Feels Like Home

‘Vivian!!’ 

Le Sigh.

‘Vivian! What on Earth are you eating over there?!’ 

Vivian rolled her deep, hazel flecked eyes, and lifted her right paw to block  Donald from coming any closer. She curled her other paw on top of her pile of turkey slices Diane the janitor had left her earlier that morning. 

‘Donald, ce n’est pas ton prob´´´leme!!’  She replied flatly, exasperated.

The rain hadn’t stopped ticking on the tin roof for days, it seemed. But what were days, anyway? Vivian, like all of her furry roommates knew only moments–in between naps, and those she preferred to take curled up on her purple velvet blanket on top of the cat tower in the window. At least when her eyes were closed she felt  less rude ignoring him, but he didn’t know how to take a hint.

‘Meowwwww! ‘ Donald snapped back, dramatically waving his front orange paws in all directions. ‘Is it that it’s raining Us and Dogs right now?’ 

No, Vivian didn’t mind the rain. But Donald and Bingo and Luther and all of the others always in her space--the ones always questioning what she was eating, what she was doing, why her fur was matted in the back–they were a different story.

'Are you ungrateful? Have you just given up?’  They'd badger her from sunrise to sunset.

When Vivian closed her eyes at night–she could still smell the air. Those first buds on the trees that lined the Seine river.  She could feel the breeze from 81 stories up--at the top of the Eiffel Tower, what felt like the top of the world. She could hear the muffled voices of tourists oohing and awwing and giggling with delight. It really wasn’t that long ago. Or was it long ago? It seemed like yesterday, or just the day before when her human Maman would bring her there, carrying her up all those flights of metal stairs in one of those backpacks that had the clear pockets, so she could see while still safely tucked inside.

Her Maman would light up a cigarette–and when she would leave the backpack's zipper half open, Vivian  could inhale the second hand smoke. For certain, the nicotine was a better buzz than any catnip she’d savored, before and since, better than the taste of  a fresh mouse in her mouth that she would bring back to Maman's front doorstep for a gift on balmy Spring afternoons.

Vivian wore a beret then, matching her Maman’s , from a colorful bedazzled collection hanging on the coat rack by their door. She loved the one with diamonds best. Vivian was born sophisticated, and though domesticated, she was wild at heart.

‘ You are très simple, Donald!’ 

He was orange, and round, his fur always swept to one side. He only ate processed treats, never ‘real’ food. He was loud and abrasive, and clumsy, always stirring up trouble.

'You can call me ‘The Donald' now’ he said, his chest puffing up. 

Vivian went back to her turkey, ignoring his posturing–until a long tail whacked her in the face. 

‘Hello, I mean Bon Jour’ Judy chirped. Judy was the black and white kitten that was born in the shelter that summer. She was what the others called a DogCat. Judy didn’t know how to play it cool, she was indefatigable in her optimism. She would prance and twirl around the cement floored room like a showgirl from another time. 

‘Vivian, Madame Vivian, TODAY is THE day!! I just KNOW it!!’  Judy spun around and looked out the window…They’re out there…your forever home is getting ready for you!’ 

‘Je ne sais pas’ Vivian replied. She leaned into Judy's ear, and in a whisper; ‘I just don’t know!”

It was the day after Thanksgiving. Vivian only know this because  of the turkey breakfast, and seeing Judy swat at the giant parade balloons on the TV screen the day before.  It was Vivian’s fifth Thanksgiving there, in the shelter.

Luther, with his shiny black ink mane, slinked up next to Judy:’ “You know you’ll never go there.' he sneered. 'To New York City. Of course they say if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere. But my cousin, she's the dancer one I told you about, she and my other cousin, they were in that show there for years! So many years!'

He squinted his eyes, and looked off into the distance.

'And Poof!! The show is Done! Over! They’re back out on the streets. And you Know no one wants a cat past her prime. A cat so old they can’t….’ 

Whenever the topic of age came up–usually by Luther, or Donald, Diane the antisocial calico would dart her eyes in the boys' direction, then to Vivian and an awkward silence would follow.  Vivian couldn’t count on all four paws the numbers of times she was almost adopted. It was the same old song and dance…

the humans would see her glorious caramel colored mane, snuggle with her in the play area, rave about her sweet nature, how elegant she was. And then the next day when coming back to pick her up...

‘Oh! We didn’t see these kittens here yesterday!’ They would squeal. “We of course want of these freshies!’ 

Vivian heard about this sort of thing from her late aunt in Hollywood, trading in some older models for the new. But she couldn’t believe this kind of heartbreak was happening everywhere. In Oregon? Donald told Viv this place was more ‘woke’, whatever that meant. 

At every rejection, she'd re-position her stance, lift her head up, and stuff her disappointment deep into her soul. 

Vivian had seen it all, but like most of her French friends, was not unlike a fresh baguette from a corner boulangerie: Crusty on the exterior, soft and warm on the inside.  Could she even dream that? That there was still someone out there looking for Her? That she could feel that way again. 

‘I KNOW it, Madame Viv, I just Know The One is searching for you!’ Judy continued, her blue eyes twinkling, even in the dark. 

Oh how she missed her Maman. The kisses that would leave a stain of red lipstick on her forehead. The feel of her soft belly as she curled up in bed with her. The knowing.  She remembered when her Maman had died, softly and without fanfare in her canopy bed. Vivian used to lick her Maman’s tears from her face,it seemed to sooth them both. The morning Maman died, her older sister shoved Vivian from the bed to check for a breath, a pulse. She wailed so loud and so long, Vivian knew she'd never see Maman again. Maman’s sister wasn’t fond of cats, and her last duty to her sister was to get Vivian back to The States and find her long term care. That's how she ended up in a shelter in central Oregon.

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Next to the Shelter, a small winery with art deco lined walls and a sommelier who looked like Santa Claus. The winery was for humans though, no cats allowed. Or At least no cats in all the years the shelter was their neighbor had tried to get in.

‘There is a special loneliness’ Marie told her brother as they sipped on pinot noir. “A deep loneliness that’s never going to go away, is it?" 

They were waiting for the rain to let up to get back to their car. It was their fifth post-Thanksgiving wine tour with their family. They had a tradition to go to this indoor winery last before heading home because this winery had darts and cheeseburgers.  But this year, they weren’t in the mood for darts. Their beloved mom wasn’t there. Their vibrant mom, full of color and sparkle and light had died the week before, in a hospital bed, quietly, without fanfare. They decided to go on the tour anyway. 

‘It is so lonely’ her brother replied, taking the last bite of his cheeseburger. ‘But it's so fresh. We just lost her. But I think we need to make our own home. I think that’s what we do now.'

Marie nodded as tears streamed down her face. She took a deep breath and pulled from her purse the years old tube of her favorite red lipstick that she got from a department store when she was studying in Paris. She delicately lined her lips, and blotted the rest on the last napkin from the pile on the table as they stood up to leave.

As they walked out the door, her brother continued ‘ You know it’s about those moments that felt like magic, that mom created for us, creating our feeling of Home. We need to seek those things...’ 

As Marie turned her head toward her brother, her eyes moved past him and locked with the hazel eyes peering at her from the corner of the cat shelter’s big picture  window. 

Marie and her brother  stopped in their tracks on the sidewalk. Marie gasped and with a smile, gestured her head toward the window.

‘Like this?’

Vivian didn’t blink, didn’t move, didn’t purr, didn’t meow. She kept her gaze on Marie, her heart beating so fast inside her chest she’d thought she’d burst.

‘She found me.’ 

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