A young orange cat watched a bird outside the patio door. An old black cat on a sofa didn’t seem to care about the bird watched the orange one and didn’t seem to care about the bird. Both cats were extremely still as the bird chirped. Soon, a few more birds landed by the plants, and they all chirped. They were young and made a lot of noise. They’d seemed to have found a safe place to stay. The orange cat had never been that close to birds. The black one had and was watching the orange one. The black cat’s name was Catalyst, but his master always called him Newark because he was from Newark, New Jersey. The man would say, “He’s a big black cat from Newark so don’t mess with him.” The orange cat’s name was Catharsis, but his master always called him Atlantic City or A.C. for short because that’s where he was from. The man told people he thought he was an Irish cat. The birds were still making a lot of racket, but the cats loved it. All of the birds were small and gray, but one had a red head and chest. Then the birds flew away.
Later, a stray cat walked onto the patio. She was a small gray cat, which had been caught twice by the man and brought to the animal shelter. The man yelled at the cat and ran up to the door in a threatening manner and clapped his hands and the cat ran away. Immediately A.C., the orange cat, came into the room. “That was that gray tramp,” Newark said. “For your sake, I’m glad you weren’t here.” He looked at the rug by the wall. “You don’t have to mark your territory every time one of those old alley cats come this way. The Hooman hates that.”
A.C. peered out the door for the stray but she was gone. “She probably has fleas,” he said.
The next day the man let the two cats walk around outside, under his supervision. They grazed, like cattle, eating grass. Newark saw a monarch butterfly. “I’ve not seen as many monarch butterflies as I used to,” he said. “Something bad is happening…It’s probably something the hoomans are doing. They’re always doing something stupid to the environment. They don’t have the same relationship with the Lion that us, animals, have.”
A man walked his dog nearby. The cats eyed the man and the dog trotting close behind.
“Pathetic,” Newark said.
A. C. laughed and said, “They don’t have a direct relationship with the Lion.”
“Dogs are instinctive with that but hoomans have trouble.”
“Right.”
“You were fascinated by the birds,” Newark said. “You want to investigate everything because you have a love for life. You will want to catch a bird, and examine it, because you’re curious. Then you’ll notice how good it smells. It’ll smell incredible. You’ll want to know it better. Closer. You’ll want to taste it. That’s how it started. First, it was eating grass, like cattle, then it was eating animals. But the Lion let it happen…”
Later on, the tramp swung by again, while the man was standing outside with the cats. He yelled at the stray, and she ran away, and he ran after her. He got upset and yelled loudly. Then he was embarrassed that the neighbors might have heard him. He rounded up the cats and went inside.
“Why should he care what others think?” A.C. said.
“He’s not a cat,” Newark said. “But we shouldn’t be so hard on the man.”
“He lets us walk around without a leash,” A.C. said.
“I’ve known him far longer than you and I’ve watched him.”
“You’re eighteen summers old, aren’t you?”
“About that,” Newark said. “But I’ve watched man and I’ve suspected that he knows the Lion.”
“You think so?”
“Yep, and lately, he’s been walking in his ways,” Newark said. “He walks us, and you know how tedious it is to walk a cat…”
“I heard him say, ‘It’s their time,’ to a neighbor once.”
“Yeah,” Newark agreed. “That’s love!”
“Yeah, it’s not like hoomans walking dogs.”
“Exactly,” Newark said. “You’re learning well, Catharsis.”
“Thank you, Catalyst.”
The next day A.C. walked into the kitchen and found Newark lying on the floor. “Newark? What are you sleeping on the cold hard floor for?” But Newark continued to lie there and A.C. went into the other room.
When the man came home from work he found Newark still lying on the kitchen floor. “Newark? Newark!” But Newark didn’t respond. “No!” the man said, and he scooped the old cat up, in his arms. “I’m going to the vet,” he told A.C. and left immediately.
The man laid the old cat on the car seat and drove as quickly as he could to the vet. “Hold on, Newark!”
The vet said Newark was in a coma and it would cost a lot of money to treat him. He said his quality of life would be poor and, ironically, very expensive. The man was numb by everything happening so quickly that he didn’t feel too sad or cry. He agreed to let the vet put Newark to sleep. But the vet would shave a small portion of Newark’s clean, soft fur and put Newark’s paws on an ink pad for a thoughtful card and package for a remembrance. The vet told the man he could spend a few minutes alone with Newark. When the vet left the man stroked Newark’s black fur. “I’m sorry, Catalyst,” he said. A few minutes later the man quietly and calmly took the remembrance package from the vet, thanked him and left.
A.C. was very hungry when the man returned, and he quickly fed him.
It was very quiet around there for a while.
Eventually, the man spoke more than ever to A.C. And A.C. was a good listener. The man told A.C. that Newark made him a better master and A.C. agreed. He was very agreeable. They were both well-trained by Newark.