November 9, 2010
Art, love, and life
Evensong Suite: Postlude. For Moses.
I’m hoping that absence makes the blog readers’ hearts grow fonder, since I’ve been AWOL on this page for a full three weeks. And full they have been, from lows to highs, with little in between. I’m lucky to be able to say that most everything these days has been a “high.” Almost everything. As I’ll share in my next post.
Twinkling above these words are the deep set eyes of a not-quite-two-year-old miniature Alex, clutching her new, instantly beloved stuffed yellow-eyed black kitty with a grip so unrelenting that we’re all grateful that Aunt Connie didn’t give me a real kitten for Christmas, 1963. I loved cats from that moment on, and since being on my own from age 18, I’ve almost never lived without a couple of strays underfoot: a Maine coon, a Siamese, and various white, orange and grey mottled mutts who all managed to find their way to my address. The fact that there’s a neon sign over my door that blares “Sucker inside: free buffet” has nothing to do with it. Really.
Fast forward exactly 35 years to Christmas week, 1998. A large, scruffy adult black cat with a healed torn ear, a scar on his chin, and a voracious appetite for the doves on my feeder, started visiting my Malibu house every day. Even when the birds flew off, he remained. I’d step outside to cautiously pet him. In a day or two I started holding him. And soon after, I’d take him inside with me while I worked for a while, if only to protect him from more coyote attacks in those dense hillside woods above the sea. Each time I’d return him to the great outdoors, he’d nip at my ankles. He chose me. And he wanted to be an inside cat. I named him Moses for three reasons: that month, I was composing an Evensong Suite for a Los Angeles Episcopal church, and the bible reading for the service was to be Moses and the Burning Bush. And just like that fellow in the Bible, this cat happened to show up at the right house in the neighborhood, with someone who would care for him. And, the month before, my father had died. His father’s middle name was Moses.
My longest stable relationship with a male ended October 19th, when the kindest vet on our island came over and released old Moses, now probably 18 or 19, from the painful results of chronology. I sobbed for two days straight. Mo was the silent witness to twelve important, and sometimes tumultuous, years of my life. He was my constant companion in any place I happened to be, which included the shower, where he would walk right in and stand under the water with me, purring even louder when I’d reach down to pet his wet body with my wet hand. And as readers of this blog know, he loved his adopted bro Smudge; I have almost no photos of one without the other. This cat slept every night tucked under my chin or my arm, and could never be held tight or close enough. Little almost-two Alex finally had her real-life black kitty. I’m so grateful.
During Moses’s final two days, I happened to be finishing the last measures of one of the darkest, most haunting pieces I’ve composed: a work for piano and prerecorded digital audio that Teresa McCollough premiered brilliantly four nights ago at Santa Clara University, titled Vendaval de Luvina. I could never have intentionally timed the alignment of my delivery of this bleak piece and the reality of my life that week, but it was quite intense. I reached the double barline as Moses lay atop my left foot in a near coma, a few hours before we said a final goodbye to each other. The piece, like the moment, offers a heartbreaking release, and I’m told that the emotion translated to the audience that night. My congratulations to Teresa, and my love to Moses. Art, love, and life, are inseparable.
carey said,
November 9, 2010 @ 2:13 pm
Oh poor Moses!!! Such a good kitty and such a wonderful, full life lived with you. How is Smudge holding up?
All your family is in my thoughts, Alex.
Michael Shaffer said,
November 9, 2010 @ 4:21 pm
it’s always worth the wait for you to post —
Barry said,
November 12, 2010 @ 5:52 am
Great to see a Kelp Note again, Alex.
Cheers to Moses the shower cat, and to you, may another serendipitous agent of love come your way soon. We do love you out here, you’re the best.
Barry
Lisa Hirsch said,
November 12, 2010 @ 7:44 am
I’m so, so sorry. My bestest cat ever was a black cat who adopted me. He’s been gone for ten years now….
Alex Shapiro said,
November 12, 2010 @ 11:08 am
Thanks, everyone. I really appreciate your kindness. When I Facebooked about Mo the week he died, I was astonished by the huge community of friends who posted condolences– there were over 50 comments. The web offers a wonderful environment to grieve, and to smile.
It’s been very hard on Smudge, who has never lived without Moses constantly curled up around him. Smudge wanders around, mewing plaintively, looking for his buddy. I do my best and hold him often, but my lack of fur and cat food breath makes me a less convincing substitute. This too shall pass (would someone please tell that to Smudge?)!
Glenn Buttkus said,
November 13, 2010 @ 5:33 pm
I have often had cats in my life, mostly because when you lived with a lady, or married one, you accommodated to their feline tastes; and yet I have become a cat lover too, but not a cat box lover. In the last two decades we have had several wonderful cats, all strays, outside critters, who do their business in the garden, and only come in for food and love. Our ten year old male, Keezie Moto, was brought home by our middle daughter, skinny, hungry, ready for a home, and he has become our sole fur kid since our dear Taffy mutt was put down at 13 two years ago. The outpouring on FB was indeed wonderful to witness; even cyber friends can care it seems. Adore those little Alex pics!
Patrick said,
November 14, 2010 @ 5:30 pm
As has been said many times, our pets become members of our family. We are near what you have experienced with Moses with our Saba, a 15-16 year-old male Russian blue. He too loves to cuddle.
If only we could translate our love of our pets to all of the animal kingdom and to all non-human creatures and flora. The cruelty of industrial livestock farming would end. The wanton destruction and pollution of habitat would end.
Michael Wills said,
November 15, 2010 @ 2:30 am
We have an elegant and affectionate tuxedo cat who also arrived at the right moment and stayed, like Moses. A cat in the shower? a lovely memory. Thank You, Alex.