The Blue Cat

I love my blue cat with a Supernatural Love.

My blue wizard, my magic cat.

I caught him as a wild feral on the day Obama was elected. A day of Hope, a day of Yes We Can. November 2008.

He was so hungry. And I made a trap. And when I caught him he was all double triple back flip and Lunging and Hissing.

Blue was a Verb.

It took time for us to tame each other.

I would become so sick in the weeks to come I would not know if I would be around to see Obama’s Inauguration, but I was.

I became so sick I would quite often hallucinate cats.

And I wondered if it was possible that Blue was bad luck in some sense that I had either caught a disease from him, or that he belonged to a magician who was not happy I had his familiar, or that the cats had come exactly because I was ill, the way they sit vigilant in nursing homes and temples and we were living in some world-between-worlds.

He was right there with me through it all.
He has kept me company this whole journey.

At my worst, when pinned down in various medical settings with fluorescent lights and needles and iv’s and ultrasounds and scans and tests and tubes and fans and tunnels, I would imagine him with me.

He was always with me.

And I just love Little Boy Blue.

The Fink.

Trotsky.

The Blue Wizard.

We have a hundred names for him.

He is aloof and spirited and likes to stay out nights. He loves his brother the dog. When the three little kittens were tiny he would watch over them like an uncle, and he is a good big brother to them. Kit in particular is smitten with him.

He will not be easy to relocate. He belongs to the earth here.
It would be easier to move Tiger Ball, who is called that because when I pick him up he curls like a furry little pangolin (while his two siblings cannot be picked up at all but fight most attempts at domestication.)

But Blue is ours, he is our family. I believe he will adapt. He has his destiny too.