I could see that my cat had had a better vacation than I did. And she'd stayed in town, while I traversed two continents.
"Ramona," I called to her for the second time.
Ramona's ears began to twitch. She stepped from the oversized cushion and stretched each leg before ambling toward me. Throwing her considerable weight against my calves, Ramona then curled her tail around my ankles, just long enough to coat the hem of my dark slacks with thick gray fur. Following a mellow "meow," she resumed her place on the fluffy cushion.
I trailed behind, nudging her to make room for me. With an obliging twist and highly audible purr, she let me settle in, and the two of us sat, mesmerized by the angelfish floating before us in a blur of color.
"We should get one of these tropical fish tanks for the apartment," I said, more to myself than to Ramona. "It's too bad pets aren't allowed in the building."
"Miss Idaroberstein, Ramona's paperwork is ready," a young woman called, interrupting our meditation. And, the three of us set off for the reception area of The Shady Lady Cat House.
The Shady Lady is a hotel for cats, assisted by volunteers and sustained through an endowment from a wealthy woman who had lived to enjoy her ninety-eighth birthday surrounded by her beloved felines. The hotel site is actually her former home: a craftsman-style mansion shaded by acres of grand oak, ash, and eucalyptus trees. In addition to its many volunteers, this kitty spa hosts a full-time veterinarian as well as a dietician, and I wouldn't be surprised if the woman escorting us to our paperwork had the title of Activities Director.
As we passed from the fish-viewing room into the sunbathing room, we could see countless cats lounging in the afternoon light that cascaded through the spotlessly clean windows, just out of reach of the oak branches. We crossed near the climbing room and the music room, then pattered through the television room to the foyer.
"Just sign here," the Activities Director said, "Dr. Daniels will call in a few weeks to schedule your volunteer duties for Ramona's stay with us." She smiled and knelt to pat the ever-purring Ramona.
"It's just a cat," I recall my boyfriend Derrick saying as I tried to find care for Ramona before we left on our vacation. I cringed at his words.
"And we'll only be gone two weeks," he continued, rolling his eyes as if I were a fool, and then added, "An animal can fend for itself."
It's true that I sometimes do foolish things, but I know for a fact that the animal in question has had trouble fending for herself.
When I first found Ramona in the school parking lot, she was rain-soaked and shivering. Under matted fur, her skin hugged her frail skeleton too tightly. A hoarse meow shook her little body and her eyes looked sad and swollen. I couldn't bear to leave her behind in the darkness, so I scooped her into a wool blanket I found in my trunk and drove her home.
"Please Mrs. Chambray, I need to take care of the poor thing," I'd pleaded with my landlady, who reluctantly nodded in agreement.
"Look, Audrey, here's a phone number," Mrs. Chambray had said as she gently fingered the collar I had failed to notice dangling from the trembling creature's neck. "And her name is Matilda."
"I see."
"Well, go ahead," Mrs. Chambray had agreed. "Take her in, temporarily. But please call the number soon. No pets in the building. Remember?"
Matilda. The name hardly suited the young, fragile feline, but if it indeed her name, a part of her identity, her being, I wanted to respect that. I remember how I had given up my own identity when I married Brett Tyler. Tyler. Such a pretty name too. It had been the chance to rid myself of the cumbersome moniker I had inherited and to share my life with a man who, I thought, loved me. And so, after twenty-six years of living as Audrey Idaroberstein, I suddenly became someone I hardly recognized.
Then one day, my Mr. Tyler decided that I, Mrs. Tyler, was no longer the lovable person he had once proclaimed me to be, and he left. At that moment I went numb. The first tingling sensation that came back to me was the feeling of having no identity at all. Of being alone. Abandoned.
I called the number on the oversized cat collar. It had been disconnected.
Promising that I would never abandon her and would always respect her uniqueness, I nursed my new friend back to health. One day, however, I accidentally called the kitty "Ramona," and she responded as though her role as the skinny and forlorn Matilda never quite fit. In the meantime, I slowly began rediscovering and rejoicing in my own identity.
