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ConstantCompanions

constantcompanions
Possibly after
Ignatius van Logteren:
Young Bacchus and Companions
(not dated- Early Eighteenth Century)


"He serves as a continuing inspiration."


My Exile was eased and occasionally burdened by the presence of ConstantCompanions in the form of two cats. Crash, the senior partner, had adopted me when I was recovering (poorly) from my second divorce. I suspect he recognized me as a fellow Exile and took to jumping up in my lap. I've always suspected that cats are clairvoyant or, if not, that they're not entirely subject to the same space/time limitations that contain us. I believe he knew what a remarkable companion he would become for me and chose that fate as an act of appreciation and service. He was a life-saver through those harrowing days when The Muse and I first found each other. We were both exiled then, and both were somewhat worse for the wear. Crash took great care of us.

Later, after we found The Villa and relocated to Walla Walla, we found our second cat, Rose, who was forever skittish.
The Muse had found her roaming around a nursery and decided on a whim to bring her home without even thinking of asking anyone for permission. Rose's mother was the nursery's feral and Rose sure seemed as if she could use a good home. She was tiny, weeks old when she first intimidated Crash. She jumped on his back; he was kindhearted and gentle, leaving her there. They became our pair, quickly making peace; they'd sit in my lap together, as satisfied as I was.

Crash came to own every neighborhood he ever inhabited. He maintained at least a dozen places where he could depend on receiving a meal should he appear. Half of those people likely considered him theirs if only because he'd walk right in as if he belonged. He was fickle, though, with everybody else. He usually slept at the foot of my bed, and he and I became inseparable. When we went on Exile, Crash and Rose accompanied us. They became my primary focus in the early days after that punishing excursion clear across the country. I remember, somewhere in Kentucky, taking pity on that pair. I stopped somewhere out in some countryside next to a grassy field. I let them out of the car so they could smell the grass and dirt and perhaps even relieve themselves as they'd prefer instead of in that stupid litter box half shoved beneath the backside of the driver's seat. It took forever to recapture them, for neither had developed a more forgiving nature after three monotonous days swaying in the traveling car.

Once we arrived at our temporary housing, the cats remained captive on a high floor with no access to dirt for the better part of three months. They'd pace around the deck, jumping up on the concrete railing to perform death-defying balancing stunts while I'd suffer another heart attack watching them. They were still there every morning, if yowling in protest at the degrading way they'd been treated. Once in more permanent housing, they took to the climate without apparent difficulty, though they were both long hairs and DC was equatorial in the summer. They developed a regulating routine much faster than The Muse or I did, and inspired us to find ways to live as if at home there, like they did.

Crash succumbed to old age before we left for Colorado. He'd lived a long and remarkably inspiring life. I buried him deep in a garden bed I'd improved from its native clay and chert to friable and fecund, more like it had been back home. Rose migrated to Colorado with us and became a spinster, continually complaining about the magpie neighbors. I swear that had I not had those ConstantCompanions, I never could have successfully adapted to those changes. Cats seem fixed in their habits, but they remain remarkably adaptable. They seem to know how to thrive whatever complications get thrown in their direction, and that ability sometimes seems contagious. Rose would compete with my MacBook for early morning lap space before a reassuring fire on those frigid Colorado mornings. She succumbed to old age, too, after almost two decades of service.

We were without our ConstantCompanions for much of our last year in Exile. I hope to never have to experience a repeat performance of life without a cat willing to warm my lap. That year was the hardest of the Exile, though it should have, by all rights, been the easiest. After all, we'd been Exiled for over a decade by then, so we should have already gotten the hang of the lifestyle. I hadn't. Life without the regulating obligation of keeping a cat seemed relatively meaningless. Sure, we didn't have to hire a cat sitter when we traveled, but that was no recompense for the abiding hollowness a house holds without a feline presence.

We found Max, then Molly (his sister), at a rescue shelter in Colorado. He was almost a rag doll cat, pleased to mount my lap almost from the outset. Molly was the opposite. She hid through her first few months living with us. There'd be days when she would stay in hiding. It became my hobby to try to find her latest lair. I wouldn't always locate her. She uncharacteristically laid across my lap on that long drive up and out of Exile, though she nailed me in that layover hotel room in Ogden. My first official act upon returning home was to visit Immediate Care to get that infected Molly bite and scratch treated. She was registered as a potentially vicious pet, and all was right with the world.

In the nearly three years since we returned from Exile, Max and Molly have remained ConstantCompanions. I acknowledge that The Villa might well qualify as an Exile for them and that they were "rescued" ferals, which means they were kidnapped and indentured to us, essentially Exiled. They seem to hold few grudges. Molly has been growing more tame with each passing season. It's coming on Winter now, the season when she almost becomes complacent. I suspect she appreciates the warmth we provide. She sleeps on the bottom of The Muse's side of the bed this season and even consents to cuddle next to me as I'm going to sleep, an almost ConstantCompanion. Max hops up in my lap most mornings to help me choose what to write about. He serves as a continuing inspiration. I appreciate my ConstantCompanions even this long after we returned from Being Exiled.

©2024 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved






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