Sometimes a journey into fame is a short one and other times not. This is the story of Greyling the Christmas cat who is in this film weaving himself in and about the camerman’s legs trying for the reefer of a stroke.
It was Christmas Day here in the house. We had the usual crowd, who were fed and fitted with turkey followed by pud. A walk was in order to prevent explosions. So we left the safety and security of my Finley Oval wood stove and hit the road, snow covered, of course.
My house peers over a huge circular allée of black walnut trees which leads to our driveway. This exit from civilization is one half a mile long, and is also lined by huge enormous bur oaks. As you walk, to the left lies my experimental orchard for breeding fruit and nut trees. To the right, more trees.
We strolled down the driveway dragging our bellies. The exception was Kaori. She is Japanese and does not possess one or any that I can discern, probably because she applies politeness to her plate unlike the rest of us. Anyway on the way back we were followed. Two furballs seemed to be adding themselves to our numbers.
The furballs caught up with us. They turned out to be microscopic cats. One had the thickness of a sheet of tissue paper. The other was composed of a head and three strands of dark hair. Oh yes. Both creatures were in possession of a tail. One each. And a voice box. Again one each.
Kaori bent down. The rest of us were fighting hard against the laws of biodiversity with a stiff upper lip. We looked down at these furballs milling around our boots. Collectively we took a single step towards the house. The furballs took one, too. In the process of bending Kaori accidentally lifted one up. Such animal accidents are always fatal.
The starving furballs turned into kittens in time. Then they turned into male cats. They were brothers. The bigger cat acted as a protective brother to the smaller cat. The least cat was washed and groomed to an inch of his life. Then his ears were turned inside out with a snap and a rough tongue did its duty. Christian and I named the large cat Moses and the smaller cat Greyling, barristers-at-law because they both held court together.
To our great dismay, Moses was picked off by an owl one evening while he was prowling in the garden. Greyling, now, is more canny and sticks to the shadows. He is a cautious cat, in possession of a huge tail carrying pin stripes in a horizontal direction. Each stripe carries a second that mimics the first. The pattern is awe inspiring, somewhat like Andy Warhol’s art work.
Greyling sleeps on his back throwing all pecuniary caution to the wind. He likes high places and will perch on the rafters. He enjoys TV, following all the animal documentaries. He hunts mice and hates birds. He also hates any kind of clutter on the table getting rid of it with one sweep of the paw. He enjoys sports, playing an excellent game of catch with an artificial mouse. And finally he watches carefully for bed making, burrowing himself deeply into the blankets and quilts before they are spread flat again.
Greyling, barrister-at-law, has one big love in his life. It is a man called Jeff McKay, who happens to be the director of this film. They head one another off, looking and staring, man to cat and cat to man. There is a bond between them. And I am reminded of something my Uncle Pat used to say to me, “A cat can, always, look at a King….”