The Parchment Papers: Notes Between Cat Lovers, Letter 4

From the Correspondence of Lady Farah Guinivere von Einstein Katz and Caesar Lancelot Sellers vander Cloar Cat, Esquire. Translated from the Meowish.

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 you 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.

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, Letter 2

From the Correspondence of Lady Farah Guinivere von Einstein Katz and Caesar Lancelot Sellars vander Cloar Cat, Esquire. Translated from the Meowish.

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 1

From the Correspondence of Lady Farah Guinivere von Einstein Katz and Caesar Lancelot Sellars vander Cloar Cat, Esquire. Translated from the Meowish.

Late Night at Jones Farm
11 November 2005

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, whom you remember from his kittenhood, sends his love. He and Dos, an older cat already established as a sentry for the estate and willing to train Neo, 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 all 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.

Yours, Caesar

The Parchment Papers: Notes Between Cat Lovers, Intro

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.