Feminism in Russia - Passport magazine

“Try putting broken glass down on the floor,” said another
helpfully. “The rat will cut its little feet.”
“Broken glass, indeed,” thought the lady. She might be batty
but she was not completely bonkers.
The only answer was to get another cat.
And it was at this moment that a little black kitten magically
appeared in her life. He was all black, black as the ace of
spades, if you know what I mean. She called him Blackjack or
Jack for short and she felt he would be lucky.
When he was tiny, he was awfully cute. He would chase balls
of wool or playfully jump out at her from under the bed. She
called him her “dancing panther” and of course she hoped to
keep him.
But with Jack, things would be different, she decided. If he
really wanted to be free, she would not stop him. She deliberately
left the door open for him but he showed no interest
in going out.
“Come on, Jack, let’s go out,” she said one summer day. And
she carried him in her arms to the woods. “Look at the birds,
look at the flowers,” she said.
But Jack did not seem to care about life outdoors; in fact
he howled until she took him home again. It turned out that
Jack was a stay-at-home cat. I don’t mean he was boring.
On the contrary, he was very bright. Perhaps he had already
done his travelling in one of his other lives.
He was a creature of habit, if you know what I mean. He preferred
his biscuits fresh and his milk cold; he liked his little routines.
Every evening he would pad to the kitchen and make
sure there were no rats. Then he would lie down quietly on
Family pages
the bed and guard the lady while she slept.
Early in the morning, he expected his breakfast. He batted
her with his paw if she overslept and forgot that. Then
through the day he would sleep himself. He slept first on
one chair, then on all the others, spreading his sweet dreams
through the whole apartment.
When he woke, he would go to the kitchen to see if there
was anything tasty in his bowl.
Jack helped the lady with her writing. When she sat at the
computer, he jumped up onto her knee and tapped on the
keyboard with his paws. And if guests came, he always made
sure to welcome them on the doormat and he politely saw
them off again when they left.
Then he would check there were no rats under the bath before
disappearing into the dark wardrobe to listen to the radio
that only cats can hear. Or if the sun was shining, he would
stretch out on the red carpet in a patch of sunlight and show
off his unusually long paws.
He was very beautiful and very clever. At last the lady felt
at ease. She had found the cat that was right for her and it
seemed Jack was happy too. He was the true spirit of her
home. His purring warmed the flat. And when he was asleep,
all curled up on the newly washed laundry, the linen looked
like a creamy white page on which Jack was a black full-stop.
....better get a black one! P
April 2011
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