It all began innocently enough. Let me take you back to 1994 in Ontario Canada, a lush green somewhat rainy spring, with things "springing up" everywhere. Especially a 7-week-old kitten named Cleopatra.

What a little joy she was! My first cat! So robust, unbelievably strong for weighing in at a few tender ounces, Cleo was immediately outside when a door was opened (albeit when someone would carry her little body over the ledge). Nay, not afraid of her own tiny shadow cast upon the ground was Cleo. She was a little black and white terror, all big green eyes and disproportionately large claws, with such a tiny tail one would think it a short black licorice stick; it was held gaily in the air. This kitten already had cattitude.

She learned that climbing was fun in her fifth tender week, indeed vertical was her favorite mode of transportation as the drapes in the house could attest. I sat outside with a cool drink, carefully watching her escapades in the garden, each bug or butterfly a wonderful new experience to be savored with vigor and joy. Apparently, so was the 50 foot high old spruce tree in the corner of the yard. Up the trunk she went, tiny claws firmly finding their purchase, a tiny *mew* of delight issued from an even tinier mouth. Up through the branches she went.

At 10 feet, I was amused.

At 15 feet, I chuckled, and called to her to come down.

At 20 feet, I was on MY feet.

Surely no tree could be master of the fearless clambering climbing Cleo! She was really enjoying the branches, and especially looking at the BIRDS higher up in the tree.

30 feet.

I was, at this point, getting really concerned, because of the very little I knew about cats, I knew all about the stories of "the cat stuck in the tree".

35 feet.

The birds enticed my little charge to climb higher and higher... "Cleo!... Cleo!... CLEO!!! that's enough!!!!"

She thought, at that point, to pay attention to the voice below, and had a look down... *MEOOW?*

No, the birds above were just too much temptation, and after all, she was super cat, impervious to the laws of gravity, or that guy Isaac Newton and all that stuff. Queen of all below. And above.

45 feet. The birds had had their fun. Time to show the secret. They can fly. Cleo cannot.

The spruce seemed to be getting smaller, there were less places to put even tiny paws. The tree seemed now to move back and forth with the breeze, whereas earlier, it was so firm and strong, like the ground, which now seemed an awful long way away. The human looked so small.

*MEOOOW??* I could barely hear the little voice. The wind was picking up.

"CLEO!! GET DOWN FROM THERE!"

Just great. The old jovial scenario of "Cat in the Tree" didn't work too well here. The tree was in the far corner of the yard, and very thin at the top, and a ladder from the "large smiling man from the fire department" would surely dislodge the tender kitten, sending her smashing through the branches to the ground below.

Just as I was considering a helicopter, she decided enough was enough and started down, front end first. It didn't work. My heart was in my throat.

Slowly the little bum wiggled down the tree branch by branch. My my, both of us were certainly having a learning experience.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, but was just a few torturous minutes she had descended to where I could grab her off the lowest branches. She fiercely meowed at me and pulled back. She wanted to do this all by herself. I backed away from the spruce and called her. She bounded down the last bit to Terra Firma (which I at least, was ready to kiss) and hop-scotched across the yard to my waiting arms. I whisked the purring mass up, and after a scolding that went unheeded, took her in for a good feed.

30 minutes later she was sound asleep in her little nest. What a sweetheart. I had a large glass of wine. This life voyage together was going to be an odyssey of adventure. Still is.

Copyright © Bill Mason
June 6, 2001