Nicodemus

I am called “Nicodemus,” by my human companion. My own people gave me the name “Follows the Sun,” when I began my travels with him. It is unusual for a member of my Clan to be renamed in adulthood, but when I made my kinsmen understand the magnitude of the journey we intended, nothing else would serve.

I am of the Folk, and of course, of the Clan of Cat, we of nine Life-Walks, upon the earth and under the sun. My kind have become companions to the Clan of Man since the morning of the world. When our human companions travel, we commonly accompany them.

I was little more than a new-weaned kitten, just beginning my seventh Walk, when a young human woman named Polly literally snatched me from the jaws of a couple of large dogs who had me trapped in a corner in Craven Street, London. I didn’t know her name then; those of my kind learn human ways of talking about things by listening to them.

Polly’s home was an enormous (to me) pile of bricks in the central part of the city, where she lived with her mother Margaret.

There was also an elderly human male living there in some rooms upstairs, who was called “Benjamin” by household members and certain of his friends. All others were invited to refer to him as “Doctor Franklin,” or “Sir.”

Then too, there was an old orange cat of uncertain temper, who answered to “Erasmus.” ‘Rasmus, as he was most often called, gave me to understand from the moment I entered, that the Craven Street house was his personal territory, and that no interlopers would be welcomed.

I fled up the stairs from his wrath, very nearly tripping the somewhat rotund Dr. Franklin, who scooped me up with great hilarity, and popped me into the pocket of his waistcoat. Erasmus flipped his bristling tail, turned on his heel and stalked stiffly away, clearly irritated that anyone might presume to interfere in his affairs.

“Well, well little fellow!” Franklin chortled “What are you doing running up the stairs under the feet of others so much larger than yourself? And you such a handsome gentleman, with your copper eyes, and coat of proper British grey!”

“That mean old ‘Rasmus chased him, Benjamin,” puffed Polly, quite out of breath. “And I’ve just barely managed to save him from a pair of wild dogs outside! I wish something could be done about those mongrels. A person of full size is hardly safe, let alone a stray kitten.”

“I concur,” replied Franklin. “I was set upon by one of them only yesterday, and if I had not laid about me with my stick, would have been badly bitten. It is most fortunate for this little fellow that you came along when you did.

“I’ve a suggestion: Place him in my care, if you are willing. I will set up a sandbox for him in my rooms, and feed him there. He need never again encounter the estimable Erasmus.”

“Oh thank you, Benjamin!” she answered in relief. “I just can’t put him back out on the street. He’d not last a day.”

“There will be no need for that, my dear. He and I will get on together quite splendidly, I’m sure! I shall go back upstairs and deposit him safely there immediately. Then I suppose I had better cast about for a suitable box.”

Thus did I become the lifelong companion of Benjamin Franklin, he whose name shines so brightly among his fellow men. He bestowed the name “Nicodemus” on me later that same day, and I have gladly answered to it always, although he referred to me as “Old Nick,” with about equal frequency.

I have now almost completed seven of the nine Life-Walks, upon the earth and under the sun, which the Spirit Above decreed for my kind. In none of them have I ever had a more worthy human partner than Benjamin.

Where other men look straight ahead and see very little, Benjamin looked about him, and strove always to discover things no one else had yet seen.

This is not to infer that he had no bad habits. No indeed!

Incredibly, he would each day shed his clothing and stand unclad before his open windows, thus scandalizing all who passed by. This in the depths of winter! I learned early to recognize the signs that he was about to commence this performance, and quickly burrow beneath the quilts on his bed.

Neither my reactions, nor the frantic remonstrations of Margaret the landlady, could persuade him to forbear. He insisted that his actions were “healthy,” and that it was “good for him” to breathe the cold air.

He may have had something of a point; Benjamin had even then seen many, many summers. My kind do not commonly count that high.

Benjamin held a place of unparalleled respect in the hearts of his own Clan. Always. He was sought out by them almost daily, and asked to give his opinion on topics so many and varied, that it is impossible to remember them all.

