I Dreamed of Cats and Papa

I got a book for my birthday this year. Hemingway’s Cats an illustrated biography of the life and loves of ‘Papa’ Ernest Hemingway. It’s a great read with many photos, especially of Papa and his cats. He was a cat fancier as were several of his wives, which made for interesting nicknames he would give to the women in his life. I felt a bond to Papa. We both wrote, both were named Papa, both made Florida our home at some stage in our lives, and we both enjoyed the company of felines. I could go on and on with more similarities, but I think you understand why I would feel a sort of kinship with one of the greatest writers of our day.

So I put the book away for the night, and readied for bed. Sleep came quickly, and dreams followed. I dreamed I was one of Hemingway’s cats. Papa gave me the nickname of 'F. Feather Puss'. I was a white, long-haired cat with glowing yellow-green eyes. F. Feather Puss. Honestly, as handsome a cat as one could wish for. I was a pleasing cat to Papa, and he loved me for my attentive nature. I would dine at the table with him, and Papa would make sure that I had my favorite meal available at all times. A daily cheeseburger was my reward for being such a trustworthy friend and companion. Papa suffered from manic depression, and I saw it as my job to make his life happier.
And when Papa would retreat to his upstairs studio after dinner to work on one of his novels, I would follow him inside and sit by his chair. He would peck out words on his typewriter, then alternately stroke my hair. My purr was all that Papa needed to smile.
Like all stories do, they end before we are ready to let them go. So, this morning I awoke and instead of my daily walk, I cooked myself a cheeseburger, opened a bottle of Dry Creek Valley Cabernet Sauvignon 2004, and took it all outside and had breakfast on the porch.
As I finished my meal, drank the last swallow of this wonderful wine, and stroked my cat Bubs on his head, I could hear Feather Puss purring deep within my being.