Recently, I finished a book from the tall stack of volumes (also known as the to-be-read pile) sitting next to my bed.
Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald, by Therese Anne Fowler, is told from Zelda’s point-of-view, and describes her life with F. Scott Fitzgerald. Let it suffice to say the story often shows Mr. Fitzgerald in a less than flattering light. In an even dimmer beacon, is the author’s portrayal of Fitzgerald’s friend and competitor, Ernest Hemingway.
Reading the story immediately reminded me of my visit a few years ago to Key West, Florida. I toured the beautiful home Hemingway and his second wife purchased in 1928 . Talk about working in Paradise!
My first surprise occurred when I went through the gate and discovered the 52+ cats that live on the property. They go where they want to go, as long as its within the compound walls. Apparently, the animals are trained from kittenhood not to run out the gate, which is wide-open during business hours. Right off the bat, my mouth dropped open in amazement. I can’t train my cat, Bogey, to stay off the kitchen counters.
These cats have another unusual quality…their toes.
Legend has it a sea captain gave Hemingway a six-toed (polydactyl) cat named Snowball, because polydactyl cats bring good luck. Delighted with the feline, Hemingway soon became a die-hard cat lover.
Snowball, of course, went on to do what cats in pre-spay and neuter days did. He (or she) began to reproduce. Hemingway favored litters that produced “lucky” polys, and to this day, descendants of Snowball live a life of freedom and luxury at the Hemingway Home and grounds. They sit on furniture visitors aren’t allowed to touch. They frolic in the garden. They play rough as little tigers. One even pounced on my hand and left her mark. It didn’t bother me a bit. How many people can say they were scratched by a descendant of Hemingway’s cat?
So in response to the book’s depiction of Hemingway, maybe he did drink too much, sleep too little, and let the fact that he had a wife at home slip his mind from time to time. I still can’t help thinking that anyone so fond of cats could be all bad.