IRL'S WORLD

by Ellen Elaine Potvin

The first beautiful day of the season came on a Saturday in early April. Mr. Potter decided it was a good day to get the lawn and garden equipment ready for the year. Before going to the barn, he opened the window by the deck so that Irl could enjoy the sunshine and gentle breeze too. The ginger and white tabby cat jumped to the back of the chair by the window, then stretched out against the screen in the windowsill, grateful for a comfortable spot for his next nap.

Mr. Potter sharpened the lawn mower blades, changed the oil in the tiller and mower, and was filling their tanks with fresh gasoline when he saw the mail truck pull up across the street. He walked toward his mailbox, waved as the mailman headed toward the next cluster of poles, took out the assortment of magazines, catalogs, and envelopes, and walked back to his yard. He opened the back door, dropped the mail on the nearby chair, and said, "Nothing for you today, Irl."

The sleepy cat opened his marble eyes slightly, and made the little sputtering sound which meant that he didn't want to be disturbed. "Are you enjoying the weather?" Mr. Potter asked. Again, the cat sputtered in annoyance.

Irl had to admit that this was his favorite window since it overlooked the whole backyard, the flower bed, the barn, and the bird feeders. Besides being the sunniest spot in the house, it had the most interesting view. Birds often came to the yard to eat, as did squirrels, and an occasional field mouse. Sometimes a rabbit would hop from beneath the large pine tree. Irl's tail would swish in delight at the sight of these visitors. But today, the only thing that caught his attention was the neighbor's Pomeranian, out for his daily exercise. Irl hoped that Sable would not interrupt his nap by an uninvited visit.

Irl's eyes narrowed again as he raised his head to sniff the air. The smell of freshly-cut grass and barbecued meat made his nose twitch in appreciation. As he started to dose off again, a large gust of wind began to blow. He closed his eyes tightly as the breeze cut through his hair like a brush. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that the room was flooded with light. The back door had blown open in the wind, and was now completely ajar.

Deciding that he was more curious than tired, Irl had to investigate. He jumped to the seat of the chair, eased to the floor, stretched his entire length, and walked to the open door. Sure enough, there it was - the outdoors - with nothing to stop him from entering it. He crouched low as he made up his mind; then, with a decisive purr, he took a step forward, staying close to the floor. He looked to see if Mr. Potter had noticed him, but the man went on working in the barn as before. Irl took several more slow steps, stopped to check Mr. Potter's position, jumped from the deck, and made a run for the pine tree, ducking under its low branches.

In this spot, safely out of view, Irl thought about what he had just done, and what he would do next. In a matter of seconds, he could run up the stairs, cross the deck, and get back in the house without being noticed. Or, he could stay under the tree for a while to enjoy the weather and get a closer view of the birds now gathering at the feeder. He decided there was no harm in waiting and watching, so he crawled to the edge of the boughs to peek out.

Several birds were pecking at the seed, holding their perches securely as the feeders swayed in the breeze. The strings of the wind chime had become tangled, and it gave off a mellow, softened tone. Irl slowly moved out from under the branches of the pine, and inched toward the flower bed, amazed at how distinct the sights and sounds were when one was outdoors.

All at once, there was a flutter of tiny wings as the birds flew off, their position on the feeder taken by a squirrel, who bounded up, holding his bushy tail behind him like a shadow. He began to gobble down the sunflower seeds, dropping as many on the ground as he managed to shove in his mouth. Irl recognized him as the same fellow who had taunted him from the feeder placed outside a bedroom window. How he would like to teach him some manners!

Irl could watch the greedy glutton only so long. Carefully, he moved closer to the edge of the flower bed, keeping low to the warming ground and behind the plants which were shooting upward. When he was within feet of the rascal, Irl gave a great growl, and leapt forward. The squirrel jumped from the feeder to the ground, then took off running with Irl in close pursuit. Irl kept his eyes on his target, following him in and out of yards and across empty lots until the squirrel scrambled up a tree and across the utility wire, leaving Irl stuck high up on the trunk. Looking back for the first time, Irl realized that he did not know where he was.

Inching slowly backwards, Irl made his way down the tree. At the bottom, he looked from left to right, trying to make up his mind which way to go. Nothing looked familiar, so he walked in the direction of some boys who were bouncing and throwing a large ball. Realizing that desperate situations require desperate measures, Irl walked up the driveway to the smallest boy, and rubbed against his leg. This gesture of friendliness was strangely unwelcome, and one of the older boys threw the ball at him.

Irl ran as fast as he could to get away. He crossed several yards, swerved to avoid a bully of a dog on a chain, and headed for the other side of the street. An oncoming car barely missed hitting him, and Irl could feel his heart pounding. He began to realize that the outdoors could be a dangerous place if you were new at it, and decided that he wanted to be indoors again.

He went to the nearest house, a cozy, well-maintained ranch, and began to paw and scratch at the door. When the door opened, Irl immediately jumped up the steps and into a strange kitchen. He knew right away that this was not his house, and the elderly lady who began to speak to him was not Mrs. Potter.

"Well, well," she said. "A little visitor. I don't think I know you. Are you lost? I bet you're hungry, too. I don't have any cat food, but maybe I can find something for you." With that, she went to the kitchen cabinets, took out a saucer, and then, a can of tuna.

Irl began to pace in figure-eights as she prepared the food for her guest. When she sat it on the floor, he ran toward the treat, but stopped short when he smelled the fish oil and realized that this was not his favorite kind of tuna. He wasn't so hungry yet that he failed to be fussy. He walked away, leaving the food untouched.

