Nine Lives

“Here you go, this one is yours. I really thought I won’t find anybody for this girl- she is almost all black.”

A woman hands me a four week old kitten, which is too good to be true. The black kitten was almost accessorized with white spots as if by choice of a top-notch fashion designer. The white spot on her chest looked like a tie, and front paws seemed to be in matching slippers. But it was the top of her head that made me fall in love with her. She seemed to be wearing a beret which accented her ears and made her look so sassy and full of class.

“What are you naming her?” – The woman asked.

“Libby” – I smiled, “Libby Katz is getting her tenth life.” The woman waved good bye, not really caring about my odd answer. But to me that answer was really for my own benefit. And to me this Libby Katz will forever remain linked with the woman behind that name.

They called her the cat of nine lives. The first time I saw her in the fall of 1992, she was fit and feminine like a typical Parisian. Her black hair was cut in a style of Mirelle Mathieu and her tight black pants highlighted her exquisite figure. Libby Katz was reciting a poem on stage. That in itself is not an extraordinary act for a college professor; however, no professor could follow this performance. Madame Katz was under the grand piano, performing improvisational movements together with a male student, who followed her French stanzas with their English equivalent. A young girl accompanied the declaration with a modern piano piece.

The Intercultural Poetry Presentation had many student and faculty performers in twelve languages, but there was no question of who the star of the show was. Everybody knew Libby Katz, students flocked around her, and most of them did not take any classes from her. People were always giving her things to read, usually their original works, asking for recommendations, offering and asking for help. Many times the help from Libby came in the form of a rhetorical question, given with a French accent and a mischievous smile. Faculty valued her opinions and jumped at a chance for collaboration with her, and those chances were many.

Libby loved to mix mediums and break norms. She worked tirelessly to prove to the world that a play in French is educational, achievable, and marketable to the general public. She brought out the cultural identity and pride in people that prior to her acquaintance chose to conceal and minimize it in their struggle to fit the mainstream of American culture. She heightened the awareness of her students about the world. Libby’s personal experiences with European history could not be matched by any text books.

“My first life was Russian” – she would grin, “but I lost that one as a kitten, when mother fled to Romania. My second life was Romanian, and my third one is Yiddish. My grandfather spoke Yiddish to me, and he taught me to pray in Hebrew. From him I have found out that the name Katz does not mean cat as in German, but rather stands for Cohen -Tzadik- a Righteous Priest, and commands us to be righteous. I was greatly disappointed in that discovery. Then there was my French life, I still repeat that one periodically when I visit those in my family that survived the Holocaust.”

Languages and events were as many in her life as the cats in her care. There were cats in her home, stray cats on campus, and cat images surrounding her persona. “I didn’t have dolls to pay with when I was growing up, so instead I dressed my cat Moses in doll clothes.” Now she dressed and accessorized herself with cat sweaters cat pins cat earrings and watches and so on. She even gave out cat smiles for grades.

Libby’s casual stroll through the college campus could bring together people that would seem to have nothing in common. Some of those casual introductions resulted in portraits and landscapes, new formed musical ensembles, and theatre troupes. Sometimes they secured future employment or created a new international company.

Despite the fact that the whole city knew Libby Katz, nobody really knew her. The stories about her personal life were tactfully humorous and evasive. She kept people guessing and loved wandering on her own as cats do. When she wasn’t on her own she was in a group of three or five. The group always included someone odd. On their own, these people could be branded nerds, geeks, gays, weirdoes and so on, but around her they were cool. Looking at the group you couldn’t help but stare and fail to guess these people’s age, class and occupation.

By 1995 the whispers were spreading.

-How old do you think she really is? She told me she came to the States as a teenager. That’s quite a window of opportunity.

-I don’t know but I heard she had something done.

-Did you see that new hair style?

-Spiky and hip Halle Berry style, a true Catwoman, yes I did.

-She put on some weight, and I heard she is not teaching the Holocaust class next term.

-Really? I loved that she wore yellow to most classes as a statement.

Only a few close friends and family knew that simultaneously with the whispers Libby’s breast cancer was spreading again. Fewer still knew that the surgeries were not face lifts. And almost nobody knew that it was a challenge for her to remain Madame Katz.

In the fall of 2003 Madame Katz retired with a bang. Everybody knew that for this young cat this is life number nine, but we all smiled and wished her well. Libby planned a retirement party which included performances and speeches from her co-workers, former and current students, and members of the community. Her solos and duets in the group numbers with the Jewish Choir and the music faculty gave yet another insight into her many lives. For months after that night people talked and smiled about Libby’s belly dancing or her tango with the primary of the local ballet. Many will never forget her final stage entrance. She was carried in by the most distinguished professors in her department, riding high in a cat litter made from a tin tub covered with intricate lace, and gave out awards for most people present at her last show.

Her friends still talked about Madam Katz’ retirement bash at her memorial service in December of that year. The college choir performed better then ever, people reminisced and joked, and everybody was looking for a sign that Libby Katz is still with us.

Today, two years later I believe that she is. Maybe because my kitten is dressed so similarly to her, but mostly because I believe that the deeds of the righteous live on in those they have touched. I am constantly reminded that Madame Katz has really become that Kohan-Tzadik her grandfather wanted her to be. I can see it in many plaques around campus that carry her name. Her spirit still lingers in the house she lived in, which she left to the institution which was truly her home. Her wisdom and educational practices live on in the language lab that carries her name. And generations of students will spread out her wisdom for years to come.

05.2006