My Early Life...
Once upon a time there were three little kittens, and their...
Sorry... Wrong file, someone else's story , borderline plagiarism, and at first, there were four of us.
I was the youngest and the only female.
You see the immediate benefits of our inheritance law. As the only girl, it was winner takes all...
In any rational and intelligent community, inheritance and all other rights are claimed through the maternal line.
Wise and ancient faiths know this. For instance, the Lord God blessed Abr (ah)am and his seed for ever. Allegedly, all those people with wonderful names begat each other, Judas and Phares and Salmon and Booz and Aminadab and Jechonias...
Sorry, sorry, and PLEASE don't read this as anti - anyone...
Blame, instead, my humble and all-American spellchecker, which can't be doing with bog-standard UK English, never mind names like Zorobabel...
The point is, and never mind all that endless begatting, every single one of the Chosen People MUST have a Jewish mother.
' Jacob begat Joseph, the husband of Mary, of whom was born Jesus, who is called the Christ'
Begatting DOESN'T COUNT, especially without a DNA test, not available in the first century CE. Ask any friendly rabbi.
( Depending on which expert you approach S/he might explain that times have changed. Excluding the heirs of males from their rightful inheritance isn't fair. Agreed, of course, I was simply reporting the traditional position. )
I know almost nothing about my father.Who cares ? Hath the rain a father ? I am, beyond all doubt, my mother's daughter and heir. Other and deeply flawed systems would put me at the very bottom, last-born of all her kittens and female.
Instead, for my mother, there was rejoicing, relief, certainty.
After many litters, far far too many, she'd fulfilled her destiny at last, done her duty. ( My beauty was accidental. It just happened. Ever heard of a Cat signing up for cosmetic surgey ? Of course not. )
There are no ordinary cats, every one of our race created and born in beauty, but random grace shaped me particularly well. Two of my brothers were twins, black and white, not very black, rather too much white, always the last kittens of a litter to go. Half-brothers, actually, the same litter, different fathers... It happens...Don't be judgmental.
My real brother died. Silver tabby, marked like a perfect mackerel sky, he'd have no problem finding a home. Instead, he was buried in the garden under a rowan tree, with two goldfish, one guinea-pig and half a stoat. The (homo sapiens) children cried. They'd come to visit their father. Instead, they discovered death. I never loved my tabby brother and no, of course I don't miss him. Death came when we were far too young for love or hate. Ten days old, all kittens care about is milk. Finding the best nipple... He always lay next to me.
The day this brother died, I heard my first tears, the children crying, their father gentle, hiding his own quiet tears. The children lived somewhere else, with their mother I suppose, just like kittens. Nobody lived with their father, rather like mine, I suppose, whoever he was.
This is completely ridiculous... Mawkish, almost cringe-making... I promised, faithfully, cross my heart and hope to die, NO MIS LIT. As the Lady said, let other pens dwell on grief and misery.
A kitten died. Ten minutes later, this man and his grief stricken children were watching Shrek and stuffing themselves with deep-fill pizza. Straight out of the cartwheel box, no plates, no knives, no forks, and the kids could stay up till morning. Next day, and this is where the real memories begin, the girl and her father knocked at the door. My eyes were opened. I saw grief, but why ?
No comments:
Post a Comment