say about their sense of smell and taste, other than it is shocking. No wonder, they eat a lot of vegetable food that smells and tastes dreadful.

  Karen is an exceptional Human. I trust her completely. My special feeling for Karen, that other cats may be lucky enough to have for their owners, I call Cat Love. I honour her by treating her like a cat, and she appreciates that. There are times, when she is even in touch with what I am experiencing, and walks in my paw steps. Incredible! Sometimes I disobey her to claim my independence, but that does not change my affection for her, or the many times I try to please her in return for the care she has shown me. Of course, she misses many of the subtleties of Cat Communication, and like most Humans, she talks too much.

  In spite of her human shortcomings, Karen shines at her work. Her skills encourage me to try harder to assist the Humans I help. If only I could tell her how much I value her depth of understanding – the way she knows what they feel, and how they suffer. Her patience with their long stories, embellished with minute detail constantly amazes me. She listens intently while my tail quivers with boredom. Most striking, is her ability to clarify human problems and to suggest practical ways of approaching troublesome issues. I learn from her each day, as she learns from me.

  Karen and Tony share the house, but I am most decidedly Karen’s cat. He tolerates me and we have a deal. I keep my distance from him, and he puts up with me. Occasionally, when we pass each other, he says “good kitty.” I have learned not to look at him, rub against him, or sit on him. It seems to be the best way of handling him. Perhaps eventually our relationship will be warmer. He adores Karen and wants to please her, and as far as I am concerned that is positive.

  I believe that there has to be a decent Human inside him, and I am rarely wrong with my intuition.

  When I was only a few weeks old, and my eyesight and hearing were just sharpening, Karen rescued me and cared for me.

  I will thank her forever.

  I was the smallest kitten in mama’s litter, and the last one left with her. Humans stole my two sisters and three brothers. One day, a rough hand grabbed me, snatching me away from suckling with mama. The hand shoved me into a bag and removed me from mama’s warmth and love. This was the start of my journey away from all I knew. The hand carried me in the bag only a short distance, then it threw me forcefully. I landed with a thump that stunned me at first. My head hurt and I struggled to breathe. Gradually, I managed to wriggle out of the bag and found I was in wet, putrid slime. My tiny paws battled to gain a foothold. Weak and afraid, I called out, mew, mew. No one stopped or heard me, apart from a creature I later knew to be a dog. It began to nudge and sniff me. As it started to growl, I heard a human voice. It was Karen’s voice. I do not even want to think of what the dog would’ve, could’ve done to me if she hadn’t been walking past and heard my desperate call. She yelled at the dog and hit it with a stick until it ran away. Then she scooped me into her arms and wrapped me in her warm jumper.

  As she carried me home with her, she talked to me in a calm, soothing voice. ‘Poor little darling, dumped in the park near the garbage cans. What sort of awful person does a dreadful thing like that? But don’t worry, you are safe with me.’

  I trusted her then, and later. Even in the toughest of times I knew that she would be there for me. From that moment, my life changed, my path was set. I do not believe in coincidences. I was meant to survive and be found by Karen.

  I remember it all, even though I was so little. We cats have incredible long-term mem
ories.

  ‘We’re home and safe, Little One,’ she said, as she carried me inside.

  In the area she called the kitchen, she gave me water and sliced chicken. Then she cleaned me gently with a cloth, stroking me so tenderly, that I felt as if mama was licking me.

  To keep me warm, she placed me on a blanket in a small box.

  ‘Somewhere to sleep, Little One. This is where you can pee and poo,’ she said, pointing to the litterbox.

  Just as well, mama began to teach me to go to the litterbox before I was taken from her.

  ‘I’ll be back soon,’ she said softly.

  I was exhausted and slept. When she returned, she had special kitten food for me. I ate and drank hungrily. While I slept, she hovered over me.

  A new, loud voice broke my comfort. It was Tony, the other Human in the house. ‘What’s going on? Where’s this kitten from?’ He demanded.

  Karen explained to him how she had found me, and that she wanted to keep me.

