I don’t know how a cat thinks. Honestly! (for real’s). What do they remember? WHO do they remember? How do those memories affect their attitude towards the people who are feeding them presently? and what, if any thing, about the quality of the food they receive? ‘Eli’ being a case in point (yeah, he’s a case, alright). He was once the cat of a bachelor we were friends with. Named Steve. They actually looked very similar to each other, it’s uncanny. Eli is an all-white cat (also, we call him ‘Kracker’); but his tail, somewhat strikingly, is tiger stripes of varying shades of grey, all the way down to its black,BLACK tip. The twin-like appearance I mentioned, of course, refers only to the facial characteristics of them: Big nose, WHITE, half-blind (for that matter, we’re all three about like brothers). Whenever I would go to visit Steve, presently, Eli would show up scratching at the back side-door opening into the kitchen, and making tiny whining noises for Steve to come let him in (Steve always made fun of his mournful mew-ing’s, accurately imitating them to his face, but the cat paid him no mind on that account); then he – Eli that’s to say – would join us in the front room by the fireplace, watching sports (or politics) on the TV and come over to where I was, seated by the windows looking out on Steve’s wonderful garden, arranged piecemeal, with potting soil for the “Googootz” – as the Eye-talians call them – and other delectable edibles growing prosperously out of his ‘re-purposed’ 10-foot satellite TV dishes, spread round the yard beneath a radiant sun; and his hummingbird-feeders, –and be friendly and engaging (‘Whitey’ would be); but! he’s always been like that. I was with him just now on our bed and that’s how it is. We live in the mountains, have lived here in Big Bear for the last 35 years and Eli has lived there all his life I suppose (we moved up here in ’88 from Riverside with a silver-and-black tabby cat named Riley, and when we threw a ‘sweet sixteen’ birthday party for him with all his friends Steve helped out in ways too numerous to mention, except I should say he did some of the cooking chores, including working the deep-fryer, for one; but I don’t recall whatever was being dropped in the hot grease). Before Eli lived with Steve he seems to have been with some people in a two-story house across the street from Steve, but they didn’t care for him (he might have been there when they bought the place, left behind by its previous owners, putting everything in the Big Bear past utterly behind them as they went). Anyway the new people, they kept him locked out in the snow; often, all night sometimes. What a shame! All that room, too! two-story house and no accommodation for a cold little kitty-kat, shivering like a snow ghost in the dark shadowy nights, –Incredible! So he started hanging out with Steve more and more, they would watch TV together (Steve had every channel you can get because he serviced and installed much of the satellite dishes around Big Bear, that was his racket, and he knew his kraft). He felt a little guilty like it was an instance of someone stealing somebody else’s cat. I told him, “Steve he’s your cat. These people don’t want him..take him, he’s yours. He’s your cat!” I was just in there, just now, petting him on our bed, he’s very amiable, that’s the kind of kitty he is; and then I remembered petting him while sitting in Steve’s living room on Steve’s sprawling hide-a-bed couch, covered with the brown naugahyde that was so uncomfortable; and pretty disgusting of a couch, too. I don’t know why he didn’t just get rid of it. You see, it retained smells and it made a noise as you settled into it, it was just a plain icky couch (maybe he felt sorry for it). Steve would always lament the sad fate of all the nauga’s, their lives tragically cut short by the greedy capitalists so they could get their hyde’s off them to make shoes and purses; and of course, couches, oh well. Anyhow, –oh! here’s Eli now..Hi, Eli! I don’t know if Eli ever thinks about those people from across the street anymore. (Probably not, why would he?) And then there was Steve’s other neighbor next-door to them, a long-time friend – their friendship went way back – who got divorced, and who, during a visit at Steve’s, suddenly, and without warning flung Eli across the room. Steve, you know, he was just kind of dumbfounded; dumbfounded, and disgusted..and I guess that settled it for him, as to who would get the inheritance (of the cat). Shortly before he went on to his great reward, Steve had come over to our house to partake of my authentic Salvadoran pupusas one Sunday afternoon, which, as usual, I had made from scratch for us to enjoy; complete with the ‘curtido’, a bitter-sweet slaw, for the topping, of freshly diced cabbages and carrots and onions cured in the fridge for a day or two, marinaded in all kinds of delicious ingredients like apple-cider