Episode 35: Yesterday

WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL.  ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.  

IN FACT, ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ANYTHING AT ALL WILL BE REMARKABLY COINCIDENTAL.

Monday afternoon

Kilcathclyde Cat Cotillion Veterinary Hospital

Later on in the day, after their routine exams, cats who were at Dr. McKathbyrne's office for treatment were placed in the solarium.  This was a glass structure built onto the back of the building the veterinary office was located in.  Its painted white iron frame suggested a Victorian elegance that had passed its prime but which had lost none of its charm.  The sun was peering out from behind the west Scottish clouds making the room lovely and warm.  Scattered hither and yon were recuperating felines, some napping, others chatting quietly, and still others playing canasta, chess, or Aggravation.

In a far corner, nestled under an enormous fern by a fountain of St. Mocheomoc holding a penguin in his hand with water spurting out of its beak, was Ginger and Bandit.  They were lying on each other, lazily taking in the soothing warmth.

"It is so nice being here with you," said Bandit.

"Aye, it is," said Ginger, his thick Glaswegian accent coloring his speech.  "Otherwise, we'd have no time to ourselves."

"Yes, especially since I'm not allowed outside," replied Bandit.  "We should make the most of the time we have been given."

"Aye, that's right," said Ginger.  "I cannae imagine your Daddy not lettin' ye oot."

"I used to be allowed outside a long time ago," said Bandit.  "What about you?"

"Well, a long, long, long time ago I wasnae allowed outside either.  But that all changed when I moved house to Glasgow."

"Really?  You mean you lived somewhere else besides Glasgow?" asked Bandit.

"Aye."

"But I thought you were from there?  I mean, don't you have a Glaswegian accent," he continued.

"Aye.  I'm originally from Glasgow," he said.  But the tone of his voice mellowed and his dialect became smooth and distinctly Kensingtonian.  "But being a cat of distinction, I can speak most properly when required."

"Wow!" said Bandit, laughing.  "Impressive!"

"TA!" said Ginger, suddenly going Glaswegian again.

"Where did you learn that?" asked Bandit, thoroughly curious.

"I was given elocution lessons by an English English teacher in Edinburgh ages ago," he said, switching dialects.

"Excellent!  Is that with the marbles in your mouth and stuff like that?"  Bandit asked eagerly, his American twang contrasting sharply with Ginger's English dialect.

"Yes, in Hartford, Hereford, and Hampshire, hurricanes hardly ever happen," he rattled by rote.

"I feel a song coming on!" said Bandit.  He began to hum the famous song about a certain Spanish plain.  "So, tell me more about your life.  You said you were born in Glasgow?  I want to know how you wound up in Edinburgh.  And how on earth did you ever get back here?"

"Well," said Ginger.  "I was born in a storm drain along the River Cart on the South Side.  Both of my parents were orange tabbys."

"Are you the oldest?"

"No, I am second from the last.  I have a younger sister, but I haven't seen her for many, many years," said Ginger.  "My father was a bit wild but my Mother lived in Giffnock."

"I'm afraid I don't know what that means," said Bandit.  "Where's Giffnock?"

"Further south.  It's very posh.  Mum was the mascot for St. Ninian's High School."

"Why were you born in a storm drain then?"

"Well, Mum was Catholic and Dad was a rogue Protestant you see.  She had to leave the school once the headmaster found out," said Ginger.

"Ooooh...my...how sad," said Bandit, his ears drooping slightly.  "So much for forgiving Christians, eh?"

"I don't even know my birthday.  I never found out."

"How come?"

"I was adopted by a family in Giffnock and taken away from the rest of my family.  The man of the house moved to Edinburgh when I was young.  That's where I took elocution lessons.  I lived there for four years when we moved back to Glasgow..."

"I see."

"...to the West End, near the University of Glasgow.  My owner's father was an astrophysics professor there."

"Cool!" said Bandit.  "Then what happened?"

"Professor Chummly was transferred to the University of Birmingham..."

"...Oh, isn't that down south?" asked Bandit.

"Yes, as it was the University of Alabama, Birmingham."  Ginger said this last word with a thick, deep American southern accent.  They both laughed.  "I was laying in the sun on the back steps one afternoon in the West End when all at once, the door slammed shut."   Ginger seemed to return to the day somewhere in his mind.  His voice became a bit fainter and his orange eyes appeared to Bandit to be focusing on something else, somewhere else.

"Oh no!  That doesn't sound good."

"I tried to get in.  Thinking the door had blown shut or had closed by itself.  It used to do that if it wasn't propped open properly.  There was a cat door.  But when I went to push it to get back in, it wasn't open either.  I pushed and pushed but it was no use."

"Oh nooo..."

"But I didnae worry.  Because eventually they would come home and let me in.  Perhaps they had locked the cat door by mistake.  It had happened before."

Ginger paused.  In his mind's eye, he was trying to get the cat door open.  "I waited and waited.  But no one ever came home.  They forgot me.  They just left.  They never said goodbye, even.  I didn't get to say goodbye."  Ginger sounded far away and as though he had a lump in his throat.  "They didn't take the time to find somewhere else for me to live.  They just...left."

Bandit's eyes began to well up with tears.  "How awful!" he said, almost whispering.  "Why do people do that?  Treat us as though we're disposable.  Like smelly garbage or a used paper cup to be discarded with a casual flick of the wrist."

"Long about sunset, I was really wanting to go in and began to worry.  Outdoors in the West End at night is no place for a cat.  Cats are predators but they are also prey.  Suddenly, an enormous hawk swooped down over the back garden.  I scampered up a huge oak tree but not before the hawk's talons pierced the back of my neck."  In his mind, Ginger was scampering up the tree.  "I still have the scars."

He turned around.  Sure enough, his fur was missing out of three small round places, the perfect imprint of a bird of prey's sharp claws.  Bandit gasped and put his paw over his mouth.

"I lived in the tree for a year avoiding that hawk.  He came back nearly twice a day, determined to take me.  I lived by eating out of people's rubbish bins and catching rats and birds.  And bugs.  Can't stand the taste of them to this day, actually."  He shuddered.  "Especially spiders.  Bleuggh!"

"What happened after the year?"

"Someone must have called and reported a homeless cat living in a tree because I was picked up by the RSPCA and taken to a shelter in the city center, near St. Andrews Cathedral.  Late one Sunday afternoon, Ina and Damian came into the shelter looking for someone to adopt and they chose me.  I've been with them ever since.  It was the best thing that ever happened to me, those two.  That's me.  What about you?"

©2011 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.