If My Voice Were a Color, It Would Be Red

After calling to my beloved on the house intercom tonight to ask him if he wanted to join me in tea, he added that mama's boy (Bacchus) wanted to talk to me. When Andrew put me on speaker phone, Bacchus got confused. While we thought he might run upstairs to greet me inside my open studio, he instead ran to his food dish -adjacent to the fireplace- to squat and gobble.

Nostalgia swept over me as I thought about my late Clawedmeister who was being kittysat by my friends 4 years ago, 'the Hobbles', while on Christmas vacation in Michigan (God, I can't believe it was four years ago!). However, Jan called me the night before I was due to return to tell me that Clawed wasn't feeling well and that he hadn't eaten the last couple of days. I had Jan place the phone next to Clawed's ear to hear me call his name and talk to him. Immediately, he ran to the food dish to eat. Jan was amazed. Perhaps she was amazed that I knew him so well or perhaps that I had some secret Cat Whisperer talents unbeknownst to friends.

When I returned home the next day excited to see Clawed, I realized that his end was near. His battle with Feleuk was imminent and his demise quickened the one week I was gone to visit friends. Having Pablo die 3 years earlier and understanding the breathing antipode of his lungs and lower GI, I looked for this frequently within Clawed. The next morning I had rushed him to the 24 hour emergency vet clinic across the street only to have the doubly expensive x-rays reveal his fast-approaching exit.

It was New Year's Eve. How was I to cope with loneliness and the ongoing bereavement of my little, only cat that had not yet died? I won't go into the details of my apathetic boss or my arrangement with my vet to prolong his little life until I could ready myself to the personal surrender of his euthanasia Saturday morning. I was utterly crushed.

Two most bizarre parallels occurred that I think I must share:

a) I became unexplicably ill that Friday before returning home; the very night Jan called me to alert me of Clawed's predicament.

b) The date of her call and the date of my call downstairs to Andrew on the intercom are 4 years to the date.

Have I mentioned that I don't believe in coicidence?

Three months later (March)... I met Andrew. Five months later (May) I/we were the proud parents of two adorable tabbies. My colleague had forwarded a photo of 'Mittens, Boots, & Marmalade' and from that very photograph, I knew I wanted Bacchus. That mischevious sprite of a 4 week old kitten had the personality I wished to treasure. I could see his rebellious character weaseling his way out of the two large, masculine hands that held the trio. When the tabbie brothers were delivered Sunday afternoon, I knew Mittens and Boots would be ours -permanently.

Beyond that day, I swear that Bacchus is the Clawedmeister incarnate. He exhibits every characteristic Clawed ever had and very much enjoys being a cat. It's almost as though he knows he's free from the Feline Luekemia and is exhilarated by the very essence of feline existence.

How does this story associate with the color red? Well, as a graphic designer and an interior design enthusiast, I learned that the color red encourages hunger. With both instances of the cat(s) hearing my voice and both running to the food dish upon hearing it, it seems that their need to eat would be associated with my voice. Hence, I've concluded that if my voice were a color, it would be red.