  ‘Why keep her, just a ginger Tabby? I’d prefer to have a dog.’

  Immediately I knew a lot about Tony – a Dog Human, an obedient follower, and not very caring either. How could I trust him? There I was a defenceless kitten, almost killed by a dog, struggling to survive – and he preferred dogs!

  ‘You know I love cats, and I’m keeping her,’ she replied decisively. ‘Since our darling Samantha died, I’ve longed for another cat. Anyway, I think she’s a beauty. Buy a dog later.’

  I realised how strong she was. She would have what she wanted, even if it meant standing up to him.

  To keep her happy, Tony finally agreed.

  At first, Karen called me Annabella. She liked the name, but it was too long and it did not appeal to me. So, when she called me by that name I ignored her. Later, when she began to call me Bella, I came running to her. I liked being called Bella. It means beautiful, and from what I could see in the big bedroom mirror, it suited me. She has other names for me too, according to her mood. I am her “Good Girl”, “Treasure”, “Precious”, “Beautiful” or “Sweetie”. If she is not pleased with me, she calls me “Naughty Cat.” One of her favourite words is “No,” and she says it loudly and crossly.

  I do not worry too much about negatives. I am a positive creature, and explain life in my world, Catland, with Cat Logic and Cat Intuition.

  One morning, Karen grabbed me and put me into a carry box. We went on a bumpy ride in the car.

  ‘I’m taking you to the vet. Don’t be afraid, Little One, he won’t hurt you,’ she said reassuringly.

  Her kind words did not help. The vet had the smell of many different animals on his white coat. His huge hands prodded me from my head to the tip of my tail. He held me firmly, placed a small, round, silver object on my body and listened to the inside of me through tubes over his ears. Though I tried to pull away from him, it was useless.

  ‘You have a healthy cat, but I will give her all the vaccinations she needs to ensure that she stays that way,’ he said, jabbing me with a needle.

  Then it was over. It was not as bad as it seemed initially. I knew that Karen would not allow a Human to purposely hurt or harm me.

  Once we were home, Karen gave me food and I forgot about the vet.

  For the first few days, I stayed in a room at the back of the house.

  I felt safe there, until a barking dog scratching at the fence made me nervous. Somehow, he knew I was there and sounded frustrated that he could not reach me. Karen reassured me and even took me outside in her arms to show me how strong the fence was.

  Gradually, she encouraged me to venture into the rest of the house. It seemed huge to me then. With my tail down, ears back and my body close to the floor, I sniffed the carpets and furniture. Another cat’s scent was everywhere. I discovered that the cat was Samantha, Karen’s previous cat, who had travelled over the rainbow a few months earlier. I wondered if her spirit remained. Samantha had marked the entire house as her territory, and her scent was still powerful. In the big bedroom, I noticed a large framed photograph of a longhaired, pale beauty with proud bearing and a bushy tail. She must’ve been the once, much – loved Samantha.

  As my courage grew, I began the enormous task of marking the carpets, all the corners of the walls and every bit of furniture. The house was mine now, and using all my senses, I made it my territory. As I learned the map of the house, I found some places were more important than others to visit often, or avoid if possible. Essential in my daily life were sleeping areas – couches, sun spots, soft chairs and beds. Anywhere Tony preferred to sit or lie were areas of avoidance. Next off my list, were chairs or spots near a door, or with restricted access or vision. Fortunately, the house is huge with a wide selection of secure, sleep areas.

  I established my daily routine in the house to provide me with a sense of safety, confidence and knowledge of my Cat World. Following a Cat Pattern is not at all boring. I thrive on habit and routine, and intensely dislike having it disrupted. Eating, going to my litterbox, playing indoors and outside, and having a lot of sleep is my preferred pattern. Naturally, Karen and Tony have their routines as well, and I do my best to work around them.

  My routine works well. I wake when pink blushes the sky, but I wait until the clock’s buzzing noise erupts in the big bedroom before I jump onto Karen’s side of the bed, and snuggle next to her. Their waking time is predictable for five days. Once Karen is out of bed, I sit in the kitchen and watch the birds through the window until she arrives to give me breakfast. She feeds me food pebbles before she and Tony eat. I ignore their plans for the day where possible, and have my long and necessary morning sleep.

