The Goddess of Cats

I can only tell you what I know, what I experienced. People come through here and tell all sorts of stories and I don’t necessarily believe them. They say the government flew off to Mars with all the rich people and they’re up there now fighting over territory. They say the motorcycle gangs went after the Doomsday Preppers and stole all their food and daughters. They say there are no amber waves of grain because there’s no gas to run the big machines and there’s no seed to plant since Monsanto relocated to the red planet. In other places, they say, strong men tried to snatch kids for soldiers but the kids’ parents rose up and beat the shit out of the scoundrels.

All I know is that the world, as we knew it, ground to a halt.

We were lucky. Mary Kay, Elain, Karen and I were canoeing on the Boundary Waters when the bombs took out D.C., LA, and New York. We didn’t even know anything had happened until Yellowstone blew. Damn, the whole earth shook! Ash rained down for days and blotted out the sun. We might have stayed up there near the Canadian border living on cattails if Elain hadn’t insisted that we move south before the real cold set in.

We weren’t above rummaging around in houses along the way to see what we could find. But all the houses had been picked over. Maybe we could find some drapes or some shoes that fit, but mostly they had been thoroughly looted. You can’t even imagine how many of those houses were missing their television sets. What possible use could anyone make of them with the power grid gone?

There was fighting here before we stumbled onto this place. This grain elevator was a target for sure. You can still see the marks the fire made on the walls. There wasn’t much in the way of grain left because rats and mice took over for a while. Every once in a while I would locate a mouse’s cache and find a mouthful of grain. It was tempting to jam it in my mouth, I was that hungry at the time. But the damn mice had always peed on their stashes to mark them. Ick!

It was better to climb the stairs way up to the top of the silo, lay down sheets, scatter that handful of grain and wait. If we were lucky, the pigeons came and when they started to peck, the four of us would grab the ends of the cloth and rush toward each other, trapping as many birds as we could.

Rodents were a big problem. It got to be that if you had a cat you were rich. A cat could keep the rats and mice away from your food. They’re better than dogs in that way, although dogs are tastier to eat. They say there are places in the cities where cats have taken over whole apartment blocks. But you have to go in there to catch them and the cats scatter at the slightest noise.

We found a litter of kittens in an abandoned barn in Aitkin County, just before we crossed into Wisconsin. We took two females, a little black one and a calico.

That black one we called Queenie because of the way she held herself, so aloof. She’d find a shaft of sunlight, sit straight up with her head held high, close her eyes and wrap her tail around herself. She looked just like that cat temple sculpture from Egypt. The calico, who we misnamed Tortie, would bring mice and lay them at Queenie’s feet. Queenie would open one yellow eye and look disdainfully at the offering.

The four of us would kid around and say that we should turn this silo into a temple for Queenie. And we started taking sticks out of the fire pit and drawing cats prancing and pouncing on the walls. Elain even rigged up a scaffold so we could draw some up higher. Soon the walls were filled with cat drawings.

I guess eventually word got around and people came to see the “Cat Cathedral” as they started to call it. They brought things as tribute to Queenie: crystals and fabric scraps, pieces of colored glass. Sometimes food for us, as Queenie’s retainers.

And Queenie would play her part. She’d sit in her pose, letting the warm sun caress her face and purr. People came to believe she was meditating and they began to meditate with her. It started with two or three people but then we had dozens showing up. They’d sit cross-legged in front of Queenie and try to make purring sounds.

Tortie, meanwhile would sit in my lap and stare at Queenie, then look up at me with an expression that said, “What’s so special about her?”

Eventually Queenie would tire and walk away. Then Mary Kay would shoo the people out so we could have some peace and quiet.

We thought it was a joke at first but then the people didn’t go away. They camped around our silo. They brought out drums and danced and sang all night.

We tried to think of ways to get rid of them but nothing seemed to work. One night, Mary Kay had had enough of the noise. She grabbed a spoon and banged it against a pot until she got their attention. She told them in a loud, authoritative voice that the “goddess” was angry with them and they had better clear out so the goddess and her retainers could get some sleep.

They all looked shocked but hurried to pack up their tents and tarps then they disappeared into the night. We just laughed our asses off then snuggled down by our quiet fire while Queenie and Tortie roamed around the silo looking for prey.

