I’ve lived with two great cats in my life. The first was Sullivan, a big orange and white tomcat who came along with a cabin I moved into during my senior year in college. I lived in the woods at the end of a dirt road, perched on the edge of the valley of the Little River in Durham, North Carolina. Twenty-five feet wide, it was a fast flowing Carolina river with smooth rocks that held soft green beds of water grass. I used to lie back in them and let the current bubble over my face.
Sullivan would follow me in the tree branches above my head, leaping from one to the next like a giant squirrel. He was always interested in accompanying me down to the swimming hole, a shady walk through the warm forest. From up there, he’d watch me swim and then follow me back to the cabin. As with most feral cats, he’d become my instant friend because I’d fed him.
The second great cat I’ve had the privilege to live with was Nabi. She was given to Mil and me by a Korean couple at Interlocken in New Hampshire because they lived in a city and their landlord wouldn’t let them have pets. In the Korean language, they told us, Nabi means Butterfly.
So we took her in, a thin black and white kitten, and as she grew up, she rid our house of all rodents, back when our boys were babies. And when we called her, she’d bounce across the back yard like a dog and jump up, and then cuddle in our laps. Nabi was amazing. We loved her and talked to her so much, she became verbally intelligent and lost most of her basic cat reserve.
So this music is for cat lovers. Or at least for people who have known cats and are fascinated by them, sophisticated little predators that they are, even when they are well fed.