  When Karen stops work for lunch I follow her to the kitchen. She fills my bowl with more pebbles, and often feeds me treats as well. Then I wait for her on the couch and we snuggle up together. Most afternoons, I play outside in my garden, and then catch up on more sleep. After dinner, unless Karen and Tony go out, they relax while watching the colour and sound box, they call the television. This is one of my favourite times of day, as Karen enjoys having me near and I receive a lot of loving strokes and tickles from her.

  The afternoons and the two days she calls “the weekend” are not as predictable, but I am fed and loved as usual. She has more time for me then, and petting can be a delight, exceeding all my expectations. Some weekends, Karen cooks large meals and invites family or friends. This is when treats can be especially delicious and plentiful.

  Karen is my mother now. I love her and return her affection with eye blinks, rubs and head butts. She belongs to me, but as kind as Karen is, she is Human. Fortunately, she is trainable and I have managed to teach her many of my ways. I am not certain if she realises that her home is mine now, and that I have a great deal of Cat Control of what happens in the house – more than she thinks. I have been contented living with Karen.

  I am being generous here, but all considered, she has learned well. I have all I need – affection, tenderness, play and understanding. The food is tasty most of the time, and of course, I love her.

  She says I have a high Cat Q. Maybe she means that I am smart, but I know that already. I like to learn each day. Enhancing my knowledge about the Cat Universe is important to me. I enjoy challenges, solving problems, and I constantly wonder about Cat Life.

  I say it almost every day: Humans are an unsolved mystery. Though Karen is a smart Human, I doubt she is aware of what a complex and amazing creature I am. She calls me her Tabby Cat, and says that I like to play, and that I am loving and gentle. I am almost certain that she has chosen to forget that cats are not merely the sociable, fluffy, loving creatures she imagines. There is another side to us – our Catness. All cats worth their whiskers have Catness. It is about our independence, cleverness and ability to survive by adapting to most situations.

  When I matured, the wild cat inside me reared its head. I felt caged in and longed to be free, to roam the streets, climb tall trees and visit the other houses I spotted from the windows. I changed
my mind when tomcats prowled and large dogs barked at me. They terrified me to such an extent that for a while I refused to go outside.

  That is when Karen asked Tony to build me a small, but safe side – garden, and to build a secure fence around it. At first, he was reluctant to do anything for me. Perhaps he was still missing Samantha, but to please Karen, he created a magnificent garden for me. If we were on friendlier terms, I would be more loving towards him to thank him for making me such a delightful garden.

  Karen hardly mentions Samantha, but I can tell that she still misses her. If she didn’t miss a cat who had lived in her house, and had given her years of loyalty and affection, what sort of Human would she be? Whenever Karen passes the large, soft chair in the living room she stops to look at it, remembering that it was once her beloved cat’s favourite chair. Samantha’s hairs remain entangled in the material.

  Was Samantha prettier, kinder, cuddlier, or smarter than me? I will never know, and it niggles. Does Karen love me as much as she loved Samantha? Perhaps Tony misses Samantha so intensely, that he cannot accept another cat in the house.

  I tell myself that one cat cannot be compared to another. We are all special.

  My memories of my Kittenhood spent growing up with Karen are filled with her tender love and care. I was too young then to appreciate how fortunate I was to be rescued by a kind Human who appreciates cats as much as Karen does.

  With a kitten’s energy, I raced around the house, tugged at, and bit cushions, climbed onto chairs, tables and beds, to exercise my physical skills and gain strength. When I dug my nails into the furniture instead of the scratching post she bought for me, I learned where not to scratch. I saw a different side of her. She insisted that I had to “learn to behave.”

  When I “went crazy and acted like an uncontrollable feral cat,” as she put it, I received the water treatment. This was a cruel form of punishment with a stream of cold water sprayed directly at me. Karen was an expert at hitting my sensitive bits with the spray, and she knew how much I hated being wet.