kush

Almost a year ago, we adopted a cat named Kush. Named by his previous owner, he is a handsome orange tabby cat, a little over a year old. If brought into my bedroom at night, and the space heater is on, Kush will settle onto my chest for some sleep and some love. After a time, he warbles and gets up to lie elsewhere on the bed, usually ending up right next to me. He will stay all night.

This means a lot to me, but meant even more during the first difficult weeks and months of my separation. Kush was more than a cat to me: he was (and is) a friend to me, and I'd like to think I am to him. He is our only cat who is allowed out of doors (since that's the way he was raised) but doesn't generally like the cold, and looks at us like we're crazy when we go out there. Perhaps we are.

My friend Matt says Kush's fur feels like that of a stuffed animal...and after I thought about it, I agree. I have constructed a children's story/fable around that idea, whereupon a small stuffed animal (perhaps a tiger) is magically transformed into a living thing. Of course, since it is only a little tiger, it is converted into a mini-tiger: Kush.

And of course he is fierce in real life...more than once he has paid tribute to us by leaving the evidence of various small animals he has slain. A mighty warrior is our Kush-kitty...but also a warm ball of orange fur (and purr) to help me keep vigil through the long nights. I owe him a great deal, but all he asks for is food, water, and love.

All three of which he gets in abundance. Last night he slept on my chest as he drowsed, the space heater on and the room pleasantly warm. I thought I could feel his cool green eyes on my face as mine were closed, but when I opened them, it was to Kush dreaming, perhaps of his past life as a fierce (if stuffed) tiger. His ears and paws twitched gently. The heater hummed. Kush roared and purred.