prologue, a story.

I was asked to write a story about myself in the third person as part of the rehearsal/writing/development for Art In Motion by Insurgo Stage Project the group I'm working with here in the states, about which much much more to come.  This was written before I came over so perhaps is more about where I'm coming from, prior to immersion in their intensive process.


She wanted a cat. It wasn't too much to ask. She thought about it a lot, which meant she talked about it a lot. She really wanted one. Some people didn't seem so sure it was a good idea, "after all you spend half your nights with your boyfriend." True, it would have to be a grown cat, and her housemates would have to be ok with it. Her housemates were ok with it, even the one who is allergic to cats, even the one who claims he doesn't like cats.  She has five housemates.  They were all ok with it. She wondered if she could train the cat to go back and forth up the road to her boyfriend's house with her.  A cat she had had years ago at home with her parents had been hit on the road and died and she had stayed home from school and cried for a week and the cat they got after that (after an appropriate mourning period had elapsed) had been with them fourteen years before he died of old age last winter. He used to meet her at the top of her parents lane where her Dad parked the car whenever she came home to visit them.

The people at the cat rescue place sounded like they thought it was a bad idea too. "We take prospective cat owners lifestyle into account when considering possible cats." "How many people live in your house?" They come round and inspect the home to see if it is suitable for cats.

She was scared of the home inspection, maybe it wasn't a good idea, maybe her lifestyle wasn't appropriate.  What if she finally was given an opportunity? her art career might materialise.  What if the cat was hurt or lost and her heart broke?

Weeks before she got up the guts to let the cat rescue volunteer come and inspect the house she wrote in her sketchbook: GET A CAT AND CALL IT RISK. 

After the inspection she lost patience after two days and called them, "Can I have a cat, have you decided?".  They said they had two that might suit her.  Not the pretty kittens or the dainty mama cat, two ex-strays, tough gangster boy cats from the streets of Peckham.  The first one they showed her had lost half his tail in an accident, the rescue vets had amputated it.  It didn't bother him they told her, not Disco, they said, they smiled when they talked about him.  She took him home. Risky Disco, only half a tail. 

Risko went missing a month after she brought him home, in the snow just before Christmas.  Every night for a week in the dark cold she walked the local streets calling.  She told herself the cat didn't belong to her anyway.  If he wanted to be a stray again it was up to him.  She went out again, just to see. 

After Christmas, the snow melted and that day Risko came back of his own accord.