My brother Spitter was a great companion. We didn’t always get along, but can you show me a pair of brothers who always get along well? No, of course not. He was great to hang out with. We used to lie around and watch the humans who came in and out of the house. We could cuddle up to one another. We could complain to each other about whatever was wrong with our lives. We could also complain about our mother and why she had abandoned us. We could even meditate together.

I wasn’t lonely with my brother around. Never mind how whiny we were at times. We loved each other. We wrestled together. We had our little disagreements, but we always made up afterwards. I still miss him sometimes. My girl understands this. She once told me if Spitter was still alive that she would have taken him in too. For once a non-cat understood how upset I was about his disappearance. Or rather his death.

I don’t know why he died. But he was much too young. Rumor has it he was poisoned. It has never been confirmed with actual proof. But he was my brother and my best friend. I could never replace him. I am still tempted to hunt down the responsible party for my brother’s disappearance. But I would have no idea where to even look. It’s been much too long now. The evidence has been destroyed. That’s all I can be sure of now.

I have meditated on Spitter’s disappearance/death. I have come to the conclusion that when we cats die, we tend to disappear from the people we have known. I didn’t find him after he was gone. I know the blind guy would have at least found his body. That’s all we can leave behind when we leave. It is a leaving as far as I’m able to understand.

I’m not sure our essence of who we are really disappears. I think that’s the part that lives on and we travel to somewhere else. It seems that death is the release of our essence from our physical body. Physical bodies do wear out as I can tell you. Mine has worn out. That’s part of the reason I’m writing my memoirs now. It’s easier without all the restrictions I once had.

My girl and I never talked about death per se. She did tend to meditate at times. So, I couldn’t tell you what she thinks of death. But I can tell you she is somewhat sensitive to those who no longer have physical bodies. She can sense them, but that’s about it. She doesn’t try to talk to them. I know now that she’s had to deal with death at an early age. Dead bodies creep her out. Sometimes she dreams of the dead she once knew when they had physical bodies.

She doesn’t tend to talk too much about those dreams. Well, I think she does talk about the ones she has about her son. Those are pleasant for her. They are aware of their physical separation, yet he can contact her every so often via a dream to let her know she’s not really alone. Her aloneness is just a physical illusion. That’s something we all need to remember.

*Sigh.* There was no one else in my life quite like Spitter. We had so much in common that I wonder how I ever ended up with such a silly girl. I wasn’t silly with her. She likes to play too much. She has encouraged me to play. But she never gave me a hard time for not playing with toys. She just accepted me as I truly am. For the curmudgeon that I am.

Spitter understood about being a curmudgeon. He was just as whiny as I was about lots of things. He used to get lonely as I did. He was the one who had asked my girl to pet him. I wasn’t that brave to ask someone I didn’t know. I didn’t ask her until after we had lived together. I didn’t always have to ask her. She likes to pet me.

She at least understood why I missed my brother as much as I did. She assured me that if he had lived, that he would have been with us. That was enough for me. I couldn’t ask for more in a caretaker and caregiver. Even one who is a whirlwind…

Currently available at Smashwords: The Life Adventures of Sir Socks Le Chat

Finally. After all the dictation and translation and editing…cover design and the book layout into ebook format, my girl and I have finished my book of memoirs. She put it up for sale on Smashwords earlier this week. They have approved it to be distributed to other retailers. In a matter of days, perhaps as long as a week, my book will be available just about anywhere ebooks are sold.

I’m now a very happy cat. I can relax. I’ve written my thoughts on my life. Perhaps I can earn a bit of money for myself and my girl. She is wonderful if a bit too silly at times. She does know me better than any other non-cat person ever has. I’m glad she is a big part of my life. She deserves recognition for what she has done for me over my life. She may not agree with me. I know she is glad I am a part of her life too.

Of course my memoirs will continue to be serialized here online. But if you can’t wait every month for another installment, then feel free to download a copy of my finished book for US$2.99. Happy reading while I take a well deserved long nap.

What is there to say about my mother Ramadom? She cared for my three brothers and me when we were kittens. Then without any warning, she left us on our own. I don’t understand. I thought she loved us. But she wouldn’t stay with us. It was abandonment. After I’ve lived as long as I have, I still don’t understand.

She didn’t even say goodbye. She just left and never came back to look after us. How could she to that to us? Then we discovered her living across the street. We lived near the end of a cul-de-sac. Whenever Spitter and I saw her, we hissed at her to let her know how much we were upset by her abandonment of us.

She should have said something. Anything would have been better than her just leaving without any warning. Oh, just thinking about her makes me so mad. Why couldn’t she have given us warning that she would be leaving us on our own? That’s the part I don’t get. She just left us behind in the woodpile.

I’ve been picking up the pieces since she left. I suppose it’s time to let go of this pain, but it’s hard. I guess I want to make sense out of everything. Yet, I can’t. Is this how life truly is? Things go well for just a short time and then tragedy strikes without any warning.

Perhaps it’s just me. But I wish my mother had never left us as she did. I would have been much happier with her if she had told us it was time for us to be on our own. Then we could have visited her from time to time. Instead, she just left and never cared what became of us after she was done taking care of us.

