A Living Magazine - Tap Root: Days 148 to 166 - Gato and the Question of Comfort

The pathway back to the tent created by the sled carrying a brand new propane tank (just delivered by my uncle), became nicely packed under its weight. Before heading out again to take up my cat-sitting job, I took these shots...   

A look back at all my hard work. I was so surprised to see how small it really was. 

I wouldn't blame folks for thinking it is indeed laughable.

To me? It is the summation of all I have yet been through in
49 years of life and the ten thousand miles of recent travel...

In a sense, that small patchwork of blue tarps represented my whole life...

I suppose it is both pathetic and profound that these small things mean so very much to me.

I entered the cabin with a bit of food for myself and met my little companion, Gato. On the first morning after I'd arrived, it was like I'd been there in the cabin for years. As much as I have dealt with (including suffering through every possible imaginable test, as you loyal readers have seen), I could still easily function in this completely different domestic and relatively more pampered environment. Immediately, I thought of cooking--probably my favorite pastime...  

An everything omelette, with plenty of bacon on the side.

For the last five months I'd been eating once a day. Even after the delicious meal shown above, I opened the little college fridge and looked at its contents a couple of hours later...once...twice...then over and over again. I didn't know what else to do with myself as the temperatures bottomed out in the -10 F range. Christmas was still 8 days away, but I revelled in my new comfort. Why not eat another meal, just before sunset? ...

Pigging out? Is it really that, when so much had been denied for so long? Okay...Maybe.

At first, Gato didn't really know what was going on and ran into the bathroom, hiding in an unguarded closet. He wedged himself into the space between the bathtub and outer wall. I'd call him and hear a shuffling in that space, but that was all. I was disappointed and worried that we were not going to get along. His hiding space was untouchable--being behind the water heater and too small for me to even see him.

Eventually, something told me he would emerge if I just simply acted like I was giving up. So, I went out into the kitchen, set up my laptop and other devices to charge, and got online to write. For about an hour I became so immersed in some new work that I'd forgotten there was even a cat around.

Then, in the dim light of my LED lamp, I happened to look down. And, there he was at my side, tail over his back and purring loudly. I lifted him onto my lap...

Gato.

From that point on we were pals. I got up and he walked in figure eights around my feet, constantly looking up to see what was next on our agenda. Finding his cache of toys, I threw what we would eventually call, "the thing" (a rattling fuzzy ball) onto the floor. He picked it up, threw it in the air, grabbed it in his teeth and carried it around the room. This was all unusually entertaining. I had never before seen a cat behave so consistently focused on a toy. 

He'd pick it up and bring it to his food bowl (as if it were a mouse to be eaten), then he'd munch a few pieces of food and grab "the thing" again, only to continue the important job of playing with it. Here is the video I made the next day...

Since my time with Buddy (my late, three legged cat) I had not been so satisfyingly amused by an animal. 

As the days passed and I grew used to my time in the cabin, Gato became a real companion for me, crawling under the covers to snuggle up against my belly for short bouts of sleep during the night. Anything I did, he would join me. I would wake up in the morning, usually after about ten times of having him jump on my feet or head--probably each time he heard me start snoring, trying to keep me awake. There was an awful lot of playing to be done each day, and he'd be damned if I was going to sleep through it! Finally, realizing that in this great test of wills I was failing miserably. I'd finally get my lazy ass out of bed, mumbling under my breath about wanting just a little more sleep, and see him beyond overjoyed to go to the bathroom with me while I did my thing. 

This act never ceased to fascinate him. Sure enough, as I tried to concentrate on the task at hand, he'd raise up his front paws onto the underwear around my ankles and try to look between the seat and bowl to figure out exactly what was going on there. This was...awkward...to say the least. One morning I tried to close the bathroom door, but had to open it mid-project due to the most pathetic whining and crying coming from the other side, along with a little paw darting around under the door.

One day I became obsessed with working on a possible CAD design for my future cottage. I got up very early and began working on it. Seeing my laser-like focus on something other than him, Gato was more than happy to make contributions. He saw the movement of things on the tablet screen. Youngsters these day, with their screen obsessions! It took no more than about 5 seconds for him to realize he could manipulate the program like a pro...  

Gato eventually realized that he was, by design or default, the constant center of my attention. Days were filled with throwing "the thing" out for a few moments of respite, and watching him turn playing with it into an Olympic sport. Yet, it always ended up with him at my feet, then on my lap, sometimes even crawling up onto my shoulders...and sleeping in the peace of the kitty-angels for 5 or 6 long minutes. 

