The Cat Carol

I am more open than I once was. It’s a strength. It’s a vulnerability. It takes me off-guard at times.

The most profound moments in my life are those moments when the picture shifts. It’s the real life version of the optical illusion sketches that fascinated you as kids. You’ve seen examples of what I’m talking about. The cube whose faces change from front to back to front again:

The silhouette that changes from a vase to two faces:

The various versions of beautiful lady/ugly hag:

David Wilcox described this phenomenon in the intro to his song “Good Together” on his “Songs and Stories” CD. To paraphrase, imagine you’re arguing with someone, and it’s taking them forever to realize they’re wrong. You’re absolutely sure of your stand. You’ve collected all the data, connected all the dots, come up with your totally logical conclusion. Then the person you’re arguing with says something, and it all snaps into place for you. You suddenly see their reasoning, and find yourself so enmeshed in their point of view that you can’t remember what your own argument was for a moment. The picture comes into focus from two different points of view, and it switches back and forth for you. The other person collected all the data and came up with another totally logical conclusion by simply connecting the dots differently.

It’s something that virtually never happened to me even a year or two. Now it happens with enough frequency that it keeps me off balance, unsure where solid footing is some days. Perhaps I’ve lost something of myself. Or maybe I’ve gained a new vision.

This morning I got up and left the apartment slightly before the sun was up. It wasn’t the most spectacular of dawns, just a nice soft red glow, with few clouds to catch the colors and make things more interesting. A fingernail clipping of a moon hung in the eastern sky, brighter and bigger than sliver moons are supposed to be. I took this all in as I waited for my trusty little Prius to warm up.

Sunrise occurred simultaneously with my turning onto the main street in front of our complex, and I caught glimpses of the sun in my rear-view mirror. I hit the “on” button on the radio, and tuned in “Sleepy Hollow” my favorite show on my favorite radio station. It’s their Christmas Carol weekend, and since I now deem it acceptable to be playing Christmas Carols, it was a nice comfort to be listening to seasonal music as I drove to my job.

The nice thing about Sleepy Hollow is that it introduces me to all sorts of new music I’d never get the chance to hear otherwise. The music is mostly variations of folk, but anything that is soft and easy on the ears is fair game for the show, including classical, unplugged rock, jazz, blues and songs that defy any classification. I was perhaps five miles into my drive, when a song new to me began playing in the middle of a set. The first words passed through my speakers:

The cat wanted in to the warm warm house,

but no one would let the cat in

It was cold outside on Christmas Eve,

She meowed and meowed by the door.

I rolled my eyes. The singer had a sweet voice, and the guitar accompaniment was well orchestrated and subtle, but let’s face it, this song was just kiddy candy. I had already made my mind up that I hated it, and hoped it didn’t run too long so we could get on to the next song.

The cat was not let in the warm warm house,

And her tiny cries were ignored.

’twas a blizzard now, the worst of the year,

There was no place for her to hide.

I was listening in spite of myself. OK, it was a kid’s song, but the idea that someone wouldn’t let their cat in the house pissed me off. My thoughts strayed off to a tangent that had more to do with people who shouldn’t be permitted to keep pets, but part of my mind kept listening. I wanted the resolution of the people hearing the cat’s pitiful mews, opening the door, and feeding it milk under the Christmas tree with a nice warm fire drying it’s fur. That’s the way kids songs go, after all.

Just then a poor little mouse crept by,

He had lost his way in the snow.

He was on his last legs and was almost froze,

The cat lifted him with her paw.

She said “Poor mouse do not be afraid,

because this is Christmas Eve.

“On this freezing night we both need a friend,

“I won’t hurt you – stay by my side.”

She dug a small hole in an icy drift,

This is where they would spent the night.

She curled herself ’round her helpless friend,

Protecting him from the cold.

Oh, OK. It’s one of those carols, like that Christmas in the Trenches or the Christmas 1914 song about the German and the English playing soccer on the WWI battlefield during Christmas Eve truce. It was a nice moral for a kiddy song. I still wouldn’t go out of my way to listen to it, but maybe the song wasn’t “total shit” (as The Socialist is wont to say).

When Santa came by near the end of the night,

the reindeer started to cry.

They found the cat lying there in the snow,

and they could see that she had died.

They lifted her up from the frozen ground,

and placed her into the sleigh.

It was then they saw the little mouse wrapped up,

she had kept him warm in her fur.

Oh shit. That’s not the way the song is supposed to go. A couple of tears welled up in my eyes, in spite of myself. I was NOT going to get emotional over a song this saccharine. It just wasn’t going to happen. I have better taste than that.

“Oh thank you Santa for finding us!

“Dear cat wake up we are saved!”

…”I’m sorry mouse but your friend has died,

there’s nothing more we can do.

The poor mouse doesn’t even know? I’m sobbing at this point. People in passing cars must have figured I’d just lost my best friend or something.

“On Christmas Eve she gave you her life,

the greatest gift of them all.”

Santa lifted her up into the night sky,

and laid her to rest among the stars.

“Dear mouse don’t cry you are not alone,

you will see your friend every year.

“Each Christmas a Cat Constellation will shine,

to remind us that her love’s still here.”

I was driving with one hand while reaching into the back seat with the other, looking for the crushed box of tissues I knew was back there somewhere. The host of the show was saying, “That was a song I’ve gotten a few requests for this year: The Cat Carol, sung by Meryn Cadell. I took mental note of the name, and when I got to work I hit Google, and found a site with more information without too much trouble.

The shipping cost more than the CD, but I’m hoping to have it in time for Christmas.

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I’ve just finished rereading this entry, proofreading it and tweaking the words. And no, my frigging eyes are still not completely dry. It occurs to me that this is what Gift of Life is all about. Realizing this completes the paradigm shift for me. I look at it one way, and it’s a maudlin child’s song. I look at it another way, and I am the mouse given life. How could I not see this at once?