Three cats.

Warning. Cussing.

Every morning at 3 a.m., for the last seven years, I started my day with yoga, followed by prayer. During the recent past, I was distracted by a small and vulnerable cat. Somehow he was aware of my quiet body movements and silent prayer and sent a soft meow through the gap between the old front door and the wooden floor. "Please, Miss, could we have some food?" The sweetness of the melodic, pleading sound tugged at my heartstrings for those three poor animals. Although it was deeply unsettling to imagine their stomachs growling and their bodies trembling from the ice night, I had to be strong and remember we were grooming them for another home sometime soon.

Mum and I had already reneged on some of the rehoming plans to change our original definition, 'stray cats' to the softer and kinder definition of 'outdoor cats'. Yes, we threw left overs under the shrubbery near the veranda, so the outdoor cats could be sheltered and safe as they feed on meat scraps and remains of pet food but we slightly reneged again. I mean, another small change couldn’t really matter? Mum, when she awoke around 6 am, would now open a large can of cat food and pour out their favorite minced beef and gravy into two enamel dishes.

 Maybe I’ve got ahead of you and it would be good to give you a concise backstory. Well, last December, the first cat to show up was a ginger and white one. He would seek refuge in the warm dirt of our driveway sprawling on his back. He allowed me to pat him but when we touched his lower back and tail he jumped up, hissing and throwing a few targeted scratches at my hand. We could tell its tail was broken as well as injury to its hip and lower backbone; we discussed he had probably been thrown from a moving car and landed on his lower spine and his tail dragged on the hard bitumen roadside.

Without cursing the person, or people who did that terrible act, we tried to believe it was a sign of the times; Australia was going through a tough time with all kinds of folks from all walks of life, facing homelessness, immediate eviction, struggling to pay rent, and not having enough to feed themselves, their children, or take care of their pets. So, it wasn't a bombshell when we spotted two more cats around the beginning of May, who snuck out from the bushes, who sometimes left a spray of pigeon feathers glistening with frost and still sun. The second cat had a nice coat with a mix of white, red, and brown patterns. He seemed healthy and the most domesticated, so he quickly got used to us and seemed to do well with a blanket in a box on the porch. The third cat, a black and white coat, had bloodied and infected paws with broken claws. He always kept his distance from us and ate alone while the other two ate from the same dish. We speculated it was possible that he was thrown off the bridge into the nearby river and had to fight his way out of a tough garbage bag or a sealed container or something like that. He also had a wound on his left front leg, coupled with an always wet coat. We supposed he took refuge in the dewed undergrowth near the river and a roaming fox got at him.

Yep, we again moved the bar slightly, to make it easier to identify the three cats in our communications; we thought they needed to be given names. We knew the data, in the wisdom of Jewish cultures, it's believed that accepting an animal as a pet is a covenant, a sacred trust between souls akin to marriage. All we wanted to do was gain their trust and tame these once-domesticated animals so they could be placed in another home for life! No covenants! As a result, we felt using a name generator for the three male cats distanced us, did not make it a heart connection thing from any affectionate thought, or at worst an endearment! The first three generated names were Baba Rufus, Omar Bibs, and plain old Michael. 

Mum was aging quickly now and needed to be close to amenities, friends and more family. Our home was easy to sell. It was a wooden country cottage hidden by eucalyptus and pine trees encircled by a picket fence with happy family memory and vibes. For the last three and a half weeks we had been very busy sorting out, from at least my lifetime, hoarded stuff that were mostly binned. Judging from the newspaper clippings, unused boxed wedding gifts, antiques and that my eldest brother was ten years older than me meant the stuff had accumulated for at least sixty years. The Charity shop loved us. They had that big grin like a Cheshire cat as we removed the cherished items from our car boot. We had no time to sell it on eBay, besides the donation optimally helped others in need anyway. We packed the pristine cardboard boxes, cleaned and left.

