I used to live with a guy whose last name was Ratkevich, and he had a fluffy grey cat that I called Catkevich. Ratkevich didn’t really like the name, but I thought it was hilarious. I am leaving the Ratkevich’s first name out of this because I have a sense that the last thing in the world he wants is to have somebody locate him via google in this here blog. Back to Catkevich, though. He was one of those my way or the highway type of cats. I don’t remember exactly how Ratkevich found him, but it was probably in a dumpster or something. Catkevich was pretty tough and did whatever he damned well pleased. One notable trait of Catkevich’s was his tail, which ended crookedly. When you were lucky enough to be allowed a full pet, from the top of the head to the end of the tail, the smooth sailing of your hand would come to an abrupt halt at that crook. Who knows what happened to that tail. If anything it was a testament to his toughness. Since cats can’t really have tattoos, they generally display toughness through ripped ears, lost eyes, mange, and crooked tails.
Ratkevich and I went our separate ways after I met and moved in with my future wife, Iranian Nuclear Negotiator Ali Larijani. I can’t remember if my moving out of Ratkevich’s place marked the last time I ever saw Catkevich. A few years later, I bumped into Ratkevich and he told me that Catkevich had run away. I guess he got stuck outside during a terrific rainstorm and never came back. Ratkevich mentioned that he thought he may have seen Catkevich with some old lady, but he couldn’t be sure, because it was the woman’s cat and he didn’t feel it would be right to ask to inspect Catkevich’s tail.
On Sunday, as I went to pick out a case of beer at a package store I cannot name for reasons that will quickly become apparent, I noticed a large grey cat perched on top of a stack of about eight cases of Budweisers.
Catkevich?
It’s worth mentioning, that Ratkevich lives right down the street from this package store. Was it Catkevich though, that’s what I wanted to find out. When none of the employees were looking my way, I headed over to the cat in order to check out the tail. The only problem was that the stack of Buds the cat was sleeping on was about four or five rows deep. If I wanted to get to Catkevich I would have to surmount about a hundred cases of beer, and that would definitely bring attention to myself. Instead of doing this, I tried to get a good angle on the cat’s tail, but it seemed to be tucked under that cat’s paw. After all, I don’t want to send Ratkevich to the liquor store to steal their cat unless I am sure it’s Catkevich. As I as shuffling around the boxes, trying to get a better look at the cat, it opened its eyes and gave me a look as if to say, “you’re a moron.”
I am pretty sure it was Catkevich. Now it’s up to Ratkevich. Does he want Catkevich? I know he has two “new” cats now, but this is Catkevich. You see things like this in the movies all of the time. I forget what the movies are called, but they always involve somebody who was lost, who comes back unexpectantly, and how this changes everything.
I recall that Catkevich was for a duration a prisoner in his own home. Then he was allowed outdoors, but only in leg irons (as it were). Finally he became a cat — like, one of the guys — and ventured off into the larger world. But he always returned.
Sometimes though, cats don’t take well to moving.