Alice Walker
I was born
to hold
a cat.
You may yawn
because
you know
me as
Writer
BIG WIG
This
or
That.
I
know
without
any
doubt
that
I was
born
to
hold
a
cat.
I was born to hold a cat.
Her name
was
Phoebe.
We were
complete.
We were perfectly
happy!
Where is she?
seven.
She was
three.
We moved
house.
She
disappeared.
My parents
said,
Well
that
is that.
But I
was
lost
in clouds
of
tears,
for I was
born
to hold
a
cat.
There was
no
book,
no
Cat in
the Hat,
in
those
days.
Off I went
into
the world
of books and university
and
trains
and massive
demonstrations,
holding
hands,
singing,
& carrying
signs
to our
frustration:
End violence!
Stop the war!
Eradicate poverty
&
segregation!
No child
slavery!
Feed everyone!
House us all
in decent
housing
now!
But in my heart?
Enough
of that.
The question was: Where
is
Phoebe?
Where is
my
cat?
I was
born
also
for
that: education,
picket
lines,
writing books,
this
&
that.
But
I was
mostly
born
to
hold
a cat.
I was born to hold a cat.
married.
I had
children—
in my lap
they
sat.
Loving
them,
still
I
wondered:
Wasn’t
I born
to
hold
a
cat?
I thought so: that I was born to hold a cat.
Mt. Etna,
crossing
the Seine,
probing
disputes
among
the
refugees
of
the Kingdom
of
Genocidia
&
sharing
bread
with
the
starving
of
Hungaria.
So
much
of
that!
my middle
years
I simply
forgot
that
I
was born
to hold
a
cat.
I forgot: that I was born to hold a cat.
In my
heart
a
tiny
door,
kitten size,
sat
tightly
closed.
fine
house
upon
the
hill,
no
messes,
no
rats.
I was happy
or so
I
thought.
But
only
because
I was
asleep
&
never
noticed
the
door
slightly
ajar,
in my
advancing
age,
behind it . . .
an
empty
space.
Until
one day
from the hedge
there
came
a
sound
while
I was
meditating
quiet
&
still: a meow.
like
that.
And I
remembered, just
like
that,
that
I
was born
to
hold
a
cat.
(the tiny door inside my heart snapped open wide)
Out I went
with
a
saucer
of
soymilk
where
stranger,
famished,
sat.
Hello, I said,
enchanted by its marbled fur
and
yellow
eyes.
By any chance
are you
my cat?
Fifty years had almost passed. I thought of that. And how I was born to hold a cat.
The stranger
lapped
the
soymilk
then
followed
me
warily
inside
my
house
the moment
I saw
behind
the couch
my very
first
rat!
The stranger
napped
before
the
fire.
The house
settled itself
with
a
sigh,
peaceful
&
balanced
at
last,
I
began
to
understand.
I named her
Surprise
&
I can
see
holding
her
in
my
grateful
arms
that surprise
itself
is all
of
life
this is so
no
matter
what
you do
or do not
do.
Whatever
made
you
feel complete
&
made
you
happy
when you
were seven,
meditate
on
that.
you do not
need
to
scale
the
Matterhorn
or
even
ever
see
the
Dalai Lama
in
the
flesh.
Maybe
you
do not
need
to
Napoleon
in
any
way
or
attend
meetings
where
BIG WIGS
of corporations
define
the
nature
of
global
suffering
for
the
rest
of
the
world.
like
me
you can say
I
smell
a
rat!
(Listen to your hedges)
I was
not
born
to be
like
that.
I
was born
to
hold
a