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| Julio Cortázar & Flanelle |
Estoy tan solo como este gato, y mucho más solo porque lo sé y él no.”― Julio Cortázar, Las armas secretas
I am as alone as this cat, and a lot more because I know and he doesn’t.
I am beginning to have my doubts on that wonderful statement by Cortázar who in the photograph is holding his female cat Flanelle.
Since Rosemary died on December 8th, 2020, I have had difficulty in living alone. Rosemary and I were together for 52 years. I was not prepared for the isolation that was partially caused by covid and how people have retreated to texting. Few of the friends that are left in my life (many are dead) ever call.
My two cats, Niño and Niña provide me with constant company, affection, attention. They give me a sense of my usefulness to them. Feeding them, and taking Niño for his daily walks around the block, are a comforting routine.
Walking Niño in the same route that Rosemary took with him is not all that happy for me. But it has given me the opportunity to reflect on Cortázar’s rejection of a cat being aware of his existence.
Seven months ago Niño had lost so much weight that I thought he was going to die. A good vet (and a lot of money spent) informed me that Niño has lymphatic cancer of the intestines. Now he is almost back to being the cat he was. I give him a human cancer pill every other day.
Now he is beginning to lose weight again. He stares at me a lot and wants to be on top of me or with me all the time. This is what I believe:
“Alex, I am not going to be around for long. I might survive until the end of the year. You and Niña will have to get along without me.”
Niña is also especially affectionate. As soon as I turn off the lights at night, Niña goes to the spot where Rosemary slept and Niño is at my feet or on my side. When I wake up in the middle of the night both cats are as close to each other as possible. Are they seeking company because they feel and know that they are alone? I am convinced that is so.
Since our first cat Gaticuchi who died around 198, we quickly found out that the quickest cure to the agony and grief of a dead cat was a brand new one. I told Rosemary that I had a suspicion, that unlike humans, cats have a catness that I would define as a Platonic essence from Plato’s world of perfect reality that we humans will never be able to experience. It seems that a dead cat’s catness/essence is transferred to the new cat. A little of the old dead cat is inherited by the new one.
In the face of Niño and Niña I can sense the past existence of all our cats. In the face of Niño and Niña I can see a bit of Rosemary’s essence that lives on in them.