He understood the lightning that flashes when the sky is troubled, and had once captured it in a glass jar. Those who sail on the sea consulted him concerning the currents of the ocean, which he also seemed to understand.

He devised an appliance of glass and wire that when set on the nose, can brighten the sight of the aged. He made also the iron stove, which makes houses so much warmer in winter.

His fellows inscribe his words in black marks upon the leaves of the books that humans read, so that many may know them.

He can speak of the mysterious ways of the Spirit Above, and has them all collected in a great black book from which he read on quiet afternoons when we had no visitors. When visitors did come to his rooms, and they were many in those days, they called him “Sir,” and “Doctor,” and inclined their heads to him.

The understanding of one Clan of the Folk by another may well fall short, but I do not believe the Clan of Man can boast many others whose accomplishments can match his. If there are, I have never encountered them in any of my Walks. I count it an honor to have spent my Walk as his companion.

The rooms in the house in Craven Street were our home for two summers after I came there. I never had any cause to regret our alliance. Whether by chance or kind Providence, ours was a good match.

Benjamin was from the very first a fine custodian of my needs; he spent much time with me that could have been devoted to his other pursuits, and groomed my fur daily with a brush that our landlady Margaret provided. I ate from the family table and never knew any want.

If only my own viewpoint were to be considered, I would have been quite contented to stay there in Craven Street for the rest of my life. But, as Benjamin often observed, nothing can long remain unchanged; our world moves beneath us, whether we will it or not, and our lives with it.

It was at about this time, that Benjamin began to be more and more troubled about matters that were, at least in the beginning, strange and difficult for me to comprehend. His entire mood became one of concern and worry.

Different visitors began to come to the house in Craven Street then, men who were uninterested in his thoughts on the sea and the sky. These visitors spoke words like “Tyranny,” and “Liberty,” and many more which held only vague meaning for me.

Some of the new visitors were serious and grave; others grew quite angry. All spoke the name “George,” over and over. They wanted something of my companion, or perhaps were advocating something, which he was not quite ready to give.

Benjamin was himself extremely disturbed by whatever acts this “George” was committing, but would always shake his head and smile gently, and counsel patience.

Some of the visitors seemed satisfied to accept his refusal with good grace, but others would throw their hands in the air and angrily depart. When this happened my companion would pace back and forth before his windows, sometimes for hours.

“They are good men Nicodemus, but they expect answers to every difficulty within the hour,” he would finally say to me. “That can never happen in any real and actual world. Diplomacy between reasonable men is yet far from exhausted. Until it is, we cannot think of separation. These people are our kinsmen; they are our blood!”

Towards the end of this troubled time, Benjamin applied for and was given permission to speak before a group of humans who were close confidants of this “George.” He knew that “George” was guilty of the many iniquities brought to his attention by the angry visitors, but had become convinced that a direct, well-reasoned entreaty might bring reconciliation.

His hopes of a peaceful resolution were destroyed however, when these men, who were called “Privy Council” by Franklin and his friends, insulted him and gave him grave and public affront. They refused even to allow him into the presence of this villainous “George.”

I had not even known that such a person existed among humans: a “high one” who considered himself entitled to force his will upon the others of his Clan. A “George” would have most definitely not been tolerated within the Clan of Cat. He would have been shunned and made to live his life as a pariah.

My kind recognize no rank among us; each of us determines his own destiny, unhindered. Responsibility for the consequences of our life-choices also remains strictly with the individual. The Clan of Cat has always lived and died by these principles.

I came gradually to understand, that my companion Benjamin wanted to make it so among his own Clan of Man, as well. He indeed desired it so fervently, that he was willing give up all that he had and even to die, if only he could procure this state of affairs for himself and all his Clan.

This then, was the illusive “Liberty,” so often spoken of by my companion Benjamin and his friends. With this key in hand, I began to understand much more of Benjamin's affairs.

My estimation of his worth grew yet higher, as I came to know and comprehend these things. One who seeks his own comfort and pleasure is common; one whose first thought is always for the betterment of his fellows is sublime.

