Topsy

Topsy

Alice ‘s treasured parti-colored cat, Topsy, would sun on the stone path that wove around the pansy garden.  Toffee markings with a touch of chocolate, black around the paws, Topsy was a fine specimen of cat.  A bit of a tortie, Topsy was the exception to the rule that parti-colored cats were usually female. A bit of a Tom, Topsy ruled the lane ways in search of a feline to prance around cat town.  Oh, the stories he could tell.  Perhaps he shall.

A giant specimen of cat, Topsy would guard the back door, much like a sentry.  One eye open just enough to take a peek, the other ignoring the world.  A flick of the tail, thud, thud, thud.  Counting the seconds of time, waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting bee or bird.  Perhaps, a mouse or rat?

A fine mouser, Topsy ‘s whiskers knew every nook and every cranny of the small house from the dank, darkness of the crawl space to the clutter of the knick knacks that adorned his mistress’ home.  Just the sound of her voice and old Topsy came a running.  There was always food~ a tidbit or two from the tabletop.  Perhaps a touch of salmon?

Topsy was King of the Place and he lorded rank over the creatures that frequented the pansy garden.  Even the dog in the neighbouring yard knew better than to mess around with Topsy.  After all, one should never underestimate Topsy’s scratch.

Such an unusual name~ Topsy!  Who names their pet, Topsy?  Why not, Prince or King Leo?  Those are fine names, fit for the likes of a calico mix.  A calico like myself.  A fine mouser.  A loyal pet for dear, simple, Alice.  After all, my ancestors herald from Spain.  Spanish royalty, symbol of good luck.  Perhaps a talisman for Alice?

Topsy contemplated these questions as he lay sunning himself on the stones that wove around the pansy garden.  There was much to watch as he noted the comings and goings from house to house.  The stories I could share, thought Topsy.  People are such fools; they assume that no one is watching, no one sees their deceptive ways.  Who is this child that watches me, shying away from my stare?”

When I met Topsy, he was older and wiser with many stories to tell, pleased to inform you that he shared quite a few.  You might be surprised at the information I have.  Perhaps, I shall share.  A tid bit or two.

I regret to inform you that Topsy’s final days on earth were disconcerting, filled with struggle, hardship.  Unable to stand, Topsy literally became his namesake.  Many a day, I would right him off the ground, until one day it was all too much for Topsy.

Topsy is in Heaven above and Alice has joined him.  They are happy to be reunited.  After all, they were loyal friends and comrades, traveling side by side since the beginnings of time.  Topsy continues to lie on the stone path that weaves around the pansy garden.  Topsy keeps one eye open, just enough to take a peek, however, don’t be fooled into thinking that he isn’t watching the comings and goings.  Oh, the stories he could tell.  Perhaps he shall.

There is a stray Manx that has appeared just outside my garden gate, sleeping, one eye open, just enough to take a peek, on the stone path that winds through the roses.   A bit of a tortie, this stealthy beauty appeared one winter’s morn and has returned nearly every evening since.   It has been several years.  Hidden under the hedge, the cat waits for my return, rolling over to greet, snuggling up to meet.  It waits like a sentry, guarding my home.  Is it a sign from Alice? A reminder, she is watching from the heavens above, a symbol of good luck?  I have no answer to your comments yet I sense a presence watching the comings and goings of the house, gathering up stories to tell.   Perhaps we shall.