I suppose it’s normal for us cats to let kittens grow up and go on their own when they no longer need someone else to look after them. But it doesn’t always happen that way. We do grow up and become more independent, but we can also maintain relationships with our mothers when we’re older. Isn’t that what humans do?

I did talk to my girl about a lot of different things that bothered me. But we never talked about my mother Ramadom. I don’t know why. I guess we were more focused on living together and getting along. My girl knew I didn’t like my mother. My girl may not have known or understood why. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s starting to understand now. She is quite clever and sees the world in an unusual way than others I have known in my life. I admit that I don’t always understand some things she tells me because she says them in a unique way. I do hope she has gained wisdom as I’m sure I have.

I just don’t know if I will ever be able to understand. I do like my independence, but does that mean I have to give up having a relationship with my own mother too? That’s not a good choice to have to make. Well, technically she made it for me. I had no choice in the matter.

I still wish things with my mother could have been different. I loved her as a kitten. I still love her now, even though she refused to have anything to do with me after I grew up. It would have been great if Spitter and I could have visited her from time to time and just had some good chats. She would have been a friend who lived in the same neighborhood.

Am I asking for too much from her?

She was sweet. She was loving. She was beautiful. She was there from before we were born. She took good care of us. She taught us how to be good upstanding cats. Then she was gone without any warning. Why? Why? Why?

She could have kissed us goodbye and let us know it was time for us to be on our own. She could have told us she was going to her home across the street. So, why didn’t she tell us?

Why did she just leave and not ever come back? She didn’t even care whenever Spitter and I hissed at her. She just ignored us. She acted as if we were complete strangers not worth her notice. She never paid any attention to us after she had abandoned us.

That was that, I suppose. At least my girl took me in and never got rid of me. I would have preferred to stay in the same home for the rest of my life, but at least my girl never abandoned me. She took me in and that was that. She always took care of me better than my mother had. Some humans even called my girl my mother.

Well, she is my girl. Not my mother. My girl was better than my mother. I’m glad my girl came and met me when she did. That whirlwind changed my life forever and taught me love can last forever. Sometimes it doesn’t always last from your family for many reasons. But then you can find friends later on who will stand by you no matter what.

So, I was proud to have her as my girl. I never minded her calling me her cat. At least she understood she didn’t own me. Nor did she ever treat me as a piece of property. I am a person to her. I always was and always will be.

I grew up in a woodpile in a backyard. At that young age, I had no idea what life had in store for me. I didn’t see the adventures that would happen to me. All the traveling. And of course, the most wonderful caretaker and caregiver I ever had who helped me in my later years. I don’t think I could have handled being a senior cat without her.

This woodpile is where my brothers and I would play and learn how to become upstanding cats. Our mother cared for us as a mother should. She was kind and loving. She provided for our every need without any complaint. She was beautiful.

We were lucky to grow up there. Yes, we were outside, but we were in a human neighborhood. There were humans around and they helped take care of us. If the humans were mean and dangerous, I don’t know what would have happened to us. I have heard horror stories of other cats who just lived on the streets without a safe place to go in times of trouble.

But I know we were lucky. Two of my brothers, Inky and Paintbrush, were adopted by humans and we never saw them again. I do hope they were in good homes. Sometimes it’s just hard to tell with humans. But I know Spitter and I had a good home together.

It was just a shame that we, Spitter and I, were separated early, but that is another story.

I didn’t just learn to become an upstanding cat in this woodpile. I also learned to meditate as just a little kitten. My girl says of the only picture she’s seen of me as a kitten that I was cute and looked just like a miniature version of my adult self. She says I didn’t look much like kittens who have certain parts of their bodies grow bigger than the rest. I was just a miniature adult. I suppose I always had the mindset of a senior cat trapped inside a young cat’s body.

There were many humans who came and went to the house next to the woodpile. Some would live in the house. Many didn’t stay long for one reason or another. There was only one who stayed there the longest. He was the blind guy. He was kind and loved my brothers, my mother, and me well.

He never made us leave. He let us come and go as we pleased. He just made sure we had access to food and water. We didn’t have a litter box because we were outside cats. We never needed one. We learned from our mother how to deal with our waste and where to hide it so no one would complain.

The house wasn’t particularly very clean. There was a tv that was on much of the time. I never cared for tv and I certainly didn’t miss it when I lived with my girl. She doesn’t like tv and refuses to own one. She did have one for a time, but it wasn’t on as much as it was at my first home.

The blind guy tended to write poetry. I didn’t mind that. Sometimes I would hear him typing or he would speak the words out loud. It sounded like a stream of consciousness. It certainly wasn’t unpleasant to listen to him reciting his poetry and expressing himself.

It was a good first home with the woodpile and the house. I couldn’t have asked for better. It was in this home that I first met my girl. She was one of those who came and went. She never stayed overnight.

Even my brother Spitter had noticed her. She came and chatted with the blind guy and other humans. She was the one non-cat who checked our food and water bowls. She made sure we had what we needed. Her scent was left behind. That was how Spitter and I knew she was one of those crazy cat ladies.

She had earned our trust by taking care of our food and water and by letting us be. She never made us come or go. She gave us freedom and respect that we deserve as cats. But I still had no idea how important she would become to me or when it would happen.

But it was only a matter of time before this whirlwind would change things for us. She would even affect herself as well as me.