The private life of the cat who...: tales of Koko and Yum Yum from the journal of James Mackintosh Qwilleran

It was opening night of the new play at the K Theatre, and I was there as the drama critic of the newspaper. During intermission I met Nick and Lori Bamba in the lobby and suggested they come to my place for drinks after the show.

Nick, who had connections with the sheriff’s department, said, “There’s a stranger in town who’s wanted by the police for breaking and entering. He steals radios, cameras, things like that, that he can sell to support his habit, they think. People who’ve seen him say he wears a beard and drives a purple car. . . . Keep your eyes open!”

“There are quite a few purple cars around here,” I said, “and quite a few beards.”

After the final curtain, I left the theater before the applause and went home to turn on the lights and prepare for my guests. What I found was the most sickening shock I’ve ever had! The glass in the back door was broken! Koko’s wailing was gut-wrenching, and Yum Yum was missing.

The Bambas arrived, and Nick said, “That’s him! That’s the suspect. We saw a purple car turning into the shantytown road when we were driving to the theater. Come on! We’ll find Yum Yum! I’ve got a gun in the glove compartment!”

Shantytown was a slum of junk housing, and a purple car was parked alongside an old trailer home. Through the window we could see a bearded man on a cot and stacks of obviously stolen goods. We barged in.

“Freeze!” Nick said, waving the handgun.

“Where’s the cat?” I demanded.

“N-n-now!” came a pitiful cry from what looked like a closet.

It was a toilet, and Yum Yum was cowering in the rusty bowl.

While I wrapped her in my jacket, Nick kept the befuddled suspect covered and barked over his shoulder, “Call the police from my cell phone!”

Poor little Yum Yum! What a terrifying experience it must have been. There were bloody scratches on the man’s face. Were they her claw marks? Or Koko’s?

 The morning after . . .

I slept poorly, following the ghastly incident. Rather than relive the harrowing emotions of the night, however, I purposely envisioned the pleasures and chuckles of life with Yum Yum. Koko was such a remarkable cat that I tended to let him dominate the scene. Now, I reviewed Yum Yum’s contributions like a series of brief film clips:

Yum Yum on a serious mission: She would walk through the room in a straight line with a resolute step, looking neither to left nor right, ignoring questions and friendly greetings. Her back was as straight as a shelf, and her tail was perfectly horizontal. She knew where she was going, and she went there. She was going to the kitchen for a drink of water.

Yum Yum in a playful mood: She would flop over on the floor and play dead, and I would give her soft underside a gentle nudge with the toe of my shoe. Instantly, she would galvanize into fierce action: coiling around my shoe, grabbing my ankle with her forelegs, and kicking with her hind legs. It was her favorite game.

Yum Yum being amiable: She had several lovable tricks, above and beyond the rubbing of ankles and soulful stares (the little hoyden!). She would snuggle close to my rib cage when I read aloud, purring at the vibrations.

She would reach up with a paw and touch my mustache in wonder. When I lounged at the end of a busy day, she would arrange herself around my neck like a fur collar, finally biting my ear with discretion.

21.

more cool kokoisms

Every dog has his day. A cat has 365.

Opportunity knocks only once; grab that pork chop while no one’s looking.

Why sing for your supper? It’s easier just to stare at your empty plate.

Man works from sun till sun, but a cat gets by without lifting a paw.

To every problem there is a solution: try staring at the handle of the refrigerator.

Never complain, never explain; just throw up that wet fur ball.

Art is long; life is short; leave some scratches on the piano.

She had lived a sheltered life before joining our household and was slow to emerge from kittenhood until we spent that summer in a log cabin at the beach. Its interior must have looked strange and wonderful, especially the ceiling open to the roof twenty feet overhead, crisscrossed with log beams and rafters. It sparked a primitive urge, and she would never be the same.

Neither would I! I remember it now as my Early Yum Yum Period, which I perpetuated in verse.

I’ll always remember Yum Yum

And the way she flew through the air

Without any wings—just muscles like springs—

And a will to get where she was going

Without knowing quite where!

One minute she’d be on the mantel,

The next on the rafter up high.

Then down she would swoop, just missing the soup

Or chili or strawberry pie.

But . . . no matter how bad her behavior,

We forgave her.