Black Persian
When Clarice’s cat, Mandy, died shortly after her eightieth birthday, she decided she wouldn’t have another. She remained steadfast in her decision, despite her daughter Anna’s insistence that she needed a cat in her life.
Over the next few years, Clarice maintained her simple life, not getting out much, though family frequently visited, and she saw her sister, who lived next door, daily. She cherished her time alone, having always been an introvert, but her world felt a little emptier and less colorful without a furry friend to share her solitude.
She laughed at herself for considering solitude and a companion in the same thought. Still, the idea took root, and she couldn’t shake it. She noticed a sadness, perhaps a loneliness that hadn’t been there when Mandy had been a part of her life.
Over the next few weeks, Clarice argued with herself nearly constantly. She didn’t want to go back on her decision. She didn’t! And yet … Before she could stop herself, she picked up the phone and dialed Anna’s number.
“I want you to find me a kitten. It has to be Persian, and it has to be black.” She could feel Anna’s smile through the receiver.
“Sure, Mom. It’s winter, so I don’t know how easy it will be to find one right now, but I’ll do an internet search.”
When Clarice hung up the phone, doubts assailed her, and the argument began again. Well, Anna had said it would be hard to find a kitten. Maybe the issue would decide itself and she could go back to being sensible.
A few hours later Clarice called back. “I’ve found one. He seems to be the only black Persian available in the province, but he’s only a few hours away by car.”
Clarice’s heart, which knew what she needed better than her mind did, leapt. Her mouth did the rest. “Can you reserve him for me?”
“I’ve done one better,” Anna answered. “I’ve already paid for him and I’m going to drive with Walt to pick him up tomorrow at two.”
Clarice couldn’t sort out her emotions. She was elated. She felt guilty. She had a million second thoughts. She was terrified. She wasn’t ready!
She called her sister and the next morning they went together to pick up essentials for the kitten. Essentials turned into more toys than one kitten would ever need, two beds, and a basket with a cushion because Clarice was worried he wouldn’t be able to climb up and down the stairs.
As she waited anxiously for Anna and Walt to arrive with the kitten, she decided to name him after a cat Anna had once had—Augustyn—named for a ballet dancer they had both very much enjoyed in a production of Giselle. Now, in addition to her mixed emotions over the kitten, she worried that Anna might not like her using the name. She would ask permission first.
When Anna walked through the door and placed the black ball of fur into Clarice’s hands, a tension and malaise she hadn’t realized had weighed on her over the past few years melted away. She whispered softly to the kitten, stroking his fur as he snuggled in to her as if he already knew she was his new mom.
Anna was delighted with the name choice, and so Augustyn, who managed the stairs quite well on his own, thank you very much, took over as the new little lordling of the house. Clarice’s world brightened immeasurably. She couldn’t believe she had ever been foolish enough to think she could be happy without a furry companion.
Even when Augustyn’s fur began to show hints, and then a predominance of brown, Clarice remained smitten. She proudly informed anyone, whether they asked or not, that she told him daily that he could be any color he wanted, as long as it wasn’t purple, because then her niece would steal him.
Aspects of this flash story really took place. The photo is one I found from when Augustyn was a kitten. He really was named after Frank Augustyn, whom my mother and I saw dance in Giselle, and after whom my own cat had been named years before.
Mom did struggle with the decision of whether or not to get another cat after the last of her pair of Persians (Julius and Caesar—so named because she lived on Roman Crescent) died. She did ask me, in the dead of winter, to find her a black Persian, and did buy a basket to carry her kitten up and down the stairs. The basket was never used.
Augustyn’s fur developed a lot of brown and Mom told him exactly what I wrote in the story. So I guess most of the story is true, though I took liberties with the character’s struggle around her decision. I also took my laptop to Mom’s and showed her photos of the kitten and made the call to the breeder from her living room.
Such a lovely memory 💖
Cool, love this story! What became of Augustyn? Ahh, so glad you mom got him!