Our new home was a brick box in the suburbs. I did not like the suburbs. Being shoulder-to-shoulder with sanitized materialistic others and their first world troubles seemed unflattering. But I was grateful, unlike many, I was still in a home and Mum had what she needed! My harbinger about the cats had happened in June, before we put the house up for sale. I did my usual thing of buying vegetables from the local Sunday country markets. A couple had sadly carried a rooster confined in a cage. The rooster let out a resounding crow to me, its eyes seemed to hold a living horror. His owners, bound and disdained by council bylaws, expressed sorrow, “We have to get rid of him. We tried to get him another home. We advertised on Facebook. Nothing!” With the prospect of violating regulations and being fined for disturbing their neighbor's peace with the cock’s herald of a new day, the owners reluctantly made the decision to part with their beloved bird. In front of us, the market holder of local poultry and produce smirked as he agreed to receive him. I did not trust him! We all felt fearful for the rooster’s fate that he might just become someone's evening meal! The heart-to-heart with the bird in terror brought and I prayed a silent prayer, as the evil eye that looked at him and then swiveled, and honed into my personal sphere, stared and then drooled at our three outdoor cats.

On the second last day before the new owner’s possession, I rolled a barrel on the empty patio. There were icy cold winds that bent the rain. I wrapped myself up an old blanket. Baba Rufus was the first to jump on my lap, for the first time he kneaded on my chest. I videoed and posted the unexpected affection on the Facebook ‘Rehome our Feral’ page. Knowing his new owners were in transit to pick up Baba and would see the post and I was hoping it would enhance their WANT, yes WANT of him. Omar Bibs snuggled on the blanket, yawn, stretched, blinked and fell asleep. I panned the camera down to catch his innocent sweet face and also posted him on Facebook. 

My phone rang, “Yes” I said. A stressed female voice exclaimed, “Were ten minutes away. You still got Baba?” I smirked, “Yep!” I knew that would get them!

I had left the double gate to the driveway open. The hopeful family's SUV sped in like an ambulance and screeched static. Their sons and daughter wound down the back seat window and piled on top of each other with glee and joy in their eyes, “Daddy can we pet him?” Another, “OH, hurry up Daddy." One kid shouted, “Mummy I want to pee” The mother lifted the child off the car stair and I motioned with my hand at the open front door, “You can use our toilet.” She held her head down, like the Virgin Mary, as she carried her two year old into the cold and empty room.

The father lifted his boot door. He dragged out a long triangular medium dog cage and placed it down on the driveway and waited with his hands on his hips. Prior, I had placed cat valium, given from our local vet, in the cat's food; they were out of it now. I carried Baba's soft body to the cage. As I bent and laid the sleeper, I whispered, "I'll miss you pal." A half forced smile of stretched rubber-like male lips interrupted and pleaded with me, "My wife and I have the financial means, so we can take on the other one. I believe it..." He hesitated as he pulled his phone out and looked at the screen, "...Ah, Omar Bibs! They seem like brothers to us. We - err- our kids would dearly love to have both cats." I had hoped they would say this but made sure I folded my arms, frowned and knitted my eyebrows, "Are you sure? It's a lot to take on" The gentleman put his hands together, as his youngest daughter and her Mother patted Omar on the veranda, "Please?" I threw my head back like a horse, "Yep take him, he needs a good home!"

I was unsettled as it came to nightfall! I had not seen Michael today and missed his projection, his aura of aloofness and severity, akin to that of a judge or a cat perched on a windowsill, observing the world outside. I had no more time left for him to warm to me. I was worried, Michael was conspicuously absent. I decided to stay overnight in the empty house. I rolled out my yoga mat on the wooden lounge room floor. I crawled into my green ‘below zero’, green sleeping bag and resembled a caterpillar.

The next morning, I performed my regular yoga routine and whispered prayers. Clearly my mind was on Michael. Suddenly, a stiff and welcomed meow pierced my anxiety. My heart leapt as I realized that Michael had returned. Overflowing with joy, I hastily opened the last can of food and poured it into the remaining enamel dish and stirred in the dust of a cat Valium tablet for our missing member. His body, the standard rigid, stood outside the veranda. His eyes unusually flashed at me. The dish fell from my hand and my mouth dropped open.

He ran into the murky darkness, I desperately chased and stumbled after him, my eyes only catching a fleeting glimpse of the occasional reflective white patches on his coat. A surge of anguish flooded through me as I realized that if I didn't catch him, he would either starve or fall victim to some other terrible fate like the rooster. I wasn’t sure what I would do if I caught him? I wasn’t sure! I don’t know! He was wary of humans, but I felt that given time, he could become a devoted companion for the right person – someone who understood him and had the patience to earn his trust.

