Thursday, March 8, 2018

V is for Violet, by Susanna Drbal


V is for Violet. Violet is the name of my toothless cat, so you would think she’s never violent. You’d be wrong. Violet, in spite of her tiny body and little head, has giant paws with thumbs. She likes to swat.

Violet doesn’t think of herself as violent — or as little, or even as a cat. She thinks she is a spy. She hides in corners and under beds, ears perked up, eyes wide and shining. She gathers information — who smells like what, what that noise means, what is inside that stuffed mouse that squeaks.

She compiles her information into a notebook she writes in after everybody is asleep. She holds a pen in her big, right front paw and holds the page down with her big, left front paw. She watches me write every morning and thinks, Susanna must be a spy too.

Violet writes her memoir, and a constant theme is food. How many crunchies did she leave behind for Klaus? She notes whether the wet food was cold or room temperature. She discusses the ongoing issue of cleaning her face after meals. She also writes about her litter box, evaluating how much scratching is ideal for covering up her deposits.

Violet writes about her past lives, too, when she lived on the streets and was chased by tomcats and shivered under bushes. She writes about her time as “Persia,” when she lived in a tiny room with six other cats. She hid under a cushion most of those days. In between, she gave birth and got hit by a car. There was some pain, some fear, but good times too. Violet is visionary.