Such a one lives his life in a higher place. Such a person was the American, Benjamin Franklin, my partner and companion. I was proud to walk beside him.

More bad news then arrived in the form of a letter from Benjamin’s home city of Philadelphia: piled atop all his other adversities, Benjamin now learned that his wife Deborah had died from a stroke, some weeks earlier.

Men came to our rooms in Craven Street shortly thereafter, and began to pack all of Benjamin’s clothing and belongings into trunks and boxes.

There were tears from Margaret and Polly, but to no avail. Benjamin was determined to depart from the place where he had been humiliated, and held in such light regard.

“Where Liberty dwells,” he said in his kind, sad voice, “There is my country.”

I began to worry lest he leave me behind, but then I saw my dishes, my brush, my favorite blanket, all put into one of the trunks. His destination was mine then, wherever that might be.

“Nicodemus,” he said to me with more of a twinkle in his eye than I had seen there for a whole season. “Nick, my excellent friend, you shall accompany me back to my home and loved ones, whom I have greatly missed. You will like the society of Philadelphia much better than what you have seen here, I assure you!”

“Very well then,” I thought. If he and I were not to be parted nothing much would change, after all. Perhaps his Clan fellows in this “Philadelphia” might see him paid the respect to which I knew he was entitled.

If so, I bid farewell with no regrets to London. We were well out of it, for my part. I’d not waste my time in looking backward.

Our boxes and trunks were carried down the stairs and into the street, where they were loaded onto a horse-drawn carriage. Tearful goodbyes were made to our good landlady and her daughter, and then Benjamin picked me up and stepped up into the conveyance.

I never saw Margaret or Polly again, and I missed them, for my remembrances of them were good ones. They loved Benjamin as I did, and treated him always with respect and affection. It was a pity that the rest of the Clan of Man in England could not have learned from them.

Erasmus though, I did not particularly miss. Perhaps his temperament would be improved, now that he had his house to himself again. If so, I wished him the joy of it.

There are several miles of indifferently maintained cobblestones between Craven Street and the Billingsgate quays below London Bridge, and I felt every inch of them. Every few seconds, I would be thrown into the air as the wheels of our carriage vaulted over stones or fell headlong into great holes in the surface.

Finally I fastened my claws into Benjamin’s thick cloak to hold on, while he steadied me with his hands. In this wise I contrived to reach the mooring where our ship awaited, with my spirit still barely inside my body.

Benjamin had booked our passage on a packet-ship bound across the sea for New York some days earlier. That her captain wished to set out as quickly as possible accounted for our hurry to be out of London. If we missed our sailing by so much as a minute, weeks might go by before we could secure another berth.

Since a voyage of thirty days at sea was accounted a swift crossing to New York, we were as anxious as the good Captain to be away. Benjamin was eager to see his home. I had never before been afloat, and was more eager to have the somewhat frightening voyage over.

The Clan of Man are builders by nature. It is said by my own kind that if a human sees two stones, he will pile one upon the other before he moves from the spot. They live in huge houses of wood and stone that come near to touching the clouds, and these are far from the only vast and beautiful things they erect.

Yet of all the marvels they build, their ships are the grandest. They are enormous, requiring the wood of many trees to construct. Masts made from more trees, or the bare trunks of them at least, reach into the sky from their flat decks, and on these are raised the white sails that hold back the wind and give the ship its power of movement.

All our baggage was taken from the coach, while the ship’s captain held up his gold watch significantly, and was taken aboard the vessel by hurrying men and carried below the deck.

We boarded, as orders were shouted and obeyed, sails were spread, and the tide started us down the Thames, all in the space of scarcely five more minutes. Our long journey had begun.

The Thames was wide; indeed until that moment I had never imagined that so much water existed in the whole world. But the Thames is not the sea. Oh no!

I once leapt up while Benjamin and the Captain were discussing some topic or other, and saw the chart upon the latter’s table. The blue expanse that lies between England and America is many, many times broader than the space covered by the entirety of Britain.