My landlady, Mrs. Chambray, has always known me as Audrey Idaroberstein because I moved into the building and met Ramona soon after my divorce. And over the past five years since then, Mrs. Chambray continued to check in on my "temporary" roommate. In fact, she became Ramona's kitty-sitter when I was away. But this year, our vacations coincided when Derrick's schedule that had dictated a change in my vacation plans.
Derrick arrived on the scene last September and he is the type of person who sweeps over you so completely that you hardly have time to realize what's happening, or think, or breathe. I encountered him in the school parking lot too, not far from where I first met Ramona. He, on the other hand, had looked extremely healthy and well-tended.
I obviously spend too much time in that parking lot and on that campus, where I teach English. I'll confess that the Brett Tyler fiasco turned me into a workaholic. There was a gaping financial and emotional abyss in my life that my long, meeting-laden school day seemed to fill.
But aside from being a bit of a workaholic, I really don't have many bad habits. I don't smoke, or drink, or swear. I don't over-medicate with chemicals or chocolate, and I rarely watch TV. I do however have one lingering vice, a vice that helps keep me sane. When I'm in a highly volatile emotional state I blurt out the most atrocious grammar. The simple act of pronouncing ill-constructed sentences seems to liberate me.
I picked the habit up the summer I spent with my Aunt Grace in her little town of Cut 'n Shoot, Texas, when I was nine. My cousins Reggie, Troy, Laura, and I were "always fix'n' to go fish'n' and there warn't nev'r nott'n' gunna stop us." Fishing and swimming at the nearby water hole all day, chasing fireflies across the ebony sky to cricket songs each night, listening to legends about the town, and trading comic books with my cousins - I was carefree and happy then and there. As I grew up, my desire to prolong that adventure led to reading more stories. My urge to to identify and fix the maligned use of the language led me to teach English, rather than pursing any real calling.
Despite the fact that he is a copy machine salesman, Derrick's grammar is consistently very good. His vice is drinking too much, and, I discovered during our recent travels, he's not very pleasant when he does. Sales and marketing, wining and dining. That is Derrick's forte. He can be very charming, in the beginning, just like Brett Tyler.
"Watch out for the charming ones," Mrs. Chambray will often say, like a mantra, without provocation. "Watch out for the charming ones."
Aside from her mysterious mantra, Mrs. Chambray is a forthright and attractive woman in her sixties who, like her apartment, always smells of freshly baked cookies and expensive French perfume. She has many acquaintances, but none with whom she has chosen to share her living quarters. And although she never talks of her love life, I glean that her choice to go it solo has had something to do with "the charming ones."
"Dr. Hugh Daniels. He's the new vet at the Shady Lady," Mrs. Chambray mentions as she greets Ramona and me after we return home from our vacations. "I hear he's very good with animals. Better, in fact, with animals than people. Just moved here from somewhere in the South."
"I saw a tall, lanky man, about my age, when I picked up Ramona. He just watched us, but didn't say anything."
"Probably him," Mrs. Chambray states, nodding her head. Then she changes the subject. "So, how was your trip?"
"It was," I search for the right word, "interesting. We flew to New York first for meals and theater. Next to a few Canadian towns where Derrick had business. Over to England. Down to Italy. And, well, I'll bring some photos by once they're developed."
Interesting, indeed. Our vacation was a horror remake of the old movie, If It's Tuesday, This Must be Belgium. Never a chance to rest, to savor, to explore. And there were suspenseful and spine-tingling moments, too.
"Don't be so selfish," Derrick said, when I had suggested visiting a museum on my own rather than sitting through another business presentation in Toronto. "Why should you get to explore while I'm working?"
Selfish. I hate to be thought of as selfish. Brett Tyler used to call me selfish too, when I didn't go along with his plans. So, in an attempt to eradicate that horrible trait that I must have acquired somewhere along the line, I tried to be as patient and agreeable as possible. Who needed museums or afternoon strolls along the lake? I decided I could be a better person by working harder at being more supportive and selfless.
It wasn't easy though, because the more business presentations and dinners we attended together, the more alcohol flowed and the more Derrick accused me of being thoroughly self-centered.
In the haze of our vacation and our relationship, I caught a glimpse of a road sign bearing my name. Idar-Oberstein.
