Old Songs in a New Cafe Read Online Free PDF Page B

beauty and good taste. The long, soft pelage on his back and sides was
     predominantly black and gray. His chin was an off-white that flowed into creamy tan along his chest and belly. Symmetrically
     perfect were his markings, and he watched his world through green eyes of great immensity and color. His face was expressive,
     his conformation perfect.
    Given that, it becomes understandable why we fell into the snare of seeing him as an object. When the local cat fanciers association
     announced a show limited to animals of something called pet quality, we could not resist.
    So Roadcat was put into a wire cage and carried off to the show held as part of the Cattle Congress festivities in Waterloo.
     Along with the sheep and horses and cattle and hogs, the pet-quality cats would have their day in the ring. He was terrified
     and panting as I carried him through the crowds, past the Ferris wheel and midway barkers, past Willie Nelson’s touring bus.
    Roadcat’s world was the forest, the warm place under the wood stove, and a canvas deck chair in the summer. He was content
     with himself and required no conspicuous recognition to prove his worth. His colleague apparently did require it. My wife,
     my daughter, and I wore blue T-shirts we had made up for the occasion that said “Roadcat” in bold, black letters across the
     front.
    I watched him closely in the great hall where the judging was held. He was restless in the cage. Finally, he simply lay down
     and stared directly at me, straight in the eyes. I could see he was disappointed with me, and I was ashamed at having so ruthlessly
     shattered our mutual respect. Since a time when I was quite young, I have been angered by those public adulations of the human
     form called beauty contests, and here I was subjecting my friend to exactly that.
    Roadcat refused to be an object. Normally temperate and reserved around strangers, he tore at the paper lining his cage on
     the judging platform, attempted to push his way through the metal top of his containment, and, when the judge put him on a
     table for all to see, he simply slid onto his back and tried to scratch the well-meaning woman who was to measure his worth.
    Suddenly, confusion erupted among the various judges and assistants. A huddle formed around Roadcat, and I went forward to
     see what was happening. One of the assistant judges had lodged a complaint, contending that Roadcat was a purebred and did
     not belong in a pet-quality show. The supreme arbiter was consulted, and her verdict was this: Roadcat was the prototype image
     of a breed called Maine coon cats, descendants of random matings between domestic cats who rode the sailing ships from Europe
     and wild cats of the New World.
    In the American cat shows of the late nineteenth century, the Maine coon cats were the most treasured breed of all. The head
     judge explained that if this had been 1900, Roadcat would have been the perfect specimen.
    But humans are never satisfied with nature, and the Maine coon cats, for reasons not clear to either Roadcat or me, had been
     bred over the decades to have longer noses. Thus Roadcat was held to be something of a relic, slightly out of date, and was
     allowed in the show.
    He scored high on appearance. The judge said, “He has a wonderful coat, a beautiful face, and the largest, prettiest green
     eyes I have ever seen.” But, sliding and fighting and slashing out for the nearest human jugular vein within reach, he received
     a failing grade on the personality dimension and was awarded a fourth-place ribbon. Those green eyes brimmed with nasty satisfaction
     when the judge said, “I’ll bet he’s not like this at home, is he?”
    Back through the midway, past the Ferris wheel, past Willie Nelson’s bus, and home to the woods. He was disinterested in his
     remarkable heritage, slept away his terror, and had nothing to do with any of us for sometime. Gradually, he accepted my apologies,
     and our friendship warmed. But