Cats are really delightful animals. They are all sorts of sizes and temperaments, and people love them no matter how devious they might look lording over a home from their favorite spot.
So what could be better than an aged author's recollection of all his cats?
…
Bohumil Hrabal is possibly one of the worst cat owners I have ever read about. The beginning of each chapter starts out much the same. One or more beautiful kittens will make their way into his life. He will press them to his cheek and murmur in soft loving breaths to them. He worries unceasingly about his cats. What would happen if he crashed his car, or if he can't get back to the house for the weekend. Who will take care of his poor beloved cats?
The cats will get up to shenanigans. Nothing abnormal, just the way cats are. And then, by the end of the chapter something changes. Once, he gives a cat to a neighbor. Another time a mother cat suddenly runs away. Usually, a few cats give birth to a new litter of adorable kittens.
Warning for the next section, Hrabal is a terrible terrible cat owner and really shouldn't be allowed to have any. I'll spare you the details.
He kills the cats. And then the rest of the chapter he spends tortured by his own guilt. Rarely does he try to justify his actions, although he does seem to self-flagellate with images of his cats staring on with empty, loveless eyes. In one section he imagines the cat he gave away condemns him for his crimes for three pages detailing how much he had loved his owner.
He begins to believe that his life is guided by a third party. Some devil with their hand on the bridle, leading him around as he destroys cat after cat.
And then, a new chapter begins. A kitten has found its way into his life. She is beautiful, with a perfect face like the cats on the chocolate bars. You can guess how that chapter ends.
Bohumil Hrabal, All My Cats. Translated by Paul Wilson. New York: New Directions, 2019. Koller-Collins PG5039.18.R2 Z4613 2019
