The Tale of Max and Sasha
It was a pleasant day that Saturday in early October those oh so many years ago. The window was open in my kitchen. Peter had a slight cold and was upstairs in bed. I was preparing him an Iraqi chicken soup that Iraqi Jewish housewives swore was the cure all for the common cold. As I pottered about in the kitchen I heard the incessant mewling of a cat. It would not stop. Finally I put aside what I was doing and opened the front door. Max, our dog, pushed past me and rushed to the back part of the garden, by the djelala. He poked his nose into the bushes. The mewling stopped. I walked towards where Max was. There I saw a tiny little kitten, smaller than the size of my palm. She was shivering from fear. I hurried to the kitchen and warmed a bowl of milk. I placed the bowl on a semi covered part of the garden then I went to pick up the kitten and placed her by the bowl of milk. Max was following my movements as if to say, “Be careful! She’s too little. You do not want to hurt her!” The kitten did not seem to know what to do. I dipped my finger in the milk then to her mouth. After several attempts she began to lick my finger hungrily. Finally when she had enough, she walked back to the bushes.Max followed her. He had already decided that she was going to be his responsibility.
I went back to the house and continued cooking my soup. When it was done, I prepared a bed tray and took it up to Peter. He was dozing off and on. “Get up sleepy head. I brought you some soup and Max and I discovered a tiny kitten in the bushes!” I fluffed the pillows against the headboard. He sat up. I placed the tray of soup perching over his legs. I pulled a chair beside him. I told him about the kitten. He asked where she was. I told him in the bushes. He didn’t seem too interested. He finished his soup and went back to sleep. Later on that day the doorbell rang. We were not expecting anyone. It was friends who were passing by and decided to pay a visit. When Peter heard voices downstairs, he got dressed and came down. He was delighted to have company and forgot about not feeling well. At some point he went out to fetch something from the car to show them. The weather outside was beautiful. He decided to go sit on the jelala for a bit. As he sat, gently swinging back and forth, who should totter up to him but the tiny kitten. A big smile spread across his face. He leaned forward and gently lifted her up. ‘’Mummy told me about you. You are a cute one, aren’t you?’’ he said as he softly petted her. ‘’Meow! Meow!’’ she exclaimed as she tried to wiggle away from him. ‘’Okay, okay little girl! Take it easy. Anyway, I have to go in, otherwise they are going to wonder where I have disappeared to.’’ With that, he got up and walked towards the house. As he entered he said, ‘’You wouldn’t believe what I just saw?’’ We all said, in unison, ‘’A kitten and she is right behind you!’’ Max hurried to the kitten in a protective manner and started to lick her. That sealed it. She had just officially joined our family. We called her Sasha. I had no idea how to take care of a tiny kitten. How does one communicate with a cat. I went to the library and took out a book. Through trial and error it got easier. Sasha was a very affectionate cat. If I sat reading a book, she would crawl into my lap then up my chest. She would wrap her front paws about my neck, lean her head against me and fall asleep. I would continue reading my book, as I placed a gentle hand about her. As winter approached, she felt the chill. She had two favourite places to sleep. As Max curled up for the night, she would burrow herself between his paws and they would fall peacefully asleep. Her other place was under our eiderdown covers. She loved Peter’s thigh for some reason. She would suckle on it. The first time that happened, he sprang up from a deep sleep, startled. She was only a few weeks old and I guess Peter became her mummy figure.
