A kitten named Michael

 

In the backyard of one of the old buildings on Yoel Street, covered in mud and sparce dry yellow weeds from the last rainy season, sat a girl in a pink shirt, tightly buttoned at her throat, and a long blue skirt. On her feet she had blue rubber boots with penguins on each side, almost obscured by her long skirt, wrapped habitually around her legs to cover as much as possible. Her attire was made complete by a large grey scarf, which clearly used to belong to her father, but never mind that, she thought, it kept her warm.

Over her head, enormous clouds travelled from West to East, carrying the rough winds of late autumn. She raised her head to look at them. How large they were! Could they be even bigger than the whole of Jerusalem, with the shuk and the Old CIty and all the schools and shuls? No, they couldn’t be. Her nose, still freckled from the summer’s sunshine, wrinkled disdainfully at the thought. Nothing could be bigger than Jerusalem. Except, of course, the whole of Eretz Yisroel.

She could not have been more than six, and even though she was tall for her age, her missing front teeth told the true story. She was sitting on a pile of stones, something left behind by the builders almost fifty years before she was born. Across the yard, on thick tight ropes, bedsheets of the neighbours were flapping in the wind, white and pink and light blue. The girl made sure she was obscured by the largest of them all, invisible from the windows of her home behind her back, then carefully took a plastic cup out of her pocket. It was half-filled with milk. She cradled the cup with her hands and blew into it, trying to warm it up. She looked behind her back yet again, then called in a whisper: “Kish-kish! Come here!”

A scrawny kitten crawled out from somewhere between the old stones. It meowed piteously, and she thought it sounded like her baby brother crying. Running up to her, it began to lap up the cold milk with greedy splattering, spilling more than it drank, and sometimes nearly choking. Its face was soaked, his whiskers hanging funnily by the sides of his head. She smiled. If only she could keep the kitten forever… she would have been so happy.

“Shaindl! Shaindale!” – a call came from somewhere behind and above her. – “What are you doing there again? Come home right now! I need you to go buy some milk, we ran out again.”

Her mother moved away from the window, and the girl knew it was time to hide the kitten again. She lifted it carefully from underneath, its front paws dangling in a funny way from side to side, and tried pushing him back into the crack between the wall and the brown caked mud. But it resisted, and sooner than she knew, a strong hand was pulling her up. Her mother stood behind her, little Avreimi on her hip, his slanted eyes looking vacantly past her. His tongue was lolling out, then going back into his mouth, to savour the porridge he just finished eating. It was also smeared all around his little thin lips. Her mother was angry, Shaindl could see that, so she looked down at the cracked blue boots she was wearing, wishing she could become invisible, or at least hide in the cracks like the kitten.

“Feeding that vermin again, are you? Why? Do we have extra food, tell me?! Or do we need fleas on the baby and on all of you?” – her mother looked like she had tasted vinegar. Couldn’t she see how sweet the kitten was?

“It’s just half a cup of milk…”

“It says the Almighty provides for animals. So you should not worry about it. Take Soro and go to the shop, please. We also need a sack of potatoes. And wash your hands!”

There was nothing to it but to obey at once, just like always.

Panting, she dragged the heavy sack up to the second floor, as Soro struggled with the milk. Shaindl really wanted to tell her sister about the kitten, but she knew she would see the same disgusted facial expression as her mother would always make, so she held back. Instead, they chatted about their school, as usual. Later, Leah and Raizel washed the dishes, while she swept the floor, as their mother sent the baby to sleep, then it was time for showers and bed. Their father same back late from his studies, and went straight to the kitchen for his supper, only wishing them a good night from the door of their room. Feeling like all the things were as they should be, Shaindl hugged her pillow and dozed off.

In the morning, Shaindl woke up with great difficulty. Outside, a steely grey sky was pouring streams of water down their windows. Jerusalem rain, sudden and furious, came unexpectedly during the night. She just wanted to stay in bed… but school was waiting. Suddenly, she remembered the kitten. Was it even alive? She had to check before she went to school and maybe sneak it some more food. Her mother stood by the stove in the steamed-up kitchen, stirring a pot of porridge. Her hair covering sat askew on top of her shaved head, and Shaindl looked away. Averimi sat wailing in the high chair, which belonged in turn to all of his older brothers and sisters. The tray was cracked and the foot rest was missing, but it was still functional. Soro wiped his little face with a wet napkin, then kissed him protectively on the large blond head. “Nu, nu, stop crying” – she whispered. Shaindl sneaked a plastic cup from the drawer – and had some water from it, in order to avoid looking suspicious, even though her mother was too tired and moody to watch her. Then she shoved a piece of challa left over from Shabbos into it, then topped it with a tiny bit of milk. Then she carefully lowered the whole thing into her coat pocket. Please, please, don’t let her get caught on being so naughty!

A few minutes later, the girls were already walking towards the school. Buses and cars rushed past, showering them all with muddy water from the puddles. Half way there, Shaindl let out a gasp. “I forgot my math homework! The teacher will scream at me!”

