Perfection Is A Fig

The hot July sun beams in through the open window, creating a patch of warmth that Fig happily stretches out on. He yawns lazily, waving his tail slowly back and forth, his fur warm to the touch. Oregon has been on a record stretch of heat, the suburban air scented coconut from sunscreen and summer cocktails enjoyed in the shade. Fig remains content in his heat-induced delirium, a level of relaxation one can only achieve after a lifetime of having nowhere to be and nothing to do. Voices downstairs pull Fig out of his summer daze, he squints his good eye open, wondering if it is worth investigating or not. He lost his left eye many years ago, when he was a kitten, in a fight over something he can’t remember. It took him months to build up the courage to look at himself, scared that such a disfigurement would be too much for others to accept. Now, most days, he likes being different, and he takes pride in the fact that his one eye contains more appreciation for art and culture than most cats have with two. 

The voices downstairs continue, getting louder. Fig lifts his head. They rarely have visitors, certainly not unannounced in the middle of the day. When his owner adopted him from a crowded downtown shelter, he was already well into his sixties, divorced but no children; a fact Fig was grateful for, as too much noise made it hard for him to think. 

Fig rolls over, pressing his paws into the soft, plushy carpet to lift himself up, extending one hind leg out, and then the other. He tiptoes to the top of the stairs, poking his brown and black spotted head in between the banisters to peer down to the foyer. He sees his owner at the door, his voice low and serious, speaking to someone outside, someone Fig can’t see. 

Fig slinks quietly down the stairs, stopping halfway, the person on the other side of the door is talking fast, the room feels tense. His owner keeps the door half-closed, his hand resting on the frame, not inviting the man inside, but politely nodding along to his fevered story.  As Fig descends the remaining steps, he remembers a line from an old movie they had been watching a few months prior, on an otherwise uneventful rainy spring evening.  Fig loves movie nights. His owner only watches the classics and never manages to stay awake for more than 30 minutes of the film, leaving Fig alone to soak up all the magic and possibility of the era. In this particular movie, however, the leading man used a phrase Fig found absurd; he was recounting an event where his romantic interest was becoming agitated with him, and to describe this state of mind he said she “nearly had kittens”. Fig thought it was a little rude to bring cats into it at all. Despite what people may think, most cats carry themselves with pride and stoicism, distressed only in situations that warrant such a reaction.  

Now, as he listens to the frenzied stream of words coming out of their visitor's mouth, he shakes his head. How could kittens be associated with panic or nervousness when it was humans who always seemed to be creating reasons to worry? Mostly over things that had little to no significance whatsoever. 

Filled with a renewed sense of superiority against the foolishness of people, Fig moves towards the kitchen, hoping his owner left out some unmonitored food in his rush to answer the door. On his way, he tries to sneak a glimpse of the man outside. He has to turn his whole head to see, as the front entrance is on his left. All Fig can make out is the man's black dress shoes, and long black trousers, an odd choice for summer he thought, but he supposed people made odd decisions all the time. He also notices his owner's bare feet and slippers, confirming his suspicion that this is an unexpected visitor, as he would never answer the door in those willingly.

The man extends his hand out, holding a small, well-used, black notebook. Fig’s owner hesitates, before grabbing the notebook and thanking the man at the door. Now that Fig has moved closer he can pick up a few of the man's monotone words; he cautions to act without ego and to not seek him out, that he will know when to return. His owner nods for a final time before shutting the door, holding the mysterious book in his hands, staring at it in disbelief. Fig gets a better look and sees that there is something tucked inside the book, something thick. Intrigued all over again, he follows his owner into the living room, food can wait. 

His owner sits down in his usual chair, which has big armrests wide enough for Fig to rest on comfortably. He jumps up, peering over his owner's shoulder to the notebook on the coffee table. They stay like that for a few moments, his owner resting his chin on his hands, contemplating his next move, Fig beside him, impatiently waiting. Finally, his owner reaches out and flips the notebook open, Fig’s eye widens as he realizes what’s inside: cash, bundles of it. His owner grabs the money nervously, counting the stacks out loud as he places them carefully back on the table. $20,000 in hundred dollar bills. 

Fig has never seen so much money before, and he knows his owner hasn’t either. Where did this come from, and why? When Fig lets out a small meow to express his uncertainty, his owner turns to him and gently scratches his chin, “What do you think I should do Fig? Or are you as confused as I am?” A pointless question, Fig thinks. Of course he is confused, but he might be able to help if he had all of the necessary information. Though cats had remarkable intuition, they can’t read minds. His owner picks up the notebook, leafing through the pages. It looks like diary entries, every page starts with a date, and each entry is in unique handwriting. Fig can only understand a couple of words, which he thinks is impressive enough considering most cats can’t read at all. He meows again, imploring his owner to slow down. His owner pauses on the last entry, reading it quietly to himself, Fig listens intently, his ears perk up. 

May 24

It is with great sincerity I express my gratitude to be included in such a significant project, to think of the positive ripple effect this has on communities, and the world is both humbling and energizing. As the father of a young girl with chronic health issues, I have chosen to anonymously donate this money to the children’s ward at my local hospital. No child should have to spend so much of their formative years in a hospital bed, but for those that do, I hope they also have new games, books, and a space full of love, laughter, and light.

Fig let the words sink in, this money was meant to be given, what a beautiful responsibility to have. His owner flips through a few more entries as Fig listens, in awe of the stories shared; stories of suffering and loss, but also optimism and hope, from people who were grateful for the opportunity to give back. Fig looks to his owner, tears are pooling in his eyes. He is a kind man but Fig wonders why he was chosen, perhaps there is a lot he doesn’t know about him. His owner sets the notebook down and leans back into his chair. Fig looks to the book, it seems 10 times larger now that he knows what it contains. How can something so monumental be so small?

Fig moves from the armrest to his owner's lap. He has been given a chance to help, and Fig wonders what he will pick, what has his life been impacted by the most?   His owner opens his eyes, and looks down at Fig, patting his head gently.

“I think I know where this money should go”, he says, answering all of Fig’s unspoken questions. “Before you came into my life, I felt alone a lot of the time. When I  found you, it felt like reconnecting with an old friend, like we had known each other in a previous life. Everyone should have the opportunity to love an animal, so how about we donate this to the shelter you came from? To help other cats like you find people like me?”

Fig stares, mesmerized by the compassion in his owner's voice, he never thought he had helped his owner as much as his owner had helped him. His weariness and cynicism towards humanity melts away as he thinks about the countless acts of generosity this book has created. Perhaps people didn't worry for nothing like he previously had thought. Maybe they just loved too much in a world that rarely made space for such emotions. He purrs loudly, feeling more at home than he ever has. It can be hard for us to think of the positive impact we have on other people, but when it is acknowledged you realize that is our purpose on earth: to love and be loved in return. Fig turns around a couple of times before settling into his owner's lap, feeling sleepy and peaceful. His owner reaches for the notebook and a pen, reading aloud as he writes; 

Fig is a small, Bengal cat with brown and black spots, one eye, long whiskers, and an expressive face that always lets you know exactly what he is thinking.”

Fig smiles to himself. The love letter feels warmer than the sun outside, and his owner's words fill his ears as he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep. He hopes they will fill his dreams too.