Margie and the Cake Cat

On August 2, thirty identical cat sculptures painted by thirty different artists were placed in locations around Portland. It’s a project pioneered in the UK by a group called Wild in Art, and in October, when the exhibit closes, the sculptures will be auctioned and the funds given to a local children’s hospital. One of the sculptures (painted by the artist Irene Ramos) is in the little park where Margie and I go to watch children play in the fountain and enjoy affogato from a nearby ice cream shop. 

Margie wasn’t feeling great today. She had to rest on the way to the park; she felt a little dizzy, and she hadn’t had her usual nap at mid-day. We sat on a wall for a while. “Sometimes I’m bored with my life,” she confided. “But at least I don’t have to be bored with other people. That’s the hardest thing. Being bored by other people is the worst.” I agreed.

Eventually we got to the park and had our affogato. First time she ever tasted it, best treat in the world. She was charmed by the newly installed “Cake Cat” and said she wanted to be photographed with it for her daughter Lucy who loves cats. 

The Cats sit on platforms about eighteen inches high. Margie wanted to push her rollator aside and climb up next to the cat, and I was nervous that she might fall climbing up, standing, or coming back down. (See Extra.) She was utterly fearless however, and in the end, with a little help from me, she pulled it off like a woman of fifty-four. Afterwards, she admitted she was tired. 

“I can tell I’m old because I’m tired. How old am I?” 

I said she’s turning 98 in September.  

“Really?” She never believes her age. “That’s old.”

I nodded. 

“When you’re old, you have to stop putting things off. If I want to get up there and touch the cat, I have to do it now. By tomorrow I’ll forget the cat. Or by the time we get back to my place!” She looked at me and laughed. We rested again on the way back to her place. As I waved goodbye, she said, “See you next Wednesday if I’m still here.”