Catstronaut

Part 1

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. After a long enough time in transit, it can feel like that’s all there is. This vessel is my home. But also my prison. And my hope. But transit here, in this part of space, doesn’t really feel like transit at all. After all, transit is really only marked by the passing of space and time. Without a frame of reference to focus on, I cant tell if either space or time are passing. Though I breathe every moment, each moment is so unremarkable that it feels as though it never happened at all. This is the undiscussed consequence of the vast vacuum of space. I suppose that is why the Company has gifted me with a feline companion. My Cosmo. My Catstronaut, as it states on his vest.

A cat is a curious thing – both in his existence and in his actions. Perhaps that, too, is why the Company mandated a Catstronaut for this voyage. When he and I have no other purpose but to exist as stewards of this vessel, it’s his unceasing curiosity that keeps us alive with fascination, joy, and a sense of wonder. For while I can quickly bore of the passing of distant stars, it remains ever-novel to him. And, in one of many forms of symbiosis we share, his fascination never bores me.

Castronaut-659 is his official designation. Such an austere name betrays the life that this orange-tabby feline brings into every chamber of this vessel.

So it was only fitting that he have a name representative of the place where all known life exists. The Cosmos.

He is Cosmo most of the time. I only use the more formal Cosmos when I want to bridge his name with the time old tradition of pursing my lips together and make high pis-pis-pis sounds.

Standing about thirteen inches tall at the shoulder and about twenty inches from the tip of his brown-red rose to his slender tail, he is no kitten. His large, inquisitive yellow-green eyes are canted ever-so-slighty up where they meet the ridge of his nose, giving him a slightly drowsy look that persists even when he is not alert.

Perhaps he was intentionally engineered that way. I know nothing of his origin – just as I am sure he knows nothing of mine – but anything can be made or modified these days. His face is comforting to me. I can understand why the Company might engineer those features. Or perhaps this is just his natural, Darwinian created design.

Befitting his name, his orange coat – the parts uncovered by his blue mesh vest – bears an unusual swirl pattern on both sides of his ribs and stomach. Though it disappears in part behind his vest, the pattern of orange, burnt orange, and an autumnal brown has always reminded me of the Milky Way galaxy: a central hub of burning orange with spokes of swirling arms.

That cosmological marking has left me to wonder whether my dear Cosmo really is engineered in some manner. If so, why? Has it only been to add cute little touches to endear him to me? Was he engineered for a specific purpose or for this voyage? Sometimes I even allow myself the hubris to believe he has been specially engineered to be my companion and protect my sanity on this sojourn of ours.

At times that ponderance saddens me. It feels as though it cheapens the grand companionship he and I have developed.

Yet even then would knowing that have changed our relationship? Would it have stopped me from carrying on (nearly) unilateral conversations with him? Would it have halted a toothy grin exploding across my face when he comes bounding into one of the many chamber of this vessel when I have spent long hours laboring to maintain continuous operation of this, our home?

No, certainly not.

Not even for an instant after his first meow at me after we disembarked on our lonely traverse of the stars.

I remember our first discussion vividly.

“Mreow” inquired the Castronaut as he entered my sleeping chamber after finishing his first auto-dispensed meal. He didn’t quite meow. He has so many different variations of the stereotypical meow – many of them made with a raspy gurgle.

“I was wondering when I would hear from you. I was getting worried we may only coexist on this ship.” I knelt down to him and chuckled at my own fleeting humor.

“Ships passing in the night. How ironic that would be, Catstronaut-659? The Company goes through the presumably enormous effort of ensuring you are capable of enduring interstellar travel as my fateful companion and then we develop only the most superficial of bonds. Which I guess it to say, no real bond at all.”

He stood in at the threshold of the chamber, looking directly at me. In that moment I had two thoughts that ran to me before I brushed them away for later contemplation. He was clearly engaging directly with my eyes. Such a curious thing that he did not look at my leg, or my chest, or even my wiggling fingers, but made took an earnest gaze into my eyes. Again something I found comforting. Yet this was offset by the discomforting reminder that Cosmo had no issue with the artificial gravity that was created by the centripetal force of the vessel. Though I had not known many cats, I wasn’t aware of a single one that enjoyed a spin. Though it became nearly imperceptible to me, I am sure Cosmo had awareness of it. Yet he was unbothered.

I knelt down to his level, beckoning him to me with a slightly outstretched hand. To my amusement he pranced over without the slightest hesitation. His whiskers, which were longer than I could remember ever seeing on a cat, brushed my hand momentarily before he rubbed his cheek against my index finger.

As he did so and tilted his head upwards while carrying though the motion with the rest of his body, I noticed his markings.

“Now isn’t that interesting? I’ve never seen a cat with markings like yours.”

I continued to examine his coat and took full advantage of his friendliness to stroke his back. It had the softness of down feathers.

He turned back on himself to circle back for a follow-up caress. He stopped, assumed a statuesque sitting position with his front legs stacked nearly vertical over his rounded orange-brown paws and looked up at me.

What was going on behind those eyes of his? Was he reciprocating the examination and assessing whether I would be worthy of companionship?

Or was he just looking for more food to be dispensed? Unbeknownst to him, to ensure his longevity as my companion, he was on a strict and measured diet that, apart from a limited amount of treats I had access to, was dispensed solely by the vessel’s automated systems. The same was the case for my sustenance. There would be no wasted calories on this trip.

I stepped to the side to get a better angle of Cosmo’s markings. He merely tracked me with his head, eyes ever inquisitive, but without any other movement.

I ran my fingers through his down-like fur along his back and sides. “Did they pick you for this trip because of your pattern here?”

The catstronaut let out a chirp that I chose to believe was his answer to my question.

This set the course for so many conversations I would have with the Catstronaut. Whether speaking to him or at him – or the ship – he would engage with me through vocalizations best described as chirps, mirps, yowls, and of course his raspy meows.

“ We have to find a new name for you. You have too much character to have a label instead of a name.” I returned his eye contact and moved my head around to maintain it as he titled his.

How do you feel about ‘Galaxy’?” His stare at me continued uninterrupted and without response.

“Hmm. What about Milky? No, no, that does a disservice to you. Star? Moon? Spiral?” The catstronauts’s head tilted slightly, but no other response. I continued stroking him.

“Do you prefer something more specific? More scientific?

Kuiper? Doppler? Maybe something grander? Astro? Cosmo-” he interrupted with a chirp.

“Oh, Astro? Or Cosmo-” again he interrupted with a chirp.

“Cosmo is what you want?”

He chimed in with a chirp once more, but with a raspy drawl to it. I remember smiling.

“Cosmo, it is.” I patted him lightly on the head. He pushed his head back into my hand.