My kind do not commonly navigate by water. Our maxim is that one should have four firm, dry places on which to depend: one for each of his paws.

We were forty days afloat, before coming at last to the New World. There fortunately were none of the storms I had feared, though the food was abysmal. The crew however, were uniformly friendly to me.

I found gainful employment during all this time, the ship being overrun with large brown rats. I had paced out the deck on our first day of travel, and found that it stretched fifty times my own length including tail; I am certain there were at least two rats for every one of the fifty.

I set to work immediately to reduce their numbers as much as I could. Each time I dispatched one of these vile things, I would bring it on deck and present it to the ship’s Mate, who would laugh heartily and play a jig on his fiddle in my honor.

Soon the sailors were reserving choice bits of their own food for “Old Nick,” and all had a friendly greeting for me whenever we met.

It was thus a much pleasanter voyage than it might have been, but I was still glad to be ashore, when we at last touched dock in New York.

From the mooring we boarded a ferry to the Elizabethtown shore, and then set out by coach once more. At Trenton we came to what was called a “river,” but was in no way equivalent to the Thames. Here we made a minor crossing by a flat ferry which was pulled across by ropes, and continued on.

By now I was as heartily tired of our coach as I had been of the ship on which we had crossed an entire sea. Human conveyances are ill designed for the comfort of cats, and according to Benjamin, pay scant attention even to that of their owners.

All journeys do end, however horrendous though they may be, and we came at length to Benjamin’s old home. This was a comfortable dwelling on Market Street in Philadelphia, near the shore of the Delaware River. We were greeted there by his daughter Sarah, who was usually called “Sally,” an attractive woman of about thirty summers, and her husband Richard.

Sarah and Richard had lived in the house with their two children, since the death of her mother Deborah the previous winter. Richard backed away from my friendly approach; Sarah picked me up and made much of me, calling me a “fine fellow.”

I liked Sarah immediately, but Richard I thought too much concentrated upon his money, and thus uninterested in the company of cats. I was indifferent; it was his loss.

There was still more bad news, however: the minions of “George” had apparently crossed the sea from England and arrived ahead of us. The whole Clan of Man in Philadelphia was in a state of high alarm, talking of nothing else.

George’s men were clearly dangerous, and apt to unprovoked violence. They wore red to distinguish themselves from others, and adamantly opposed Benjamin’s notion that the Clan of Man should acquire the “Liberty” so desired by him and his friends.

Although I did not know it on that day, they had in fact been in the New World for some time, in a city called Boston, marching about in their red clothes and causing trouble. Their presence was considered quite onerous.

If they believed the Clan of Man should not have “Liberty,” what must they think of the Clan of Cat, who have enjoyed it since the beginning of time? I made up my mind to avoid these Red Men at all costs.

Benjamin was a member of a society or club in Philadelphia which was called “The Patriots,” or “Congress.” These men were some of his closest friends, of whom he often spoke in high terms. They visited him often at the Market Street house.

I grew rather fond of the tall man called “Jefferson,” who had orange hair and liked cats. I also liked “Madison,” a small, dapper, rather quiet human, of a firm but polite nature. They most often came to the Market Street house in the evenings, and would join Benjamin in a glass of his favorite Madeira wine. Jefferson in particular would always pause to give me a polite “And a very good evening to you, Nick,” followed by a scratch behind the ears. I would purr loudly then, where I lay in Benjamin’s lap.

“Congress” began to meet every day during this period, in a brick building four blocks away on Chestnut Street. This edifice abutted a broad green square, and had a tall tower with a great bell at the top. I thought of it in my own mind as the “Place of the Bell.”

It was a short walk from home, even at Benjamin’s limited rate of travel. I walked there with him every day, though he did not at first permit me to come inside. It became my morning habit to accompany Benjamin to his meeting, and then return to the Market Street house.

There was quite enough to occupy me at home. Sarah’s son Ben was a playful boy of six summers, and I spent much time with him. He was not prone to the sometimes cruel ways of young boys, and was a delightful playmate.

