The Parchment Papers: Notes Between Cat Lovers, Letter 1

From the Correspondence of

Lady Farah Guinivere von Einstein Katz and

Caesar Lancelot Sellars vander Cloar Cat, Esquire.

Translated from the Meowish. Found on slips of

Parchment Paper after I'd baked cookies.

Farah, my love,

I am now living on an estate called Jones Farm.  It is all mine, and I would love for you to join me here.  It is quite vast.  Neo and Dos tell me from their patrols that neither of them can cover the borders in a day’s time, so that they must alternate days.  There is hay here in the meadows to lie on in virtually all seasons, and—when one wishes a respite indoors—high soft beds in the maison with access to windows for sunning.  From the windows one can see trees full of birds.  Neo and Dos love the wild game—deer, stoat, rabbit, and vole—while I prefer, as always my love, the warmth and coziness of the kitchen.  Here I am served tuna and salmon every day, along with crunchy tidbits, which remind me of the market square at Oxford.  Meanwhile, I have not even been able to count the books here.  Lately, I’ve been sitting each afternoon among the pumpkins in the entry porch of the maison.  Often I rouse from sleep when the fallen leaves are blowing in the lane, and I think for a moment that I see you, walking down the lane toward me.  I miss you, Darling.

Caesar Lancelot Sellars vander Cloar Cat, Esquire

The Parchment Papers: Notes Between Cat Lovers, Letter 2

From the Correspondence of

Lady Farah Guinivere von Einstein Katz and

Caesar Lancelot Sellars vander Cloar Cat, Esquire.

Translated from the Meowish. Found on slips of

Parchment Paper after I'd baked cookies.

Morning at Jones Farm

28 February 2006

Darling,

        I’ve looked back at my diary this morning.  It’s a great blur of paw prints, blackberry ink, and tears, from the time of your arrival on Christmas Day—which “made it Christmas for me,” as they say—until Valentine’s Day when I had regained my senses enough to find those tiny white winter roses for you beneath the undergrowth in the garden.  I feel ten years younger just having you with me.  I suppose that’s half a lifetime.

                                                       Caesar

The Parchment Papers: Notes Between Cat Lovers, Letter 6

From the Correspondence of

Lady Farah Guinivere von Einstein Katz and

Caesar Lancelot Sellars vander Cloar Cat, Esquire.

Translated from the Meowish. Found on slips of

Parchment Paper after I'd baked cookies.

Morning at Jones Farm

30 March 2006

Farah,

        Did you happen to get a glimpse of that bird Dos brought to me for a present at dawn?  I heard him wrestling with it in Cook's pantry, where he must have brought it through his personal door from outside, and there were tiny feathers everywhere.  I can’t quite get used to the barbarisms of the countryside, though roast duckling like we had at Oxford is, of course, another matter entirely. 

It was so kind of Dos to try to celebrate my homecoming from the hospital.  So that he wouldn’t have his feelings hurt, I woke up Madame and led her to the pantry while Dos was out on morning patrol.  She picked up the dead bird by its feet, shielding her hand with a handkerchief, and discreetly bagged the bird and disposed of it, so that Dos would assume I had enjoyed it to its fullest. 

It was one of those industrious, portly wrens.  Such a pity, though their songs aren’t the best.  (Dos told me wrens have particular medicinal properties.)  At first I was alarmed, thinking Dos had caught a Mockingbird. I suppose the great range of string and percussion music performances outdoors were first inspired by Mockingbirds, copying songs for their friends all day, but at Oxford similar varieties are known as Universal Translators, and they are quite valuable.  Their repertoire is astounding, no matter what their purpose, though my favorite birds, of course, are the perennially lovesick cooing doves who remind me of my feelings for you.

                                                 

             Yours, Caesar

The Parchment Papers: Notes Between Cat Lovers, Letter 5

From the Correspondence of

Lady Farah Guinivere von Einstein Katz and

Caesar Lancelot Sellars vander Cloar Cat, Esquire.

Translated from the Meowish. Found on slips of 
   Parchment Paper after I'd baked cookies. 

Morning at Jones Farm

29 March 2006

Darling,

        I am writing this note in haste, and Madame is going to bring it to you.  I am at the Veterinary Center in the city awaiting surgery.  The painful swelling on my derriere turns out to be an abscess from a bite—possibly from the one Dos gave me the other day on the wine cellar stairs when I posted myself midway and wouldn’t let him chase you anymore.  He was just being too reckless with you.  Anyway, don’t let him know that he might have been the cause.  It will worry him unnecessarily.  Madame became alarmed when she picked me up during our midnight snack time, and I couldn’t help but cry out when her hand hit the spot.  She immediately carried me off to the Girl’s Wing and began making phone calls.  I couldn’t get through the doors and down the back stairs to tell you. 