As uncomfortable as I would become, fidgeting to adjust my seat without disturbing his naps, he never complained. In fact, he would simply turn into a piece of kitty putty at that point, stretching out and flowing off my lap like a big blob of fuzzy slime. Although I usually came to the rescue before he actually fell, he held no hard feelings when I couldn't grab him in time, as the combination of gravity and his paralysis would inevitably pull him off me.

After four or five hours of constant play, he then would look at my lap, then the bedroom, then back at my lap (perhaps remembering that sleeping there would eventually lead to sliding off), and huff... 

Somehow, I saw into his tiny brain at that point. I just wasn't good enough as a medium for solid rest and relaxation. At that point, only the bed would do... 

The bliss of kitty sleep.

I was able to go down to South Portland and be with my family for Christmas Eve. It was the first time I'd left Farmington in five months. Just to see my mom and sister, along with my niece and nephew, was more than I could have hoped for.

After Christmas had come and gone and avoiding so many things about the season that usually disappoint and annoy me, I felt pleasantly gratified.  In the back of my mind I was somewhat confused and off my game, because I was not used to being comfortable about being comfortable, nor feeling so good about it.

Why would I suffer and struggle so regularly for years (as many of you have witnessed so clearly), only to feel such support and love? Surely, it was all wrong! But, for now, it seemed alright.

My inner child told me I should feel guilty, that I didn't deserve it, and was probably going to get in trouble. I am meant to be under the jackboot of oppressive pain--or so I had led myself to believe. I am meant to be miserable. That's just is the way it is. Why was such a pleasant thing occurring? Surely the other shoe was on its way to dropping. I could not let down my defenses. And, honestly...I still can't.

Yet, when Christmas had passed by, my patrons returned from Florida. They offered the cabin as a winter residence, with an extremely generous rental amount. 

I sighed whenever I thought about it all. I literally could not believe that any of this was happening. But I am not a fool. I took them up on the offer. I would need to make even more money in order to afford this opportunity. I knew I probably wouldn't be able to do it, but it was worth a try.

All the while, after several snow storms, I decided it was time to get back out to my land to see how my only possessions in this world were faring...

Due to my negligence over the Christmas weekend (not spending the night out there during a large snowstorm, to keep up with clearing the roof) the situation on the land was not good. It was indeed fortunate that I had this fortuitous option for renting the cabin. Now? There was no choice at all.

Honestly? I have no idea how any of this is going to go. I am safe and warm for now. But February is coming toward me at an alarming rate. I may be back out there sooner than I want if I can't raise the funds to pay rent next month.

I will say that NOTHING is more important to me than retaining a semblance of self-preservation. With my father screaming in my head about how I am destined to fail, and my current patrons throwing everything at me to prevent that, still, what of it is truly mine?

Having dodged two swipes from the Grim Reaper already (2006 and 2016), I sit and ask myself every day what the convoluted Plan is. Sometimes I feel like a clay figurine; something to be placed upon a shaking shelf as some kind of experiment. A little too much shaking and I fall, hands to my side, diving into the ground, there to splinter into a thousand pieces.

For so many years I just wanted the Universe to get it over with. Just destroy me for godsakes!! Why must I be dragged along like a fish hooked through the jaw, across the beach of human amusement? In the past I have hated myself so completely but not had the courage to jump off the bridge, pull the razor across my veins, kick out the stool with the rope around my neck... 

How pathetic and despicable is a man who wants to die but can't muster the resources or courage to accomplish the task?

I do remember though...how the Spark grabbed my soul and shook it at Boston's North Station way back when I first set out from conventionality. I subsequently fought wild animals and even wilder humans, experienced every possible iteration of discomfort and thrilling adventure, sleeping outside (now) over 600 times since 2014 to follow the Spark.

Yes, there is always the option of defeat. But, what is defeat? Apartments, and cars, and insurance, and jobs I hate... Were defeat my only option, I would not be so cowardly. The plunge off a bridge, the cold steel slice of the razor would be like a soft and welcoming friend compared with being immersed in the American scam again.

What remains to be seen is whether this story will turn into a legend, besides in my own mind. And will this legend be characterized by tragedy or triumph? Isn't it fun as someone not in my shoes to be watching it all? 

I have to admit to growing a small smile on my face either way. 

So many men fade away into the throws of quiet desperation. But, whatever happens, I will not join them. Be assured! Whatever happens to me will come to you as an update in your email--a notification on your smartphone. And, it is likely to be exciting! I think that is the best result for all of us. No time like this will ever come again. And no person like me will ever Wallk the earth again.