He plunged beneath the thick foliage. I followed him on my belly. I wriggled and slithered through the mud with every ounce of determination I could muster. Then as I tried to grab his tail, he jumped free. I watched the little bugger dart from one towering eucalyptus tree to another. It felt like I was pursuing a mischievous child playing hide-and-seek or a bat. The river was within sight, and in the distance, I spotted that antagonist fox.

Suddenly, I stumbled over a gnarled tree root and tumbled down the river bank, ending flat on my back. Above, I saw Michael skittering over and behind the bush at the top of the bank. I rolled over on my knees to help myself back to upright.

A sudden, alarming realization struck me as I watched the bushes burst into flames. The searing fire sped downwards and enveloped me but did not burn me. The bright light was blinding me, so I shielded my eyes with my bent arm that covered my face. Then, for a brief moment, I beheld a towering, radiant figure in a flowing robe, clutching a sword. I was dumbfounded, I could not believe what I was seeing. His words echoed in a foreign tongue but in my mind I heard, “Do not fear, my child. I am Michael, God's emissary of Light and Protection and I have heard your prayers.” My body flipped and shackles attached to chains, anchored to hell, and appeared on my wrists and ankles. They jangled as I was raised up into the air like a towel pegged on a washing line on a blowy day. The Angel continued, “You showed me hospitality when I was a stranger, when I was the least in society, you took me in. You have entertained angels, me, without knowing!”

The sky filled with lightning and a huge exoskeleton type object hoovered in the sky above burning the tree canopy. A ghost-like figure emerged from the surrounding bush. My eyes glazed and were unbelieving. Fear screamed in me. A strange light strobed and pulsated around me and musical chords of A Minor and C Major sounded with trumpets. I heard a female voice sternly proclaim, “I am Mary Magdalene and I have heard your prayers!” My heart ached, a type of smoke ether leaked out of my body like ink coagulating in water. I felt like all my pain, my used doormat feelings, my bitterness, my losses, my disappointments, my memoreing of being used, lied to and manipulated were exhumed to blow apart in a fireball explosion.

As the angel raised his sword he uttered, “Let not your heart be troubled.” I yelled and panted like a woman giving birth, "Easy for you to bloody well say!" The angels sword smashed the shackles and chains that bound me. They shattered then flew off outwards. The chains whirred and melted. The cold air blew and crystalised the molten to form tiny metal beads. Their buzzing and vibrating mass solidified to be a very present dark figure. It doned a metal armour and and face mask. My deepest fear was now before me drawing his gun. The 'Assassin" - the 'Yah, Yah man' from my childhood nightmares. The one who would wake me and start me screaming for my mother.

Again, I fell. My body changed! I looked around me, I was in a different time! I had short brown curly hair. I was at least 6ft tall. I wore a long skirt and leg-o-mutton sleeved blouse. Then the clothes dejected my body. I felt several bullets riddle my head and body. He said, "Double spies die!" My skin fell off. My bones lay exposed in desert sun. I stung all over as a curse was read over them.

I fell further, below me hell. My dead bones grew muscles, sinew, flesh. I was less than 6ft. I had long blonde hair. Clothes enveloped me. I was in a different time. I looked at my feet, I wore ballet slippers. I talked under a veil to shadows in the candlelit. I scribed the plans for many things and passed them on to government officials. I loved important men to gain secrets. He said, "You foolish woman spy. You cannot run. Die!" A bullet peirced my skull in an ally way. As I lay shivering and oozing blood, I searched for a photo of my deceased child and husband in my skirt pocket. He said, "Second one for good luck. Die!" BANG!

A black cloaked man rapidly walked toward me. He held a cross above him. The father called to Mary Magdalene as torrents of rain and hit winds thrashed him, “In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, I bind you demon from hell who appears as an assassin. I make you deaf, dumb and blind and send you back to the foot of the cross.”

Everything went silent.

Time folded.

A sudden dense, incoming fog soothed my battered body. Like God, it kissed me and I breathed in His breath of life.