The next day the “worshipers,” as we began to jokingly call them, were back. They had moved down the road to the abandoned town and walked the five miles that morning to be in Queenie’s presence. We’d all been through some incredibly rough times and Karen said we were offering solace to people who’d lost their loved ones and literally their whole world. Surely we couldn’t begrudge them a little comfort if they found that in Queenie’s purr.

So that’s how it started. People would come each day to meditate in the Cat Cathedral with her highness Queenie. And then someone in the crowd offered that maybe Queenie was the embodiment of Isis. I tried to correct them that the Egyptian cat-headed deity was Bastet, not Isis. But before we knew it, all we heard was “Isis did this for me,” and “Isis that for me.”

I tried to reason them, insisting that it wasn’t Queenie who had healed them but their own inner strength. That through meditation, they had tapped into the healing power of the universe. But they just wouldn’t have it. They kept insisting that Queenie, or Isis, had done it.

It got a little scary at that point. People were coming from farther and farther away to be healed. We had to have help controlling the crowds and luckily some young people stepped forward and taught the crowds how to behave. They called themselves acolytes and they made sure that Queenie, Tortie, and the four priestesses didn’t get trampled.

What?!

The acolytes started referring to Elain, Mary Kay, Karen and me as the priestesses. This was slipping out of our control and we thought we better assert the rights to our home and privacy. But when the four of us went out to speak to the crowds, they all started bowing down and groveling in front of us. I tried to lift one of them to her feet but she just flopped down again and kissed the dirty hem of my long skirt. I jumped back in panic.

Things went from bad to worse. One night our silo was filled with low moaning. Queenie was in heat and the noise reverberated off the concrete walls. For three days and nights, I stuffed my ears and put a pillow over my head as the crowds again gathered outside and mimicked Queenie’s howling while they beat their drums.

On the fourth night, Queenie’s moaning was joined by Tortie’s. On the fifth night, we were all woken by horrible screaming and hissing. Out of the dark came a third cat, a big tabby tom. He beat it out the door when Karen went after him with a shoe. But his work was already done. Queenie and Tortie both looked very pleased with themselves.

Queenie wasn’t interested in meditating as much now that she was pregnant. So the acolytes lead the meditations. I thought this was a very bad idea. We should have just said that Queenie’s power was gone along with her virginity and let the crowd disperse. But the acolytes didn’t want to lose what little security they had. They were nice young people and we’d grown to like them as individuals and rely on them.

As Queenie and Tortie grew fatter and the crowds grew bigger. The two cats made nests in anticipation of the “blessed events” as the acolytes began to call the impending births. Every time I hear that phrase I would cringe.

Despite all the preparation, it was in my bed while I was fast asleep, that Queenie decided to have her litter.

That’s when all hell broke lose. One of the acolytes took it upon herself to tear my blanket into squares and hand the pieces out to the crowd. There was pushing and shoving as people clamored for the relics. Relics! Was I hearing correctly?

Karen went out to talk with them. I could hear her trying to reason with them. At that point I’d had enough. I went out and told them that they were making too much of a silly cat. There was murmuring, then angry grumbling, but then one of the acolytes shouted out, “The Goddess has spoken.”

I looked around to see who the goddess she was referring to and Karen poked me in the ribs. “That’s you,” she smirked. I wanted to turn and run but two acolytes grabbed me by the arms and lifted me up for the crowd to see.

Unholy muck! The acolytes started yelling that I was Isis Revealed and the cat was just my familiar. I thought for a moment that the crowd would turn on us and tear us limb from limb. But the acolytes lifted me up higher and just then sunlight broke through the clouds, a breeze caught my white hair and a blew it into a radiant halo around my head. There was a collective gasp. When the acolytes finally put me down, Karen whispered in my ear, “Better you than me.”

The nearby town was settled by believers. All spring, summer and fall it is inundated with visitors, all coming to be healed by the great goddess. There are shops selling bead necklaces with little amulets commemorating the moment of my revelation. They sort of resemble my face surrounded by rays of light emanating from my head. And for the very select there are heart-shaped golden lockets with clippings of my hair.

Queenie and Tortie are now free to be cats again, to play with their kittens and hunt rodents. I give an audience every day around noon. I give out advice. I kiss babies on their foreheads. I join the hands of couples and threesomes in union. I make vague pronouncements about how we all need to join together in love. And everyone is so supremely grateful and the go away happy. They are generous with what little they have. As a result, I can continue to feed the cats, the acolytes, the newly minted priestesses and Mary Kay, Elain and Karen, my three high priestesses.

It’s not a bad living, all in all.