Soro, Leah and Raizel continued walking to school without her, while she ran back, keeping her umbrella in front of her face to avoid being recognized by the neighbours. Surely, her mother won’t be looking for her now – after she left for school with her sisters.

Carefully, she opened the creaking gate, the sound being swallowed up by the downpour. Her skirt was soaked up to her knees by now, so she didn’t bother to pick it up when she squatted down by the narrow crack in the wall of her building to call the kitten. It was so wet that its fur was sticking up in miserable little tufts. Shaindl gathered up the kitten and dried it with her sleeves. Her efforts did not help much, but then she also gave it the remains of the challa in milk. It gulped up the food, then curled up in her arms and started licking its fur, purring like a little tractor. “I should name you, little kitten, so I can pretend that you are really mine. But then if I do, it’ll hurt me so much more if you die here in the rain…” Names make things real, she knew that from her Torah class. Right after the creation, the first man, Adam, walked around the garden of Eden naming all the living creatures, and that’s how we know their names, because the Holy Language doesn’t change, unlike Yiddish, which they spoke at home. There were many ways to say things in Yiddish, but only one way in the Torah language, Hebrew. What can she possibly name the kitten? Not a Jewish name, surely, that would be wrong. But she did not know any other names… there was an Arab woman who worked in the local supermarket, but Shaindl did not know her name. Was it OK to name the kitten after an Arab? Maybe she would be offended?

Suddenly, she gasped. There was another pair of feet right next to hers, except they were clad in sturdy leather boots, decorated with golden leaves and flowers, just like her mother’s Siddur. Somehow, there was no mud on them at all. She lifted her umbrella, then raised her eyes slowly. There was a man standing next to her. He was wrapped in a bright-blue cloak, the colour of the sky in July. Underneath the cloak she could make out a golden-tinted shirt with no buttons, and on his side, she noticed a massive metal sword, reaching down almost to his feet, contained by an intricately embroidered scabbard. The scabbard was decorated with Hebrew letters, and that gave her courage. How could she not have heard him approaching? It must be because of the rain.

“What is your name, girl? – he asked kindly. Shaindl had been taught not to speak to strangers, but this one came with a sword, so she decided not to irritate him, and answered. She just could not stop staring, he did not look like any other man she had ever seen before. The men in her neighbourhood wore only black, and the men on Jaffa Street wore jeans and t-shirts. Nobody, nobody at all wore cloaks in Jerusalem.

“My name is Michael, and I visit little children sometimes. Do you love this kitten?” – He looked like a king, she thought, with the blue cloak billowing out in the wind. Was he Moshiach, maybe? His Hebrew sounded strange, as if he was not quite Israeli.

She was suddenly so afraid that he would realize she’s been a bad girl, disobeyed her mother again, and now she was also late for school, that she stuttered.

“I do…” – she replied, suddenly in tears. – “But my mother doesn’t let me feed it! And it’s going to die without food!” – her chin was shaking, and she felt utterly miserable. The kitten had been so important to her, she did not want to lose its company. “Can you help it, please?”

“Give it to me.” – that sounded like an order, so she passed the kitten into his big hands. His hands looked so perfect, without any dirt, or hairs, or stains. There was something very strange about him, almost unnatural. She looked up again, and realized his face was just as perfect. His round beard looked like he came out of the barber shop this very second. The man named Michael lifted the kitten high up to his face, and whispered something in its ear. The kitten did not seem in the least bit bothered by the man’s strange appearance and actions, and reached up to lick his nose.

“Call him Michael,” – he suggested. – “No, I do not mind. If you do, he will live for as long as cats live usually, at least until your wedding, or maybe even more.”

She stared up in disbelief. “How do you know? Are you Moshiach?”

He chuckled. “I’m not, I promise you.”

“Remember this day, Shaindl. Remember, when you ask, you will always get help, even if it won’t be obvious, like today. Remember!”

He opened his cloak and took out a little metal bowl. He placed it gently in the crack in the wall, and Shaindl realized it was full of cat food. “That should be enough, I imagine.” He put the kitten named Michael down, and touched its nose to the bowl. “Get him some water, it’s important, especially when it’s not raining.”

Shaindl picked up the plastic cup she smuggled from home, and turned around to fill it from a puddle in the middle of the yard. When she turned back, the man was gone, and only the kitten was purring loudly over his new bowl.

Her shock and confusion were so great, that instead of going back to school she went upstairs and told her mother she was feeling feverish, and it was not in the least bit a lie. When she recovered from a long and nasty virus, she was convinced it had all been a dream. Yet, in the slanted rays of the pale December sun, she saw the metal bowl placed carefully in the crack of the wall. It was full of cat food, and the kitten looked well-fed and healthy.

She remembered then, but never, ever told anyone, until many years later her sixteen-year-old granddaughter pestered her with questions about Jerusalem of yore. The girl dismissed it, though, as a quirk of her grandma’s, just like the strange habit of feeding street cats throughout her life.