I am a cat. I am an orange cat mostly.
My feet and nose and chest have white, but the rest of me is orange
stripes. My person calls me Mabel. I'm okay with that. My person
is always asking me “What is your name?”. I never answer.
A name is subjective. A name depends
on who is talking to you. The lady I used to live with called me
another name, not Mabel. But that name is private between me and
her. She's gone now and so is that name. She taught me manners, to
not beg for food from her table, to not draw my claws with her, to
not yell in the house. I am a polite cat. I am a lady.
After she went away, I moved to another
place. There were many, many other cats there. It was hard to live
in a place where cats never stayed very long. I made some friends,
but then they left and I was alone again.
I learned to stick to myself. Then I
moved to another place. They put a card on my box that said
“Mabel”. I stayed there a long, long time. I lived in my own
box with bars, never speaking to anyone or making friends. One day,
my person came by and visited all of us cats. She spent hours
meeting everybody. Some other cats would poke at her from the bars or
yell for her attention. What manners! I would never yell or jump
for attention. My person came by my box and tried to get my
attention. I did not turn. My person asked me what my real name was.
I did not answer. My person asked to spend some time with me in
another room, a bigger room without bars. I stretched my legs and
looked around. There were so many other cats, rooms and rooms I had
never seen from my box in the hall. What a big world this was! My
person wanted me to move in with her. I waited patiently by the
door. We went into the cool evening air and I smelled the flowers and
trees on the breeze. I started to ask, just once, “where.....?”.
My person told me it was okay, “we are going home, we will be there
soon.”
I live in another place now, with my
newest person. She doesn't mind if I spend my days warming myself on
the back of the couch in front of the big window. I get my exercise
by running laps around the house. I eat well, but not overly so. I
want to keep my figure. My person calls me Mabel. She says that she
will call me Mabel until I tell her my real name. I'm okay with
Mabel. She lets me crawl under the covers on the cold mornings after
I wake her up by purring loudly. That is the only polite way to get
attention. She says, “Okay, Mabel. By the way, what's your real
name?”. I never answer.