One winter day Max was in Los Angeles with Kelly; Peter was at the office and I was curled up lost deep into the pages of a book. The house was quiet. Of a sudden I realized that Sasha was meowing in panic. I raised my head from my book. I listened in puzzlement. Where was she? I followed her cries. It came from downstairs. I looked everywhere. I heard her cries but could not find her. As I looked, l suddenly realized that the cries were coming from on top of the kitchen cabinets, close to the ceiling. There she was, inside a big ceramic bowl. You could see her tiny head and her two front paws peering over its edge. I brought my kitchen stepladder and climbed to the top. I was too short and could not reach her. I used to collect straw baskets. I brought one. Precariously balancing on the top step, I was thankful I had taken ballet for many years. I held the basket against the ledge. Patiently, I persuaded Sasha to hop into the basket. When she finally did, I heaved a sigh of relief. She was frightened and I cuddled with her until she calmed down. As she grew older, she and Max got into all sorts of escapades. Their favourite game was unrolling the toilets paper in the three bathrooms. If I forgot to firmly close the bathroom doors before I left the house, it was almost guaranteed that I would come home to every single room in the house being covered with the stuff! It was as if they were doing some kind of gleeful dance with it. I was expecting some ladies for tea one afternoon. Early in the morning I baked a cake. I decorated and plated it. I left it on the counter and hurried off to the supermarket for a few items. When I came back, there was no cake to be seen on the counter. There was no cake plate either. The cat and the dog were nestled into each other, contentedly dozing. I could not imagine what happened to the cake and the plate. I began to question my sanity. Where had that cake and plate gone to? Where had I put it? The counter bore no crumbs. The floor did not either. The cat and the dog seemed to be asleep. I shook my head in puzzlement and began to put my shopping away. It took me a while to realize what happened. Max could not reach the countertop. Somehow he persuaded Sasha to push the plate to the edge of the counter. When it dropped to the floor, they made a feast of it. Not a crumb was left. It was as if that cake had never existed. They were so clever, they even hid the plate. They pushed it under the table! It was only when I pushed a chair back to sit that I realized that. My foot touched the plate.
Max was a bi-coastal dog. Kelly lived in Los Angeles. Sometimes he would take Max along with him when he came to visit. Sasha felt very lonely without him, at those times. Sasha developed the wanderlust. She insisted on being out a lot. Most times she would sit on the park benches by the back door, sunning herself. Soon we had other cats coming around. They became friendly and soon we had about ten cats we fed outside. To this day I have three of them, Tima, Angelique and sometimes Tawny. They did not seem to mind Max when he was in New York. Summer evenings, when Peter and I sat outside on the jelala, lazily swinging back and forth under the dogwood tree, they would all be romping about happily. I would hang candle lit lanterns on the branches of the trees. The crickets would play their night songs. Those were such magical peaceful evenings. One summer we had an unwelcome visitor. All I could describe him as, is an angry attack bird. After Peter went to work and I had finished my morning chores, the three of us would go into the garden. I would bring a book to read and a big floppy cushion to lay my head on as I lay on the jelala. Max would find a comfortable place to rest. Sasha would perch on a high branch of the tree, observing the world. The birds would sing cheerfully, the breeze would whisper sweetly as it gently moved through the leaves. They were idyllic summer days. Then attack bird made his appearance. He would swoop at us as soon as we left the house. He followed us wherever we went outside the house. Peter tried to chase him away with a tennis racket, but to no avail. On the day in question, as I said, Max, Sasha and I were relaxing in the garden. Suddenly attack bird swooped down. First he nipped Max on top of his head and made him bleed. Right after, he nipped my bare big toe! Both Max and I gasped with pain. Sasha saw this. She became quite angry! With a loud screeching meow, she sprang down and chased after him. “You have gone too far this time! You do not hurt my family,” she seemed to say. From then on, it became a personal vendetta with her. Each time she saw attack bird she snarled and screeched until she drove him away. Our helpless little kitten had turned into a tigress. “Bravo Sasha!” we praised her. In thanks, we held a tea party for her and her feline friends. We served them sardines and tuna. Max got doggy treats and chicken. Peter and I had tea and scones. I must say that a most enjoyable time was had by all. Years passed. Max kept traveling back and forth. One cold autumn evening, when Max was in California, Sasha insisted on going out. I let her out. A few minutes later I heard her cry out. I opened the door and called her name. I got no answer. I thought it was perhaps my imagination, but it wasn’t. She did not come home that night. I tossed and turned all night long. “She’ll be back,” Peter said. She did not. We put out flyers everywhere. Nothing. I started getting up in the middle of the night wandering the streets calling her name. Peter would wake up and not find me in bed. He would groan in frustration and go looking for me. Finally I realized she was gone. She was not coming back. I had a dream that I went to the front door looking for her. There was Sasha up on top of the dogwood tree. “Sasha!” I exclaimed with joy. She smiled at me. She came down the tree and walked into the mist. She turned back once and looked at me then faded into the air. When Max returned he looked for her everywhere. We tried to explain it to him. He too was sad. I will never forget Sasha. She was independent, gutsy, and loving. I like to think she is in heaven with everyone that is there already, giving them joy like she delighted us here.