There was also ample opportunity to see to it that the house remained free of the various rodentia, as well as time for essential catnaps.

We had lived there about six weeks when riders came from Boston. Soon all of Philadelphia was shouting the news they brought: George’s Red Men in Boston had escalated their violent behavior against their fellow members of the Clan of Man.

On the same day this story reached us, I received a communication from those of my own kind, the Clan of Cat in America. I will not reveal how this was done, such being a secret closely held by my kinsmen. We have our own ways, and they are not for others.

I was asked to begin accompanying Benjamin into his meetings with the group of his associates called Second Continental Congress. I relayed Benjamin’s reluctance to allow me inside the meeting place, but the plea was most urgent.

The acts now being committed by the various factions within the Clan of Man had become alarming to all the Clans of the Folk. It was therefore judged essential that the Clan of Cat be represented, if only by a silent observer.

Therefore, on the morning of the next day, when Benjamin and I reached the door to the place of the Bell, I did not turn back for home as had been my wont. I sat instead upon the stones at his feet and locked eye contact with him, blinking solemnly and twitching my tail. Several long moments passed.

He finally shook his head as if amused, and smiled fondly down at me. “Very well, Nick,” he said. “Come along then. You’ve as much at stake in this as anyone else, I suppose.”

He forthwith bent and picked me up in his arms, and strode into the meeting place as if it were the most common occurrence in the world, to attend the Second Continental Congress with a large grey cat under one’s arm.

His fellow Delegates smiled, and a couple of men chuckled, but none paid more attention than that to my entry into what would soon come to be called “Independence Hall”.

Looking back, I suppose it was no odder than a hundred other things his fellows had seen him do. He was after all, Benjamin Franklin, respected by all. He was the very soul of their association. He was, in many ways, The American.

We crossed a central vestibule and entered a hall filled with tables and chairs, all facing a taller table, behind which sat a frowning human in a gold trimmed velvet jacket, over an ornate brocaded waistcoat.

He looked up from the papers he was examining to smile at us. “Doctor Franklin,” he greeted Benjamin. “Accompanied by your bodyguard today?”

“Indeed, Hancock! Haven’t you noticed, the streets are no longer safe? I believe I shall require Nicodemus’ services in that line every day, now. I promise he will cause no more disturbance than I do myself.” His friend Hancock chuckled and shook his head at this assurance.

Benjamin set me on the table before his chair, and admonished me: “Mustn’t stray or get under feet now, Nick. If you are to attend Congress, you needs must be attentive.” Since I intended to do precisely that, I blinked solemnly, and flipped my tail.

My first days as a member of Congress were spent in listening to a litany of hotly vitriolic comments upon the violence of the Red Men, interspersed with proposed solutions. Everyone there wanted to stand and speak at once.

Some counseled further attempts to make them see reason; others advocated more direct methods.

I found it all rather futile. Much more would be needed, I knew. I had seen England. I knew of the vast throngs of men who lived there. They were as numberless as the stars in the sky, and their nation held gold enough to equip them all.

A few weeks later there came an answer. I was once again perched upon my companion’s table, when two cousins, both called “Adams,” proposed that the various groups of volunteers and Militia now encircling the Red Men in Boston be joined together. They would now become one official Army, and fight for the Liberty of the whole Clan of Man in America.

And the Adams’ brought forward another idea: If our enemies, the Red Men, were led by a “George,” then we must have a “George” of our own. And our “George” would be to theirs as light was to darkness. He would fight to procure for the Clan of Man what Benjamin had always sought: the precious, illusive “Liberty.”

They presented to the Congress a tall, solemnly dignified man in a blue military coat with gold buttons, and proposed that he become the commanding “George” of our army.

At this Benjamin rose to his feet and shouted his approval, in which all his friends in the Congress joined him a moment later. The place of the Bell rang with their cheers.

Our George, in his blue coat, the one surnamed “Washington,” would be the General who led all our fighting forces against the Red Men, in Boston or wherever else they might appear.

