A Post For The Cat People

I was thinking about what I would share this week, looking through poems, mulling possible themes when in strolled my cat. She is called, for reasons best known to herself, Minipin. She is black and fierce and beautiful. She was rescued from under the bonnet of a car when she was about six weeks old.  She is, in every sense, a tiny panther.

So….cats it has to be.

I am interested in the enigma of these creatures, their aloofness, their coolness sometimes at odds with their sudden desire to be tucked up in the crook of your arm and stare up at your face. Minipin likes to spend time with us, especially in the garden. She enjoys watching wildlife programmes and might be David Attenborough’s greatest fan. Cats in Ancient Egyptian religion depict the goddess Bast or Bastet. Bast is the goddess of the home, of fertility, she is a protector of women’s secrets. I like the idea of a cat looking out for my secrets.

As non-divine creatures they are as worthy of observation as any other creature. I sometimes use observation of my cat as  the starting point for a writing exercise.  So:

Cat Asleep

Cat

wants to be a kitten again, kneads my lap,

looking for the comfort of her mother’s milk;

curls herself into me until her purrs subside,

makes a dream sigh of her outward breath,

long, slow,

and I know that in that otherworld of sleep

she has found her mother.

I have a poem, written in a Cheltenham Poetry Festival workshop led by the wonderful Anna Saunders which focuses on ritual. I wrote about the practice I have of explaining to Minipin that I am going away and that although we have made arrangements for her to be fed etc, she is in charge until our return. I sent the poem to Ink, Sweat & Tears and they accepted it. I was thrilled! Anyway, here it is.

Ritual To Ensure My Safe Return Home

In the days before I leave I speak to the cat,

explain that I must go away, specifying

the number of days that she is to be left in charge.

I tell her that she is being given a great responsibility

to maintain the equilibrium of the place.

This means she mustn’t kill anything, especially not

the robins, who are certainly the spirits of ancestors

and must be allowed access to the garden at all times.

It’s possible that jackdaws are also ancestors and

I praise her for never having tried to kill one;

I also mention that I love her and will soon be back

from this other place that I know she wouldn’t like

because the smells there are strange, the hunting

grounds too unfamiliar to be fruitful. Anyway, I say,

I am expecting her to be sitting on the bookcase

by the window looking out for me at the precise

time I expect to arrive home, providing the robins

have willed it and the trains are punctual.

During the workshop, Anna asked us to think about any rituals we had and at first I struggled with the idea. Then I realised that I am in the habit of explaining things to the cat, particularly just before a trip away from home. I liked the idea of involving a cat in my ritual and   of entrusting my home to a representative of this ancient goddess Bast.

The two other poems here are in turn, an observation of cat behaviour and an reflection on the relationship between women and the cat in her divine role.

Bast at Home

My goddess has stolen the little Buddha

from his plinth, and the wooden elephant

that stood beside him.

She knows the Buddha is her right -  plus

he does not seem to mind - smiles serenely

as she bats him between her forepaws.

I will find him later in her cache,

that nest of socks and other treasures

that she likes to keep: red feathers from

a robin’s breast, a single gaudy from

December’s Christmas Tree,

a dusty family of catnip mice she likes

but will not play with.

Then, once she has done and that rival god

is safely spirited away, she climbs onto my lap

and lets me worship her.

The Nature of The Goddess

Cat, all shadow, curls at the hearth,

sleeps, dreams of the lion days

when she roared, ran through

the red desert, leapt at the

chariot of the sun.

Her ferocity now is more domestic,

reserved for vipers and grain store mice.

Worship her: she will let you

run your hand along her flanks;

bury your face in her warm fur.

The frequency of her purr will heal you.

If you whisper secrets to her

she will keep them;

she has the habit of silence.

When the catch of her claw

draws blood,

let her tongue rasp it clean.

She will take it as an offering

and bless your womb with children.