Our cat Clara* is black. Black as coal. She never liked being held. She never really liked people petting her body, only allowed us to scratch her head and chin, and only when she wanted. Our cat Clara came home when our girls were 8 and 10 years old and now they are 28 and 30. Clara is between 94 and 97 years old in the human chronology. She was with us for the grand premiere of three different homes. And she accompanied us through many hours of studying, working at the computer, competing with us for the keyboard, or a place next to the monitor, a faithful companion through the night, till dawn.
The visitors never liked our cat Clara very much, because she had a wild look to her eyes and poise. Grandpa Zé had been living with us when she arrived at our home, with only a few months of age. That is why he is one of the few she lets pet her. At the beginning, Grandma Maria would often get it wrong and say “the (boy) cat” and all of us, the ones at home, repeated “the (girl) cat”. Our cat Clara overcame complicated illnesses. Her doctor says she is truly a nine-life cat.
At this time of the pandemic, our Clara is, therefore, very old. Before the pandemic we were all running, between our jobs and appointments and her days were relatively lonely. With confinement, her days became filled with our company. She acquired the ways of the pampered. Now, sometimes, but only sometimes, her eyes become soft. She lets strangers pet her (not always). She lies on the top of us whenever she finds us on the couch, and meows desperately to demand our presence. Grandma Maria, who’s been with us lately, thinks she’s become sweet and worries when she eats too little. Grandma prepares little pieces of meat and fish to give her during our mealtime.
We think the pandemic brought us to her, in a way she’s never had us in her entire life. With no vaccine for COVID-19 in sight, our cat Clara will have a happy old age. Maybe, this was a strange sort of gift, allowing us all a proper goodbye. One last year of hours on the couch with her warm weight on our stomachs, of her vehement requests for human food - as if we didn’t give her enough of her own -, of tentative cuddles hoping she won’t snap at our fingers, of her characteristic nonchalant affection, sleeping as close to us as she can. We hope our cat Clara will stay with us for another twenty years at least, but if that doesn’t happen, at least we had this time to treasure her.
C.S. and M.B.
Comments