A Tribute To A Muse ---------------------------- The most frightening thing in the world to a writer is a blank page and I sat scared to death on morning as I set out to write the great American screenplay when Isabella Kale came into my room and told me how to start. She told me that it would not matter where the story began or even where it would end. The only thing important was the story should be told... that the telling of the story was what I needed to do even if no one else would ever hear it. After imparting this wisdom, Izzy stood up on the bed and arched her back up into a kind of stretching yawn, her front paws gripping the blanket with dangerously sharp claws extended; claws which she never once used on my skin. Her yawn revealed fangs sharp enough to cause nightmares for anyone that did not know how gentle she was. It was the kind of yawn that makes me jealous to this day that I cannot stretch like that. There was never any doubt of Izzy's abilities as a predator. She would regularly bring "offerings" of affection to the front porch; birds, mice, even the occasional baby squirrel. She was, after all... a cat; one of nature's greatest species of hunter. Despite her prowess, speed and killer instincts, Izzy was the most gentle and affectionate of spirits. She would work any room full of people and melt their hearts one by one with her absolutely adorable presence. No one would ever question her loyalty to her daddy Scott Kale, however, for as soon as he appeared she would immediately go to greet him and let him know that he was her number one human. Even Scott could not control her, though. Izzy was a free spirit who would wander the neighborhood, sometimes (to everyone's dismay) for days at a time. I could only think that when she did that she was heeding a call from someone who needed her; someone who needed a little sunshine in their heart or inspiration in their mind. Sometimes it might have just been her own need for adventure. I can recall many times when Izzy would return from wherever it was she went with her white fluffy fur full of dirt and muck... usually it would be right after Scott took her for a grooming, as if to remind everyone that she was no princess. She was a queen. After proudly displaying her soiled coat and hearing enough times, "oh, Izzy, what did you do?!?!" she would go somewhere in the house to clean and preen and then reappear an hour later with her fur magically white. Izzy was an amazing cat, but she was no one's pet. The little tokes of affection she would kill and leave on the porch were also reminders to us that she did not stay with us because she "needed" us. Izzy could obviously fend for herself in the wild and never live a hungry day. She stayed because WE needed HER. Izzy shared with us her beauty and her attitude and her intellect to remind us that life can be simple and wonderful. The way she would come out to greet you when you walked up the street or parked your car, and she would talk to you and tell you how much she missed you. The way she would curl up beside you in bed to share her warmth with you or the way she would crawl up on your lap and rub her head on your chin... these were all things she would do to remind you that nothing in the world is more important than love and respect and that, if even just for that moment, everything in your life was right and good. She also reminded us that no one can own another being as she would stay with only as long as she wanted to, and never as long as you wanted her to stay. With Izzy's help, I did finish that great American screenplay and though it may never see a single projection screen, I told the story and purged my soul so I could move on with my life and my work. Every day I would write and Izzy would come into the room and curl up on the special spot I made for her on the bed (because she understood, and respected, my own neat-freak aversion to fur on my bed) and she would sit with me as long as I typed, as if the clacking sound of my keyboard were music to her. And every day, when I'd spilled enough of my own blood and tears onto the keyboard and was printing the days pages for revision, Izzy would join me on the porch and I would brush enough fur from her coat to cover a whole other cat. That summer I understood what it was to have a muse. With all these things I am writing now, my eyes are filling with tears. My tears are out of sadness that I will never see her again and more out of the sadness for my great friend who has lost someone so special to him. For all the ways she may have helped me, they are nothing compared to the love and affection she gave my friend Scott to help him recover from his own battles with his health. I will be forever grateful to Izzy for helping him recover and to live healthy. I will let my tears fall hard for his and our loss, and I will let the tears fall even harder from a heart filled with joy; joy for the honor of writing this tribute and the honor of my friendship with Scott Kale. I know, perhaps better than anyone, that Izzy's beautiful spirit was but a small extension of a great and brilliant man whom I proudly call my brother and it would be a disservice to Izzy for me to not tell you what a great daddy she had. Thank you Isabella for all the moments of joy and for a lifetime of sweet memories. You will forever be a ray of sunshine in our hearts. ..... Written with love and adoration by William Fantini, January 2002.