Just yesterday at sunset I sat in the grass near the girls’ old playhouse—the one they painted, floor first in their innocence, in cake icing white—and watched the rosy colors change in the sky and across the grounds.  I especially thought about how life has become complete with your presence on the farm.  I do feel a bit as if I’m wearing “rose-colored glasses” now, because you have turned all the world to roses for me.  The family was carrying out the lawn furniture before the daylight was gone and splashing the patio with water.  I had just mentioned to Madame the other day how lovely our dining on the patio would be this year and how you would be enjoying it for the first time.  How ironic it would be if I didn’t survive this petty bite, but I think all is well.  They mentioned something about doing some dental work for me “while I’m under,” and they seemed cheerful.  We truly should do our wills sometime, though, my love.  I know you will keep me in your prayers especially today.

                                            Yours, Caesar

The Parchment Papers: Notes Between Cat Lovers, Letter 4

From the Correspondence of

Lady Farah Guinivere von Einstein Katz and

Caesar Lancelot Sellars vander Cloar Cat, Esquire.

Translated from the Meowish. Found on slips of

Parchment Paper after I'd baked cookies.

Morning at Jones Farm

15 March 2006

Farah,

        I am worried sick that you will give up window climbing all together after that horrendous fall this morning, but Darling, you must give yourself time to regain your strength.  You have only been here at Jones Farm, and able to allow its healthful climate to envelope you, for less than three months’ time.  The marble window ledges here are narrow, for sure, and I would—a million times—have rather fallen myself than to have seen you tumbling so helplessly onto the floor behind the iron bedstead. At least, you averted a nasty bruise by keeping your wits about you and turning into landing position before getting stuck in the tines of the heart-shaped headpiece.   

My own climbing—based on my, ahem, ample weight—has to be calculated carefully, but I have noticed that there is something about the farm air and the great expanse for long walks and intriguing climbs that has gotten me into the best shape of my life.  I will show you tonight how my muscles can now fairly ripple under my—shall we say—padding?  Take your time, Dear One, and try to cheer up.  Just think of the four mouslings you turned loose under the refrigerator Sunday evening.  The family squealed with delight over your catch.

                                                       Yours, Caesar

The Parchment Papers: Notes Between Cat Lovers, Letter 3

From the Correspondence of

Lady Farah Guinivere von Einstein Katz and

Caesar Lancelot Sellars vander Cloar Cat, Esquire.

Translated from the Meowish. Found on slips of

Parchment Paper after I'd baked cookies.

Morning at Jones Farm

6 March 2006

Darling,

As I watch you sleeping, lying there framed in the violet folds of the velvet beauty box, your saintly repose reflected in the gilt mirror on the old buffet, my heart swells with rapture.  I had almost given up hope that you would join me here, and now the sound of your impetuous meow in the morning delights me unfathomably.  It alarms me that I had—it is unthinkable now—almost forgotten the light turn of your paw when throwing tiny round voles in the air like so many walnuts.  Do remember, my love, that they are inedible.  Mousing is, of course, a barbaric custom, and—as you know—spring mousling, no matter how delicately prepared, simply does not suit my palate; yet the ferocity in your step as you track them through the Nandina bushes in the garden quite excites me.

                         All my love, Caesar

The Parchment Papers: Notes Between Cat Lovers, Intro

From the Correspondence of

Lady Farah Guinivere von Einstein Katz and

Caesar Lancelot Sellars vander Cloar Cat, Esquire.

Translated from the Meowish. Found on slips of

Parchment Paper after I'd baked cookies.
     Copyright Valentine's Day 2005

          A few years ago, my younger daughter promised to become the guardian of three cats. They belonged to her college sweetheart, who was leaving for Airborne School, and who would soon be parachuting as a Ranger over Iraq. The two older cats, a male gray Tabby/Persian and a female beige-to-dark brown miniature Norwegian Forest Cat (or Maine Coon), had been together a couple of years, and her sweetheart had also adopted a male sleek black Domestic Shorthair kitten who seemed to need a home just before the orders came. My daughter's apartment roommate already owned a grown female cat of her own who was used to city life. We already owned a male white-with-butterscotch Flame Point Tabby, who had been born in the city but was now used to farm life, so we decided to group the males here on the farm where they could explore to their hearts' content. What we hadn't counted on was how the two older cats who had been a couple would grieve for each other when separated.

          At about that time I noticed that the parchment paper I always used for cookies and tarts would show up in little torn bits in strange places. Bits of parchment paper somehow found their way into the weekend picnic basket I would pack for my daughter to take back to the college. Then bits would seem to return in the clothes she packed to come home. We noticed the bits usually had scratches on them, and there seemed to be a pattern or code to the scratches. Later, when the two cats were reunited on the farm, I still found notes occasionally. I've tried to translate as many as I could. Some were beyond my translating abilities and, of course, there were many notes I never found. Still, the notes I managed to translate provide a lasting picture of their enduring love for one another.