Mali the Walker, Bernie the Stalker

The story of how a young male tabby has tried his darnest to win the affections of our elderly prima donna

Mali-girl is almost 20 years old. In people years, that gives her centenarian status. Much like my husband Michael’s mom, who is almost 101, Mali’s is a peaceful and graceful life.

It didn’t start out that way. She arrived on our porch one morning hungry, bitter and pregnant. She was barely more than a kitten herself. The only thing missing was a cigarette dangling from her mouth to complete a look of haughty, immature indifference.

After several attempts, Michael finally scooped her up and brought her inside, where she gave birth to four kittens two days later. Mali was neither maternal nor friendly. Though young, she was street hardened, suspicious of our motives to care for her, and contemptuous of the four male resident cats. They didn’t exactly throw down the welcome mat either.

Except for our oldest cat, Yellow Man. The moment Mali was done weaning her babies, she summarily dismissed them to pursue their own agendas. And she, hers.

Yellow Man was fascinated by the kittens. Now released from Mali’s dubious care, he became their substitute mother, protector, and friend. Mali’s calico kittens, Flash and Spot, soon became his favorites.

Over the years, new additions — always in crisis — joined our family. When we moved into our new house in east Memphis with nine felines, Mali was the elder tribeswoman. Only Yellow Man, and crotchety, broken-tailed Willie Morris were older. Across time, a cat garden was cultivated in the backyard, with perennial additions planted under whimsical headstones.

As Mali padded into her older years she mellowed. Although she was never what you’d call a devoted mother, she remained a reliable constant in the lives of her twin calicoes, Flash and Spot.

Yellow Man was their favorite go-to family member, but it was Mali who disciplined them. Afterward, she often issued long and affectionate grooming sessions as if to make up for her lack of attention in their younger years.

Today, it’s just Mali and Bernie, the now grown ginger boy who was rescued at a Big Lots store three years ago. When Bernie Uncle Ernie arrived as a four-month-old youngster, he found himself smack-dab in the middle of a feline geriatric assisted living facility. Every cat in the household had medical issues of some sort, all brought on by sheer longevity. All except Mali.

Mali is the equivalent of your super-healthy senior who eats right, gets ample rest, hydrates, and exercises regularly. We call her “Mali, the Mall Walker.” Daily, at precise times, like senior fitness walkers who ambulate local malls, she’ll arise from her lounging area and embark upon a preordained course.

The circuit will wind behind particular tables and chairs; she’ll pad down a well worn path leading to Michael’s office, and then upstairs to mine. The stroll rarely changes, and you can usually set your watch to match her promenade.

Mali’s only interruption is Bernie. Poor little guy has never been around other cats that can match his energy and playfulness. The only living being that comes close is Mojo, our grinning, showboating Aussie-mix, who has discovered cats can be fun. But what Bernie really wants is Mali’s friendship and attention.

Almost as predictable as Mali’s exertive jaunts is Bernie’s unwelcome accompaniment. He’ll glide alongside her, then dart ahead as if to prospect for some possible danger. At other points, he’ll hide behind a drapery or sofa, then suddenly pop out and jump on her back, eliciting howls of screeching protest.

Although super-senior Mali is now softened with age, less haughty and is more approachable, she still desires no truck with Bernie, the stalker. But for him, it’s all in a day’s fun. He accepts her swats and growls amiably, and then resumes stalking her, until the circuit is complete. By that time Mali has clocked her kitty-mile or whatever metric she’s measuring.

Mali, the mall walker and Bernie, the Mali stalker. They’re not enemies but they’re not friends. They neither seek out nor avoid the other. But whatever their relationship, it seems to flow with predictability and without rancor. The two never snuggle together in a furry pile as some of our other cats have done, but occasionally we’ll discover Bernie stretched out in close proximity to his would-be companion.

Some evenings, before the kitchen lights are extinguished, we’ll spy Bernie mirroring Mali — each lying on identical bar stools next to the steel prep table. Each facing the other with limbs arranged exactly alike. It’s said mirroring is a way to bond and build rapport.

Maybe Bernie thinks this behavior, rather than stalking, might fire up an empathetic current, and gain him acceptance into Mali’s world. Although we’re not taking bets just yet, we will stay tuned, because that little miracle just might happen yet.

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