The Book of Sorren

The Temple Cat

I was named Udochevsky because my master loved to read Dostoevsky . . .  Indeed, my master loved to read much of the Russian literature: Tolstoy, Pushkin, Gogol, Lermontov, and that it was so depressing only made him love it more, as if through some reverse osmosis, he could find comfort in the harrowing and desperate lives of fictional people that had never lived upon this earth, but had lived in a higher world of art in such desperation so that he would not have to.  But why do I call him my master? Perhaps you are more offended by my use of the word master then of the possibility that he could have been a communist sympathizer because of his love of Dostoevsky . . .but even Dostoevsky hated socialism in all its hideous forms.  Hum . . .Did I mention that I was a cat?  Did I forget to explain that even now, even after living hundreds of lifetimes I remain nothing but a lowly cat?

I may be immortal, I’m not quite sure, but I have lived for a very long time, with each new death cycle leading to my reincarnation into this same body, this same spirit.  And each time I am brought back into this world I discover that I am still a cat, and that perhaps I shall never be anything other than a cat.  But I suppose it could be worse.  One thing is true however, and that is that I am not like other cats, even the arrogant Siamese cat, or even the humble alley cat, hoping to find an overstuffed rat to chew on.  In truth, I consider myself something of an aristocrat . . .an aristocratic cat essentially, and you will not see me licking my rear-end like a dog.

No, I really dislike dogs.  I don’t like any of them, and I don’t have to.  A cat is not expected to be inclusive or tolerant.  A cat is not obligated to show respect for social constructions.  Animals don’t care about this stuff, no, this has all been invented by humans . . .it does not exist independent from the idea that gives it substance. 

So, my name is Udochevsky, but my friends call me Udo.  Wait a second.  I actually don’t have any friends, but you may call me Udo if you wish, and some day we may become friends.

Let me just say this upfront: All dogs do not go to heaven—not even close.  I once knew a pit bull that liked to chew the heads off of rabbits and squirrels, or even a chicken if he could find one.  Then he would just stand there barking.  He would stand there barking and barking, yipping and yapping, spinning around and around chasing his tale like some kind of a fool.  All these dogs are fools in my opinion.  Ok I get it; they can smell really well.  Big deal!  I can smell pretty well too, but I don’t run around the neighborhood all day sniffing wet spots in the grass.  Instead, I would just take note that another cat, one of whom I may have had a relationship with, had passed by recently.

I think I may have been a temple cat in another lifetime. The dynasty is not important.  I don’t remember anyway so it would just be a guess.  The purpose of a temple cat was to protect the temples and the temple concubines, among others, during the time of the great Pharaohs. And also, to walk among the sacred tombs.  Venomous snakes were part of everyday like in those days.

I seem to remember the incident which initiated my downfall though it gives me no credit to illuminate my failures and I cannot be condemned for something that happened many thousands of years ago. One day I was tracking a serpent that had been spotted terrorizing one of the lesser temples, one known to have been frequented by some of the Royal concubines.  My senses are delicate and highly refined, but I soon realized that I was walking in circles, for I had been tricked. When I came upon the beast after much backtracking, it was to discover that two of the royal party had been bitten and lay writhing in mortal pain.  Of course, I felt bad about it!  There was nothing to be done except to destroy the serpent, which I did.

Of course, I had failed.  I knew that, and I knew the consequences of my failure, as do all temple cats.  And then I felt my body being seized with powerful hands and I waited to feel the pain of my head being wrenched from my neck.  I was an esteemed temple cat however, from a long perigee of temple cats, so I knew that my death would not be pleasant.

Shortly after I was brought before the throne of the Temple Lord and I waited to hear the words from his mouth indicating that I had been pardoned, but it was not to be.  Instead, I was thrust into a small, circular room and watched as the thick, red curtains were pulled back, revealing the throne of the Temple Lord.  And then a sound of wooden panels raising caught my attention and I saw three tremendous serpents slither into the room.  My death was to be a spectacle.

Now at this time I was a powerful and astute fighter, and I had demonstrated my skills on more than one occasion, but there was no way for me to fight against three foes of such stature, and I knew that my life was to end soon.  But I would die with honor, and I hoped to make the temple Lord proud of the years of my service.  In short, I killed one of the serpents, but I succumbed to multiple bites from the remaining two, and my last moments of life as the poison paralyzed me was the feel of their scaly skin coiling around me.

Something has caught my attention as I lay inside the window bay looking into the front yard.  Across the street lives an annoying poodle.  This poodle is really annoying, and I never tire of being annoyed by its temerity in the obvious presence of danger.  This stupid poodle barks at animals that are far more massive, far more violent, and far more aggressive than itself, who is merely barking for the sake of being heard. 

Up the sidewalk comes a vicious hound attached to a thin tether called a leash.  To my amazement, the stupid poodle goes tearing after this beast with the intention of chasing it away, but in a predictable turn of events, the hound bared its teeth and lunged at the poodle with such utter ferocity that the poodle collapsed, thunderstruck with fear and fell to the ground quivering. 

Now I can see the humor in this.  I can see the irony in the fact that this stupid dog would not even be smart enough to understand its own place in the scheme of things.  I can see the humor, but in truth, the entire spectacle only made me sad.

-Udo