Our farmers and shopkeepers would be trained, John Adams said, supplied with all their needs, and ultimately all would wear blue coats to distinguish them from the Red Men of British George. They would be the “Blue Men,” who fought for the rights and freedom of the Clan of Man in America.

I blinked solemnly, and twitched my tail. Though it was an excellent start, the actual undertaking would, of course, not be that simple. Nothing involving humans ever is. Personally, I rather doubted that even the required numbers of blue garments could be quickly provided.

We of the Clan of Cat do not like to fight, but when we must, we do it, without wasting time in endless talk. An official vote followed. The Congress did not ask for my vote for our new “Blue Men” or for their General, George surnamed Washington, but they received it nonetheless. It was no less enthusiastically given than that of Benjamin, the cousins Adams, or of Jefferson. I gave a fierce growl of approval.

It was indeed a good start. Now let Red George and his bullies take note. There comes a time when all folk of self-respect must say to bullies, “Thus far and no further.”

I stood proudly on Benjamin’s table as the votes and cheers rang out. Our time had come, upon the earth and under the sun.

Our new “Blue George” was thus sent forth with the full mandate of the Congress, and of the Clans of Man and of Cat, to assume command of the Continental Army.

I relayed all this information to my kinsmen, and they silently urged us onward. Liberty must come, not just for the Clan of Man, but for every Clan of the Folk in America. The Clan of Cat would fight, if called upon to do so.

It is said that nothing worth having comes cheaply or easily, and so it was with the fight for Liberty in America. Red George’s men attempted a violent breakout from Boston, and many were killed on both sides, but the Red Men were forced to withdraw once again into the city of Boston.

Four cats were also killed, under uncertain circumstances. It was said by some witnesses that they had brought down the horse of an officer of the Red Men by hamstringing him, but this was not generally believed by humans. I blinked solemnly, and flipped my tail. My kind had given fair notice of where our loyalties would lie.

It was to be a longer and uglier war than any of us had ever anticipated, with a heartbreaking cost in lives. It had therefore become necessary that we announce to the world at large just what it was we had done, why it was done, and what we intended to accomplish in the future. A committee was therefore delegated to draft and present such a statement.

My companion Benjamin was, of course, included; he was the American, after all. One of the Adams’ was there, as well as tall, orange-haired Jefferson, with his ready smile and liking for my kind. Two others joined the Committee, Congressmen whom I had heard speak, but did not personally know.

What followed then was actually accomplished over a period of several weeks, with much discussion and some argument. That is not important. What is important is that it was accomplished, upon the earth and under the sun, in the sight of the Spirit Above and of the whole world below.

The five Congressmen, with my own companion Benjamin in their midst, eventually came solemnly before Congress with the finished statement in hand.

It must now be formally approved, and inscribed with the names of all present, so that none might ever say it was the work of just a few. As Benjamin said, “If we do not now hang together, we shall certainly all hang separately.”

Hancock then stood with the document in his hands, and prepared to read. A hush fell over Congress and we almost held our breath, as the sonorous, perilous, beautiful words rolled forth.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights…”

As the reading concluded, and we began to vote on the ratification, the bell in the tower over our heads began a slow somber tolling. That bell would take on a new name someday, to commemorate what was done now beneath it.

Some words must never be forgotten, but must be handed down through the centuries. What is forgotten, is quickly lost.

Now let the Red Men, and George upon his distant throne beware: No more would the Clans of Man and Cat in America be trodden upon by a Tyrant and his red-clad bullies. The die was cast. The Clans of the Folk in America were in accord. Whether or not we could prevail, was in the hands of the Spirit Above.

As Jefferson said, we had pledged our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor, to one another and the providential Spirit Above. I, Nicodemus, of the Folk, and Delegate from the Clan of Cat, sat tall and proud in my place upon Benjamin Franklin’s writing table, upon the earth and under the sun. When the document he had helped to forge came before Benjamin for his signature, I placed my paw upon it also, my claws slightly scratching the parchment. My mark upon it remains there to this day.

END