Benjalico

I was twelve.
I shared an austere, box shaped bedroom
with Benjamin, my younger brother.
There were two single beds on opposite walls,
each with three large, sliding drawers underneath for clothes.
At the bed's head,
two wall length shelves lay beneath a picture window,
which in turn,
overlooked
a flagstone path skirting
a sunken, stonewalled yard.
At the foot of my bed,
a desk adjacent to a sliding door to my older brother Nano's room,
at the foot of Benjamin's bed,
a door to the hallway,
a lightly varnished oak floor,
a blue hope chest of toys by the window,
and the whole room
encased within
stark, muslin-white walls.

Ben,
four years younger,
phlegmatic, introspective, reticent,
revealed little to others.
The lone exception came when
he played the conga drum.
His intelligence,
his love of life,
his individuality
blossomed
as he succumbed
to a prodigal talent and latent passion for
thumping
wild, rich, primal, complex syncopated rhythms.
A discernible skin of self-confidence
molted over him whenever he drummed.
At all other times
he remained entombed
in a stultifying sense of inadequacy.

But Ben's human reserve was compensated
by an uncanny affinity with cats,
more specifically,
one wise cat.

We had two.
Calico and Tiger.
Both female,
and
both
opposite
as
opposite could be.

Calico was a calico.
Black fur, with four gingerbread paws, mottled face,
and an astonishing, white left ear.
Intelligent, perceptive, centered,
this cat radiated a wisdom and sagacity
I have never before or hereafter witnessed in any animal.

Tiger was a tiger cat.
Symmetrical silver and white stripes spiraled from head to toe.
Skittish, scattered, fragmented, and
irreparably dim-witted,
she,
notwithstanding a probable traumatized kitten-hood,
was still born
with a Lilliputian's thimble of a brain.

No more illuminating illustration of the above
can be given than to
know of Calico and Tiger's exploits during
motherhood.

In our bedroom,
on the cold, bare, hardwood floor,
Tiger gave birth to a litter of three.
She instantly abandoned them,
but as she walked away,
one of the kittens, latching on to a teat,
swayed in step with her oblivious mother.
Annoyed by the unexpected weight,
Tiger stopped,
and with the same rear leg motion of ridding herself of fleas,
dispatched her child.

Calico,
a few days earlier,
deep in the warmth of a bed drawer full of sweaters,
had given birth to five kittens.
Upon hearing the mewling of Tiger's foundling,
she calmly left her litter,
and,
one by one,
brought the three strays into her cozy lair.
While nursing,
she intermittently would nudge off her own
to allow a newcomer a chance to feed.
On occasion,
Tiger,
with a look of someone who knew they forgot something,
but having no clue whatsoever what it is that they forgot,
would approach the burgeoning brood.
Without an iota of recrimination,
but rather,
with a remarkable sense of insightful compassion,
Calico would lick Tiger,
until the latter,
sufficiently cosseted,
blithely sauntered off.

Calico tolerated our family,
but instinctively
gravitated to Ben.
With the implied attitude
that it was more for our benefit than hers,
she allowed us to pet her,
but actively sought out
only his company.
Every night,
(when no litter was to be cared for),
a few minutes after lights were out,
the two cats noiselessly slinked in to our room.
Without exception,
Calico chose Ben's bed,
Tiger defaulted to mine.

There were serendipitous moments when I would catch Calico
watching Ben with a doting, maternal admiration,
as he,
unaware of her warm gaze,
read a book,
or put on a sock,
or looked out the window,
or absently strummed his fingers.

Their mutual affection was a sight to behold.
The two,
in a cloistered cocoon,
a secluded island,
a paradisial oasis,
far
from the superficial, noisy, human jabbering around them,
frolicked
with the infectious wonder
of the deaf signing.

Despite the yawning, incommunicative gulf
between the species,
and
despite the rarity for a cat to bond with a human not its provider,
it was plain for all.
whose heart and eyes were open,
to perceive
the
simple, unfettered, intimate
non-verbal camaraderie,
the
deep, primitive, visceral, elemental, rhythmic
rapport
that commingled so
lovingly and playfully
between
the reclusive boy
and
the enlightened feline.