My Red Carpet Cat

Mi Gato was a gorgeous cat. His shiny black fur glistened against the red carpet background. I am sure he chose our house just because of that red carpet. He was just that kind of cat. You know, one that was used to having the red carpet rolled out for him.

First I have to tell you a little about the house. We had moved from a new home in the country into an Old Victorian fixer-upper. However, the former tenants had tried to modernize this lovely old home by lowering ceilings and installing the 60’s-70’s dull brown paneling which had only succeeded in making it a dark, dank, dreary habitat. I remember the first time I walked into the dining room with its ceilings nipping at the top of my head, the paneling closing in on me, and thinking, “My God, I’ve walked into a box.” At first I blamed it on the red carpet – there was red carpet everywhere. But once I had recovered from my claustrophobic episode, I began to realize that it was the low ceilings and dark walls that gave me that coffin-like sensation. And unlike Mi Gato who recognized immediately what I was slower to comprehend, this gorgeous red carpet had been installed unbeknowingly by the previous tenants for the arrival of the King. Well, and perhaps for the Queen also, because that is the way I felt as I strolled barefoot on its cushiony soft depth across those special cozy spots, that Mi Gato loved so much, where the sun filtered in and warmed both him and our spirits.

But I digress. Mi Gato wasn’t a package deal with the house. I had two or three years to enjoy the comforting presence of the red carpet before he arrived. There are several things, you have to understand about me at that particular time in my journey of life. I didn’t like cats; and I certainly didn’t like indoor pets of any type or description. So when this big black ball of fur arrived at my door on that cold, snowy January day, with the wind blowing like it can only blow in Oklahoma, acting as if he had always lived there; I certainly had no intention on inviting him in. But it wasn’t my decision. The King had arrived at his palace; and he strolled in on that red carpet like I was an intruder that he might let stay if it pleased him or if I served him with the proper reverence. And I did, you know. How could I help it. The King had come home. It had been a long journey, I am sure. He had waited patiently until the palace was ready; and he was sure that its new occupants were worthy of him. But I am positive that it wasn’t so much the house or his new servants that were the deciding factors in his decision to move in, so much as that red carpet – he looked so good lying there stretched out, purring contentedly, and basking in the warmth of the sun. It was like that carpet had been chosen by the universe – years ago - just for him.

He asked for us to call him Mi Gato – My Cat. He never really told us his name. It wasn’t necessary. He wouldn’t come if you called him anyway. He was the King. There was more that we didn’t know about him, then we ever really knew about him. He was the “illusive dream.” I think he had been a writer in a former life. I found 26 pens and pencils hidden under the couch one day. But you know it was during that time in my life that I realized my own potential as a writer and sitting there cross-legged with Mi Gato beside me, basking in the sun; the King and I began to write. I am sure he dictated and I just took the notes, but nevertheless, I wrote; and he let me take the credit for it all. He just laid there; his shiny black fur glistening against his red carpet background and watched me through those squinted green eyes and I never, ever knew what he thought …or maybe I did.
©2005 Ilene Madrigal