Мария Устюгова
Krasnodar – Istanbul – Paris

KRASNODAR – ISTANBUL – PARIS

I sat on the highest roof, watching the waves of other roofs flowing right before me. The king of the world, the ruler of Istanbul, a beautiful spotted cat resembling a serval. Just a regular street cat from Krasnodar.

KRASNODAR

I was born in the dark basement of a ten-story brick building. The first thing I remember is my mother, who smelled pleasantly of milk, and my squealing brothers and sisters. We all nuzzled around searching for magical milk fountains. I always found them. I was generally very bold and active.

When mother first led me, small and timidly stepping on trembling paws, into the courtyard, I discovered an amazing new world. And its creatures. Birds chirping somewhere high above, beautiful colorful butterflies, prickly hedgehogs, tiny slimy snails – brr… And humans. They were kind to me. They made funny sounds like "kitty-kitty," petted me, and scratched behind my ears. At first I was scared, but mother explained that they were divided into good and bad ones. You had to listen to your animal instincts and trust them.

I explored this world with incredible eagerness. Breaking free from the stuffy basement, I jumped and ran, rejoicing and marveling at everything. My first caught mouse. A paw injured by a hedgehog. An ear torn in battle with a big cat over food. And Her. I know She had a name, but that's just how I called Her. She came to me every evening and brought something tasty. There were many people who fed me and treated me well. But I singled Her out from all of them. It was nice to sit with Her and listen to the sounds of the courtyard. Children playing, wind blowing, or crickets chirping.

I was still just a kitten when I started thinking about a great journey. My birthplace – the dark cramped basement where I sometimes came to sleep when it was cold and rainy – never became my home. I was a free cat. A cat who walks by himself. When I got older, I began exploring other courtyards and even wandering around the city. I wasn't afraid of cars or dogs. My paws were strong, I was very fast and agile. People in the courtyard loved me for these qualities. They always petted me, fed me treats and lovingly called me Bandit. Once I gave a worthy fight to the local German shepherd. And I caught mice and birds too. Just hunted.

Mother said I took after my father. He was a pedigreed Bengal cat who had escaped from his owners. Wild free blood boiled in his veins. Mother couldn't resist. And I understand her.

I only saw father once: he came to our basement to look at his offspring. He greeted mother affectionately and caressed us, the children. But I felt with my whole being how the basement walls pressed upon him. He had to move on. A wild ancestor of the leopard, led by the call of blood. I remember him looking at me and whispering: "You look like me, son! Choose your path, listen to your heart and instincts, let them guide you…" I sniffed him, trying to absorb his scent that contained everything: masculinity, nobility and wanderlust. I admired him, the proud traveler who walked his own path. His words sank into my soul and seemed to burn there in scarlet letters. He said goodbye to mother and we never saw him again…

***

That same evening She came. We sat side by side on the bench for a long time. She was silent, and I purred. Simply because I enjoyed Her presence. Lost in thought and seemingly detached from reality, She suddenly returned to our world and looked at me.

"I want to give you a name. May I? I have a favorite show 'Friends' and there's a character named Ross. Plus there's a play on words here: you grew up (ros) before my eyes, I watched you, and now you're grown up, so I'll name you Ross!"

She began her speech timidly and hesitantly but finished with a touch of humor and grandeur. I purred in agreement, and She understood everything. Some humans really can understand our language. And She was a very intelligent and worthy specimen of the human race. I nestled against her, and She took me in her arms. We sat like that for a long time: She petted me, scratched behind my ears, and remained silent. It was pleasant to be silent together. After an hour of such delightful companionship, She addressed me:

"Thank you for the warm conversation, Ross! I really enjoyed it."

To my surprise, I, a free cat, son of my wild father, also greatly enjoyed it. She was my human. And I had gained a name.

Since then, whenever She came to me, She always called me by name. I knew the time when She finished work, and I always returned from my long walks for Her visit. She taught foreign languages, was a blogger, and something of a writer. She even wrote children's fantasy about cats in space, who would have thought! She would bring out the book and read excerpts to me. And I would listen, entranced, dreaming if not of flying into space, then just of flying. I learned from Her about the big bird-machines called airplanes. When I watched birds, I secretly dreamed of flying like them. And She told me everything was possible, would pick me up, and I would fly. Wind in my ears, fur blown back, but I wasn't afraid of anything. I'm a wild descendant of a wild beast. When I jumped (and I could jump far and high), I felt flight too. A running start, and I'm flying! It took my breath away, but what a sensation of happiness embraced me in its soft paws.

My mother didn't understand this, but she supported me in everything:

"You've grown up and now you're the spitting image of your father! I want everything to be good for you, son. You're quite grown up now, and I'm letting you go find your path. Step softly but confidently, rely on yourself. But sometimes, if you need help, you can and should ask for it. From humans, from good humans – you'll understand who is who."

And yes, mother taught me to understand humans. I simply didn't approach those who smelled of lies and pretense. These humans could harm me and cause me pain. I went to those who smelled of kindness and affection. From my mother, I inherited this love of humans and instinct about them.

***

And She kept coming every evening. We watched episodes of "Friends": I liked my namesake Ross, he was funny and wasn't afraid to love and trust. We discussed chapters from Her new book with Her. Well, actually, She whispered words to me that neatly arranged themselves into lines. I liked it. And I liked Her. She was gentle like my mother, proud and independent like my father.

I often made Her laugh. Sometimes chasing my tail, sometimes catching flies in mid-air. She would laugh heartily, and I would watch Her. I couldn't do that. When I was happy, I purred.

One day She came to me with wet eyes, took me in her arms, and tiny droplets fell on me like a light rain. I managed to taste one: it was salty. I thought I did it unnoticed, but She saw and laughed. That's how I stopped that salty rain. Later I learned that humans cry when they're sad. I couldn't do that. When I was sad, I went to sleep.

One day She came to me in the afternoon. I was sleeping on the bench, and my fur was beautifully gleaming and shimmering in the kind spring sunshine. I sensed Her a hundred steps away, the scent was special, familiar. She sat down and gently stroked my head.

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