A Cat’s Tale

Frankie and Lynnie:
The Tale Begins
Frankie was a cat. A rather short cat who always walked with his tail straight up. It made him feel taller. Shoes would have also worked, but Frankie was short of cash. Oddly, he was always short of cash, but that was okay; for some strange reason, he never seemed to have any pockets. Money, of course, might not have helped anyway, since Frankie would not need one pair of shoes but two, and that could be expensive. In the meantime, he would just have to hold his tail high. On this particular morning, he was washing up. He licked his paw and then vigorously rubbed his head. He was a self-cleaning kitten, sitting alone in a grassy Manchester park surrounded by a short, black, metal fence. His morning ablutions were abruptly interrupted by a little dark-haired girl with long-flowing ringlets who had come to play. The very girl he was looking for. He had been born to accompany her at the start of her journey. He was to be her spiritual guide.

Time spent with cats is never wasted.
—Sigmund Freud

I had been told that the training procedure with cats was difficult.
It’s not. Mine had me trained in two days.
—Bill Dana

I have studied many philosophers and many cats.
The wisdom of cats is infinitely superior.
—Hippolyte Taine

Accompanying her was a scooter, rather small, and a soccer ball, rather big. She would kick the ball away but then would go get it. Then she would kick it away again and run after it again. This happened several times. Frankie wished that the young lass would make up her mind. Either keep the damn thing or get rid of it. Try to be more decisive.
Frankie decided to approach the girl, to renew their acquaintance. After all, she did have nice eyes, and nice eyes were a way for Frankie to judge people. Not all people had been kind to Frankie, but despite being a short cat, Frankie could look after himself. After all, once cats had been worshipped as gods. Cats might no longer be so highly regarded, but they were still considered important. There was a cat in Alaska who was the mayor of the small village of Talkeetna, with fans worldwide. You could find him hanging about Nagley’s General Store. Although Frankie had never met Stubbs, Frankie, as a cat, was proud to say that Stubbs was a cat. Preposterous? He even had his own Facebook page. Cats were important. Frankie liked to remind people of that.
He approached the little girl. She was taller than he was, but of course she had shoes, a luxury Frankie could not afford. The little girl saw Frankie and shrieked, “Hello, kitty kitty. My name is Lynnie.”
Frankie responded, “My name is Frank.”
The little, bright-eyed girl only heard, “Meow meow meow meow.”
Looking at Frankie, she said, “kitty.”
Frankie responded, “It’s Frank. Some call me Frankie, but until I know you better, it’s Frank. It most certainly is not kitty. I don’t call you childie.”
Lynnie still only heard, “Meow meow meow.”
In frustration, Frankie responded, “Let me be Frank.”
The child obviously did not speak feline. She was going to be a lot of work, but this indecisive lass obviously needed help, and Frankie was up to the task. Frankie looked up at the girl and felt he had so much to teach her. Her dark eyes showed that she viewed the world with wonderment, but at the same time, they betrayed an inner knowledge and—there it was!—a spark of recognition. She was young, but there was agelessness in her soft brown eyes.
His mind wandered for a moment as he considered whether she had a small bird in her possession or maybe a mouse. A small mouse would taste good about now, but alas: nothing was forthcoming.

Who feeds a hungry animal, feeds his own soul.
—Charlie Chaplin

Before a cat will condescend to treat you as a trusted friend,
some little token of esteem is needed.
Like a dish of cream.
—T. S. Eliot

How was he going to communicate with this child and tell her about the wonders of the world? He wanted to tell her that there would be many lonely nights but love would embrace her with open arms when she was ready. In the meantime, love would be a fickle companion. He would tell her that heaven and hell are right here on earth, and luckily she could choose which one she wanted to be in. Money wasn’t important, except for shoes. You should live in the now and never let a day go by without doing at least one good turn.
She recognized something in Frankie, and his purrs and meows resonated in her subconscious. They were reunited once more.
For Frankie, it was love at first sight. Lord George Byron and the Brontë sisters loved cats. In this lifetime, Lynnie would become entranced by these authors as she had before. They loved cats, and Lynnie loved them, so how could she not love this little charmer?

There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life:
music and cats.
—Albert Schweitzer

Frankie looked up at her, and she said, “kitty?”

Okay, Frankie thought, I guess I can be kitty for this cute little girl,
but she had better deliver some food. Being a philosopher takes a lot out
of you.
She swept him up in her arms and carried him across the road to her home. Frankie, after all, was a charmer, and they were to be friends once more.
It was a modest home not far from Old Trafford, the home of the famous Manchester United soccer club. After some refreshing milk, which did not go unappreciated, she took him to her room. It was tiny, with lots of things that she had collected during her short journey on earth. Quizzically, she approached a teddy bear of approximately Frankie’s size and proceeded to strip it of a small Manchester United jersey. The bear didn’t appear to mind, but Frankie did when she put the jersey on him. Frankie approached a wooden, framed, floor-length mirror and thought, Really? I look like a giant, fuzzy tomato with a tail. This is not going to do at all. I’m a cat. This looks ridiculous. But wait. Where did these little shoes come from? Two dolls in the corner sat barefoot, looking none too pleased. They fit. I look taller. I’m super cat, bigger, better, bolder. I can leap tall chairs in a single bound. Let’s see Rooney do that. Why, United would be lucky to have me.
Yes, I was one cool cat. Don’t forget: I had a fur coat long before Joe Namath.
Now to life’s lessons and the reason we are here, or how Frankie taught an indecisive little girl with beautiful eyes and shoes how this wonderful planet operated.
Happiness, According to Frankie
Now I’m just a short cat—actually I’m much taller than I look—and you may be asking yourself how I could communicate with a little girl who did not speak a word of feline. Like the vast majority of people, Lynnie had forgotten so much on her journey back to this earthly plane, but like any newborn star, in time she would become a brilliant force, shining her warmth over all she met. I had wisdom and a lot of cat, and we were both so very young. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
We cats do not have nine lives. That is just a myth. In fact, we have many more through years of rebirth. Over the eons, we have learned to communicate through our minds.