"Look! There's a town named after me!" I said in my excitement. It was a small German town just a few kilometers away.
"Yeah, right, like the Germans got together and decided to honor you with a town."
"You know what I mean. I've never heard my name anywhere else."
"It's a strange one, all right."
"Idar-Oberstein is so close. Can't we just pass through and take a look?"
"There's no time, Audrey. I'll miss my appointment in Positano if we don't drive straight down."
My heart sank. We sat in silence for the rest of the ride.
Positano, Italy was beautiful with its steep and winding cliffs that fell into the rich blue of the ocean. But the glistening waters and rustic rocks felt somehow lifeless and flat. Every joyful moment so far had been crushed by Derrick's needs. We finally took a break at a curve along the highway, and we actually got out of the car to stretch our legs and gaze for a moment into the vast sky, reflected in the ocean.
"Only a day and a half left, and we've missed the chance to really be anywhere," I sighed.
"What are you talking about, Audrey? We've just traveled everywhere, and first class too. I've given you the vacation of a lifetime."
"This is not a vacation, Derrick. It's a business trip for you, a tax write off that I've helped finance."
"There you go again, only thinking of yourself," Derrick offered his standard reply. "Don't you get it? This isn't puppy love. We're grownups. I have responsibilities."
I stood there looking at this man who does precisely what he wants, when he wants, accusing the world of selfishness if he is not accommodated. This man, my lover who doesn't love me, can't love me because he is too enthralled with himself. I had simply replaced one selfish man, my Mr. Tyler, with another. How clear it looked, up on this cliff. Why hadn't I seen it sooner?
"It sure ain't puppy love," I called out, inhaling gulps of bitter sea air. "What we got ain't no love at all." I grabbed my bags from the car and started walking.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Audrey?" Derrick yelled as he rolled along beside me. "Get back in the car!"
"Nothing at all is wrong with me," I replied keeping my pace.
After a few more yards, he took off. Wouldn't miss a minute of his next business meeting, I'm quite sure. I caught a ride to town with a kind, local family, and then headed down the highway to explore my namesake in Germany for the last treasured moments of my vacation.
Idar-Oberstein was lovely. From the exquisite church that was perched and carved in a rock wall to the gem museum that housed an abundance of precious stones for which the area is known. I felt proud to possess such a name and happy to spend a few glorious, personal hours in such a place.
But it felt good to be back home. And although I was reluctant to share details of my trip, Mrs. Chambray seemed to know that she would not be seeing Derrick again.
"Audrey, er, Miss Idaroberstein? This is Hugh Daniels, the vet at The Shady Lady," a deep voice with a subdued Texas twang called out through my answering machine. Ramona's ears twitched as she dashed across the room to investigate.
"Hey kitty," I told Ramona, who leaped onto the phone stand to be closer to Dr. Daniel's voice. "I've never seen you move so fast. You like him, don't you?"
"Anyway, umm, we really enjoyed having Ramona stay with us." Dr. Daniel's message continued. "I, er, saw you when you picked her up. I meant to introduce myself. I, we, need and appreciate the kindness and expertise you'll offer. Here. At The Shady Lady. Thanks, ahead of time, for your generosity as a volunteer. I apologize for calling you so soon. I'm, umm, new here, in town. And I, well, I look forward to meeting you. Sorry. I tend to ramble."
Mrs. Chambray was right. Dr. Hugh Daniels isn't smooth. Attractive, nice, admired by Ramona; but definitely not one of the charming ones. Maybe I'll call him tomorrow and ask if he's ever worked in Cut Ôn Shoot or spent his summer nights in search of fireflies.
Elizabeth Cavanaugh is a freelance writer who has also taught French language, literature, and film courses around the world. She loves dancing, swimming, gardening, and practicing Tai Chi - activities that keep her creative ideas flowing. When she's not writing stories or working with teenagers at Westridge School for Girls in Pasadena, California, Elizabeth dabbles in blues harmonica and can't resist a good, wacky comedy at the movies. She is the author of The House for Unwed Fathers, published in the Real Life in December, 2002, at moxiemag.com.