The other night I went outside to call for the cat before heading to bed.. I threw a puffer coat over my jeans and tshirt – slid my sandals on my sock-covered feet and went out the back door. It was wet outside, after a short rain that day, still not freezing but cold -the month long permanent freeze that comes every winter had only teased us a day or two so far and that night the wind was gentle and warm. It was almost pleasant walking down the driveway with the moon nearly full and the stars all sparkly and the streetlights glowing and the neighbourhood all quiet – it was just cold enough to bring a mist to the damp ground, gently airbrushing the ground with a haze.
I turned right at the bottom of the driveway and strode the sidewalk past Mark and Maries house, the wild tangle of the bare bushes in front of their house poking out a quarter way poking out just to the sidewalk. Brown, interdependent, pointy multitudes of thin bare shoots leading back to thicker branches, to a naturally wild bunch of roots.
We have rose bushes that do that in front of our house – bare now too – they poke out into the sidewalk a little. We call it the ‘first line of defence’ half-kiddingly. Mostly Sarah and I like the flowers. But it does feel like a pretty layer of nature’s dangers protecting our haven from the societal wilds of the street.
Speaking of wild – I wondered where that darn cat had gotten off to. I walked past their house, their driveway, calling out for him.
It’s not even our cat, but he needs a place to sleep, and we have made: two drawers, half a closet floor and a random box with a towel – into beds for him. So maybe it is our cat after all. Sometimes he doesn’t show up for days and I feel happy for him. I imagine him out there catting it up and causing trouble and I love that for him. It’s like I have learned to say to myself during many experiences in life – “You don’t get to be a good trouble-shooter without getting into a little trouble once in a while. And everyone needs to know how to troubleshoot.”
I stopped in Mark and Marie’s driveway and called out the cat’s name, just a little louder than a whisper, careful not to alarm the neighbours, and I clapped my hands gently twice. The cat popped out of the shadows across the street and strut pranced across the asphalt, saying “What’s up” to me in a longer cat language meow of recognition. I turned and started slow walking backwards, saying hello back to the cat, telling him I was happy to see him with half word sounds.
He paused to rub his cheek on the stones that edged Mark and Maries bushes, just under the lowest overhang of thickets. I watched him and then turned to look at our house. The person in the upstairs apartment had a Christmas tree on the porch and it was all lit up and festive looking. I looked at our porch, at our tattered Tibetan peace flags flapping in the soft breeze. I made a mental note I have probably already made to replace those soon. And find the Christmas lights in the basement.
I turned to cajole the cat to follow me and walked backwards. “Come on in Mister Cat, we need to find the Christmas lights and festive up our porch a bit.” I walked backward up our driveway watching him follow me, guiding him into the back door and into the house.
He went into the kitchen and sat in front of the empty food bowl as I took off my jacket and sandals and put them away. I heard him meow with an instinctual hunger that I have come to know.
“Yea yea yea” I muttered, walking into the kitchen, getting a can of food from on top of the fridge, stepping over him to the sink to grab a bowl, pop the can and fork some smelly brown meaty goop flakes out for him, fluffing and poking it to fully cover the bottom of the bowl. A petite kitchen dance I have done too many times to count. I arranged the food pleasingly, adding five drops of water from a barely running sink and stirring the bowl as I fluffed.
I may not like having to feed cats this smelly stuff, but no meals go plated poorly in this house.
Happy with the circular balance of goo, I slid the plate to the floor and he stepped to it and started eating it like a hungry goblin.
I thought about Christmas lights, and promised myself to try to remember to find them tomorrow. Did I already promise myself to remember? Yesterday? Last year? All my thoughts seemed familiar.
I’ve listened to talks, and read articles recently on memory, and science says that there is no such thing – at least not how we have traditionally thought about it – there is no place in the brain where memories are stored or kept. When we remember things our brains are reconstructing a similar pattern that was made in the past, all our synapses and teeny tiny but no less magical electric sparks make patterns when thinking of past experiences. We reconstruct these patterns when remembering those experiences and they become instinctual and safe feeling. And from what the point of many of the talks and articles was – that new ideas and new thoughts create patterns too – differing more complex patterns – so we can guide our own minds to a more creationistic patterning – just as much as we can instil a known pattern by dwelling on a thought.
We are making thought patterns and synapse surges with our thinking, setting off molecular brain fireworks from our ideas – or at least that is how I picture it.
It has made me wonder about seeing a pattern in nature that we connect with. Is the pattern of the object itself similar to the patterns our synapses create?
I went to make sure the front door was locked and looked out at the tattered peace flags waving gently in the darkness. Sarah says they have to nearly all disintegrate before we replace them.
I tried to remember where the Christmas lights were and laughed, imagining the memory of the Christmas lights making a sparkling pattern in my mind like actual Christmas lights. Does thinking about Christmas lights make a darkened mind light up and feel festive?
I still had no idea where the heck the lights were. I would have to search the basement tomorrow – or maybe the garage…
After I made sure the back door was locked and made ablutions, it was time for bed. The cat had beat me to it and was already snuggling with Sarah. I crawled up and joined them.