vinegar, lemon, and garlic and (pinch of) oregano and (tablespoon) brown sugar that makes the pupusas so addictive and such a treat for a local down in El Salvador (and more than likely, future citizen of the United States). So I prepared the masa dough which is 6 cups of flour to 1 cup of water kneaded together (covered for fifteen minutes), and divided it into 8 equal size balls, flattening them in the palms of my hands, and filling them with the cheeses and pork meat (and more garlic, of course); and fried them up in olive oil and, I think, did a pretty good job. Steve remarked that the pupusas were very good (and Steve was a professional chef, as well as something of a true rocket scientist so he should know). After we ate our fill of the pupusas, I supplied the tooth-picks; and being the excellent host, served us a dessert of ice cream with a savory topping I’d prepared of perfectly ripe and tender dates, soaked in sweet Hungarian Tokaji wine. A good bottle of Tokaji is very rare, and hard to get hold of; indeed, especially these days, being made from grapes grown in a unique local region of Hungary (the former Pannonia) known for the unusually fine, and extended fall weather in the plain at the foot of the forbidding Carpathian’s. It was discovered, quite by accident these hundreds of years passed (with none to mind the harvest, owing to turbulent political circumstance), that grapes fallen to earth in these rare climatic conditions and left to rot, begin to develop what has since come to be called the ‘noble mold’ their prized quality. Thus, when the tenders of the vineyards eventually re-gathered and pressed their succulent juices, they discovered the miracle of the mold, a true ambrosia! Put in oak casks, mold and all, and aged in musty cellars for at least four years, before being brought into daylight again to be blended, by masters of the wine, re-stored in fresh oaken barrels and aged some more..Tokaji! the wine of kings and the king of wines, as they describe it. This pleasant dessert beverage comes from only this one place on the planet; and if, of a good admixture, selected from the better batches, compares like no other..initially, one experiences notes of marmalade on the palate moments after the first swig – the ‘nose’ as it were – followed in sequence, by suggestions of rich caramel, then, perhaps, apricot; and other delightful tastes, depending upon the selections chosen for blending and the amount of time slumbering in bowels of the earth. So there we were, me and Steve, here in Big Bear, enjoying our KUSTOM ice cream in contented silence, each left to his own reflection in this land of thick mystery, and its dark, authoritarian oppressions under many facets..otherwise called County of San Bernardino, –(in spite of it all me and Steve, we had our fun times..my goodness). And then Steve said something I shall never forget. He said, “If something happens to me will you take care of my cat?” Without hesitation I said, “Sure.” He explained he wanted me and Mary to have Eli after he was not here anymore to take care of him because he knew we would treat him well. He also at the same time mentioned the incident that happened with his neighbor and bosom buddy from across the street; and mentioned specifically about not wanting him to get Eli when the chips fell. He seemed to have been puzzled and perplexed by that person’s unaccountable display of animal cruelty, and he made sure to have it understood between them – him and he – that Eli was to go to us – me and Mary – in the event of his timely death, i.e., expected, as he hadn’t been doing well, of late. We both, by the way, are veterans of that procedure known as 4-way Bypass (and many, many more, the surgical environment being like a home away from home..for us). So that’s what happened. The phone rang that pre-summer morning with the sad news, and Elizabeth drove over there with a cat-carrier box to collect Eli who was freaked-out by everything, while I prepared a temporary place in the garage for him and his cat-box and food and water-dish, so he could get adjusted to his new digs; and to keep him separate from the other two previously inherited cats – ‘Tess’ and ‘Kit-kat’ – from friends who moved to Vegas (because of ‘The County’..one way or another). Anyway that’s how we wound up with Eli, –Gosh! has it been already four years now? wow! Anyway, we take decent good care of him; and now that the weather is turning to summer conditions, again, Eli insists on going out everyday to sun himself and meander around, and do a little casual ‘gophering’..watch out for those coyotes, Mr. Cat! I remember the words Steve spoke to me when I consented to, in due time, to take the responsibility for Eli from him. He said it after the ice cream I think; and with great sincerity of heart, “He’s a good cat.” How right you were, Steve. Cheers, Eli! you ARE a good cat. May you live a thousand years.