The Book of Sorren

The Temple Cat (Chapter One from The Temple Cat Diaries)

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, Turgenev, 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.

Humans love to compare themselves with other humans in the hope that they could realistically say that they were better than someone else. Animals do not have this trait because they know that they are all in the same boat, so they take great pride in small treats and table scraps from insignificant meals. Not I, however. I’m happy to eat anything that doesn’t kill me. Anyway, so why do I call him my Master? Perhaps you are more offended by my use of the word Master, than the possibility that he could have been a communist sympathizer, or even an operative, because of his love of Dostoevsky. But even Dostoevsky hated socialism in all its hideous forms. I shall refrain from using that word from this point, for it carries with it much baggage, for no man may own another man.

Humm … did I mention that I was a cat? Did I forget to explain that even now, after living hundreds of lifetimes, I remain nothing but a lowly cat? So that proves it, if I have lived hundreds of lifetimes, and not just nine, which is the common belief of humans, then that proves that life goes on in each and every small term of our little life. Humans don’t seem to believe this, though, and they suffer constant anxiety and anguish over the simple fact. Humans base everything upon their logic, which was invented a few thousand years ago. I know this, because I was there too! But what is this logic? Turns out that it is nothing more than the definition of a thing, followed by the extrapolation of that very thing, which in this case was the study of circles and triangles, and other strange shapes. They would attach numbers to these shapes and then draw conclusions from their calculations, and they called this axiomatic logic. I just think it’s nonsense, and I think that the study of the degrees of a perfect circle is just a toy for lazy men who call themselves mathematicians, something to do while all the other people were toiling away in the fields. And these mathematicians were pretty weird in their own way, because they thought that the numbers which were being generated by their manipulations were sacred. I think sacred meant that they were not supposed to be questioned. One of these heroes would not even let his followers eat beans, yes, his name was Pythagoras, and he was eccentric to a fault. But I digress.

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 that 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, for my spirit is one of 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 the humble alley cat, hoping to find an over-stuffed 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. You know, I really dislike dogs. I don’t like any of them, and I don’t have to. A cat is not supposed to be inclusive or tolerant. A cat is not expected to be nice. A cat is not expected or obligated to show respect for the social constructions. Animals don’t care about this stuff. No, this has been invented by humans. It does not exist independently from the idea which gives it substance, and it is part of their artificial reality.

So, my name is Udochevsky, but my friends call me Udo. Wait a second … I don’t actually have any friends. But you may call me Udo if you wish, and someday we may become friends. Let me just say this up front: All dogs do not go to heaven, not even close! I once knew a Pit-Bull who liked to chew the heads off of rats and squirrels, and even a chicken if he could find one. Then he would just stand there, barking. He would just stand there barking and barking, yipping and yapping, spinning around and around, chasing his tail 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 my 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 recently passed by.

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 during the time of the Great Pharaohs, and also to walk among the sacred tombs. Venomous snakes were part of everyday life in those days. Even though I may try to forget the incident that initiated my downfall, for it gives me no credit to illuminate my failures, I cannot be condemned for something that happened many thousands of years ago, and it follows me to this day.

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 only to discover that two of the Royal party had been bitten and lay writhing in mortal pain. Of course, I felt bad about it! But 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 of the consequences of my failure, as do all Temple-Cats. Failure in those days was condemned simply because it did not produce the expected result, and there was no excuse for failure. 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 pedigree 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 thick, red curtains were pulled back, revealing the throne of the Temple-Lord. And then the sound of wooden panels rising caught my attention, and I saw three tremendous, hooded serpents slither into the room. My death was to be a spectacle, it seemed.

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 me for 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, were the feelings of their scaly skin coiling around me.

Something has caught my attention as I lie inside the window bay looking into the front yard. This is my favorite place to chill out. Some of my greatest naps have occurred on this very spot. 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 can see me in the window, and I know that my presence drives him crazy. But this poodle hates other dogs with a passion. This stupid poodle barks at other animals that are far more massive, far more violent, far more aggressive than itself, who is merely barking for the sake of being heard.

So, along the sidewalk comes a vicious, nasty hound, attached to a thin tether called a leash. To my amazement, this stupid poodle goes after this beast with the intention of chasing it away or scaring it. 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 in fear, and fell to the ground like an old, moldy cheese … 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, and that real dogs are not afraid of cute, trophy dogs. I can see the humor. But in truth, the entire spectacle only made me sad.