The Adventures of Simone

We met Simone (See-moan) some months ago. Our tenant Alvino, in violation of a lease agreement prohibiting pets, had taken her in.


Simone sans bell

When I ventured down in the mobile court last weekend to check things, I had a couple of surprises waiting for me.

Alvino’s rent was due on the first of the month, but for years his custom had been to pay on the 10th . . . or the 11th . . . or the 12th.

So on the 16th I went looking. As I approached the little mobile home, I had that eerie landlord’s intuition.

Darn. Alvino had vanished. He had taken with him almost all of his tomatoes, almost all of his auto parts, almost all of his furniture. And all of his spooky wood carvings.

Surprisingly, someone (probably not Alvino himself) had mopped the floors, cleaned the bathroom, and wiped out the cupboards.

But that wasn’t the real second surprise. In the distance, coming across a field, making her way through the neighboring mobile home court, was little Simone.

I knew it was her because I heard the familiar sound of the bell that Alvino had attached with a sturdy chain around her little neck.

When she got to the #3 house, which had only recently been her warm and secure home, she wove her way around my shoes, rubbing, purring and mewing in a very affectionate way.

Even though I wouldn’t usually pick up someone else’s cat, I did pick up Simone. She was skinny, emaciated. Tiny little ribs were sticking out while she purred.

I hurried home on my bicycle and rounded up some cat food, a serving bowl, and a container in which I could put some water.

Simone was still there when I got back, and she dived into the food as if she hadn’t eaten for five or six days. Which is about how long it must have been.

I sat down on the step and watched her eat. After a time, she got her fill, thirstily drank some water, and came over and climbed into my lap.

From there, I lifted her into my arms again and lay her on her back, her furry face in my furry face. She looked up at me with pleading dark golden eyes and purred and purred. It was oddly similar to holding one of my own children.

After a time, I determined to leave Simone there for the night, on the off chance that Alvino might come back for her. After all, I had decided to overlook the lease violation when I saw how much Alvino loved her. Or so I thought.

When I took off on the bicycle again, Simone tried to follow me, running as fast as she could, her distinctive bell jangling cheerily.

She stopped at the edge of the mobile court and sat down, ears perked up, studying me with those golden eyes. A solid dark gray, she nearly disappeared in the shadows.

I rounded the corner at the front of the store building, out of sight of the cat, and stopped. Really, I’m not accustomed to weeping. But I had to stop the bicycle because my vision was impaired.

Simone had been abandoned. Deserted. Betrayed. The son of a bitch just drove off and left her to fend for herself. He had abused her trust. The thought of it saddened me, angered me.

Suddenly, the betrayal that had happened to us, the loss of the rental income, the absence of any notice, and generally the sneaky way Alvino did things, seemed small.

I left Simone there overnight; I was still thinking her master might return. After having fed and watered her on the second day, I left her overnight again.

The third day, Monday, I couldn’t stand it any more. Laura and I had plenty of work to do “down in the court,” so we brought the truck, the tools – and a cat crate.

Simone entertained us through the day, alternating between us, rubbing our pants legs, climbing trees and jumping down, hiding under places, playing hide-and-seek, cavorting.

As she played, the jingle bell fastened around her neck was an ever-present reminder of her whereabouts – which was the idea of the bell in the first place.

It was no easy decision to take on another cat, but there was the thought that we didn’t really have an alternative. It wouldn’t be easy for Laura especially, rearranging this and that so that Simone could be introduced to the herd slowly and humanely. But we did it.

On Tuesday evening, the integration with the other cats was progressing well, and with them appropriately separated, we went off to class at church.

I had left the chain and bell on the little kitty’s neck, thinking it might have become something in which she would take comfort, a physical item affording security. I wanted to cause as little trauma as possible; I didn’t want to take yet something else away, considering what had already been taken from her.

Three hours later, we arrived home and heard Simone crying. Somehow, perhaps while trying to remove the chain herself, the device had become lodged in her mouth. Like a bit for a horse.

We tried everything. Even my heavy-duty metal shears wouldn’t cut the chain. Finally, with the determination and patience that Laura seems to have, the chain came off.

There were tears. Mine, and Laura’s. The cat, except for yet more psychic damage, was apparently unhurt. No blood, no broken teeth. Stay tuned for the further adventures of Simone.

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Word of the week: Betray. It’s from middle English, betrain, betrayen, old French trair, as in traitor, and finally, the Latin, trader, to hand over or deliver.

To us these days it means to help the enemy, to break faith, to be a traitor. It means to deceive, to victimize, to seduce and fail to marry.

For Simone, it meant a nasty psychic blow from which she will never recover. In the Norwegian language, the name “Alvino” is translated: “Quisling.”