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Yves Navarre's A CAT'S STORY is labeled as "autobiography" in a list of this brilliant French writer's collected works. It is then the autobiography of both the cat Tiffauges, who lived with the writer for ten years, and Navarre who has the name "Abel" in this narrative. Told through the eyes of his beloved black and white cat, the story is both beautifully written (we assume the translator Donald Watson did an excellent job) and heartbreakingly tragic. As Tiffauges reminds us: "It was a great love story. And great love stories end badly, with the death of one or the other." And later in the story: "And I went on studying him [Abel] intently, wanting him to hold on as long as possible and hoping to depart before he did since my span of life with him, relatively quite short, was pre-ordained." For those not familiar with Yves Navarre, he won France's Goncourt Prize in 1981 for THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDEN which was translated into English as CRONUS'S CHILDREN. The author of at least two dozen novels as well as plays and children's books, only five or six of which have been translated into English, Navarre committed suicide in 1994 at the age of 53. Certainly his death was a great loss to France and the rest of the world since it is doubtful that any more of his works will ever be translated. He was said to have been Mitterrand's favorite writer.

Besides being a great novelist, Navarre was obviously a great cat lover as well as a kind and indulgent owner. When Tiffauges jumps on a glass showcase and breaks valuable art, Navarre/Abel does not even chastise him. "Abel didn't get angry. I watched him come placidly up to the showcase, open it and pick me up to stroke me and calm me. To make sure as well straightaway that I wasn't hurt. But he didn't raise his voice once." When Tiffauges and his two female cat companions Tiffany and Tityre go on strike-- apparently just because they can-- about their diet, Abel simply changes their food without a word of complaint. At a dinner party, when a young kitten selects him, Abel apparently cannot resist her advances and brings the new kitten home with him. Tiffauges portrays his master as sometimes moody, often sad and not given to lasting relationships. The cat names "catkins" one through four--"Abel was the kind of tom-cat who only likes toms"-- who go through Abel's life in short-lived affairs. Navarre/Abel is also plagued by agents and publishers who do not appreciate his novels.

Navarre deftly gets insides a cat's head and convinces you that this is the way these gorgeous enigmatic creatures think. For instance, Tiffauges hates going to the vet, getting wet, is not wild about being in a cat carrier, is in cat heaven when his master strokes the back of his head, does not always show himself when visitors come because he can sniff out a phony immediately, and is-- like all cats-- sure that he is in charge even though he has to depend on the biped in his life to open doors for him. And with all the arrogance of a pharoah, he tells the reader that he wears his evening jacket at all times-- even if he is barefoot-- does his own laundry and also calls himself "king of the rooftops." But he loves his master. "Even if I sound sentimental. I loved him. He loved me. He would never really know me at all."

I reread this fine book because a beautiful yellow cat recently adopted me in much the way way as Tityre came into Navarre's life and because Navarre is one of my favorite writers. Both those who love cats and good literature will warm to this little volume.

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