I don’t think I will ever have it settled about the Clan of the Cat, all the cats in my life and what happened to Daisy’s kittens and the little grey cat in Boston, and what it means about my life and my marriage. The most salient feature of cats is their mystery. I understand that through some incidents of real life stranger than fiction, I learned not to treat cats like human beings, something that tended to happen in my mother’s house. I learned not to touch them in a human way. My son, Clan Chattan by blood, keeps his cats well, even though he lives under my mother’s roof.
Maybe it’s like the Zodiac, or fortunes in Chinese cookies, or other things I thought about a great deal of which one psychologist said, “that just complicates things.”
Maybe I don’t have long enough to live to put it all together, or maybe, once I let go of this writing, I’ll see it. I want to say that maybe at the heart of it I’ll see Daisy, bringing both Heaven and Hell on me like a cat out of an Edgar Allen Poe story. But I doont believe in a cat god any more, and my Christian faith is STRONG. I see Marmalade, and Dapples, the two best friends I ever had; that I’m not a cat lady any more, that I’ll never have ANY pet again, but that the mysterious cat may always elude us.