Eager to correct his mistake, Irl went to the door and meowed. The pleasant, gray-haired lady opened the door, and said, "Good-bye. Come again when you can stay longer," as Irl jumped to the ground, and left her neat, little yard. As he walked along, Irl decided that he should avoid going into unknown places. Perhaps not all strangers were as nice as the elderly lady and the Potters, who had taken him in seven years ago.

Back then, Mrs. Potter had seen the shy animal with the extra-long tail and the white petal-like marking on its back lying among her daisies. After several days, when no owner could be found, the Potters decided to keep the kitten, and named her Daisy. When their teenage son returned from taking their new pet to the veterinary doctor for its first examination and shots, he revealed that "Daisy's not a girl. She's an irl." Thereafter, the cat was called the masculine name with the strange spelling, and through the years, his life with the Potters had, fittingly, been one of privilege.

As cat time is reckoned, Irl was overdue for a nap, but he lacked a comfortable, secure spot. Determined to avoid people for the time being, he noticed a pile of tires beside a garage, and headed for it. He jumped inside, curled up, and was soon fast asleep, safely out-of-sight.

Irl woke several hours later, thinking he recognized the sound of the can opener and the smell of tuna. However, it was only a dream, produced by the distant sound of a lawn-mower, and the smell of the garbage can nearby. What was real was the growing ache in his stomach, an annoying itch behind his ear, and the darkening sky above.

Irl decided to try to find his house by walking around the neighborhood. The problem was, he was not certain what his house looked like. He had been an indoor cat since he was a kitten. He did not know the color or shape of his house, or how large or small it was. He only knew the limited views of the yard from the inside of the windows where he rested.

Irl walked until he was too tired and weak to go on. When it became dark, he took refuge under a shrub just beyond a low porch that blocked the wind. Even so, he was miserable as he compared his bed of pine needles to the soft blanket placed for him on the bed near the window at home.

Mr. and Mrs. Potter were miserable this night too. Irl's absence was discovered that afternoon when Mrs. Potter came home from shopping and found the open door. They had searched the house, then walked the streets calling his name. Mr. Potter was now making signs offering a $50 reward for the "orange and white pet cat - answers to Irl (sometimes)."

Mrs. Potter was trying to read, but found it hard to think of anything except how Irl usually sat on the arm of her chair, rubbing the corner of her book with his head, and making it impossible for her to turn the page or ignore him for long.

"Do you think the reward will help? Do you think we'll find him?" she asked.

"Maybe, but it's hard to find a cat," he replied, wadding up a sheet of paper and throwing it toward the wastebasket, almost expecting the lost cat to come running for his favorite plaything. With a sad smile he added, "for something so basically useless, I sure do miss him a lot."

"That's because he was so amusing - playing with socks and paper balls, begging for treats, sleeping in the cutest positions. I loved to drive up and see him in the window. He gave us a lot of pleasure for very little trouble," Mrs. Potter replied, close to tears.

They went to bed still worrying about their little friend, planning their search for the next day, and missing his nesting ritual on the flannel blanket.

Just after sunrise, the neighborhood paper boy finished folding the Sunday edition. He loaded the papers in his bag, clipped his radio on his belt, and adjusted his headphones. With the ease of a well-established system, the young man walked quickly from house to house, keeping time to the music as he threw the papers to their designated spots.

When the heavy bundle hit the porch near which he slept, Irl woke with a start, and looked up. Though groggy, he immediately felt a vague familiarity with the boy. As the youth moved to the next house and repeated the motion, Irl became certain that he'd seen this odd routine from a window at home. He hurried to catch up.

In and out of yards, back and forth across streets, the unsuspecting guide led the little copycat through the neighborhood. About halfway through the route, Irl noticed a large rock at the end of a driveway. Suspecting that he'd seen it many times before, he became very excited. Energized by the possibility of another acquaintance, and with the endurance of a jungle cat, he ran ahead to get a closer look. As he examined it from the rear angle, he recognized it as his early morning point of view, and concluded that the gray Cape Cod house behind it was his home.

By now, the carrier had thrown the paper on the porch and was continuing down the street. Irl climbed the steps in two big leaps, and he stretched against the side of the house to look in the front window. He recognized the lace curtains and the plump couch set directly in front of them for his benefit. Knowing he'd made it home, he gave a husky purr, and curled up against the newspaper for shelter. Confident and content, he drifted off to sleep again.

As he always did, Mr. Potter woke first, started the coffee, and went to the front porch to retrieve the newspaper. He was startled by the morning's good news - Irl had found his way home. As soon as he opened the door, Irl dashed into the house and began meowing in excited explanation (not to be confused with an apology). Mr. Potter picked him up and held him against his chest to warm him. He called Mrs. Potter, who came running from the bedroom.

"I can't believe it - our kitty's home!" she gushed. "Is he all right? I bet he's starving," she said, rushing off to the kitchen.

Within moments, Irl heard the can opener and smelled the tuna she was placing on the floor for him. Mr. Potter put him down, and Irl ran to the corner in which his plate shaped like a fish was set. He gobbled down the food in a hurry, rubbed the corner of the cabinet in familiarity, and twirled around their legs, his tail swishing in undisguised appreciation.

"I think it's time to sit by the fireplace and read the newspaper," Mr. Potter said. "Come on, Irl, let's see what happened in the outside world yesterday."

Irl gave a slight shudder and followed along. He already knew!

Ellen Potvin lives in Michigan with her husband of 31 years, and works in the health care industry. She has one son and a new granddaughter. After graduating from the local university at the age of 47, Ellen wrote her first children's story, using amusing observations of their family cat, Irl, to teach lessons to young readers.

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