October 1971
I’ve often been asked if there was anything in particular that influenced me to spend so much time traveling. I immediately thought of Adam.

In my second year at Berkeley, I rented a unique Japanese-style house in the Berkeley Hills. It was unique in a number of ways; first, it was on a path not a road. The paths in the Berkeley Hills are remnants of a network from the days when a tram transported residents from the hills. Second, all the walls in the house, except for the bathroom, were moveable. It was possible to reposition the bookshelves on wheels to divide the kitchen from the living and dining area and another unit that could create a third bedroom. There were shoji-type sliding doors when closed defined two bedrooms or left open created one large bedroom. Although, this was a very flexible design, we rarely changed it.

The house was a Japanese design but I didn’t fully appreciate how close an replica it was until I lived in Japan twenty years later. The house aside, the major appeal was the garden. The house was a flat roof rectangular building with large windows on all sides. At either ends of the house were two huge glass sliding doors extending the living room into the garden.

All of that was charming, but there were other features falling well outside of charming. One of the wheeled closets was lined with copper foil. Having not read Wilhelm Reich at the time I was not familiar with Orgone boxes. Then there was the garishly painted transom window above the entrance. In contact with the earthen tones, the painted pyramid with abstract symbols was like a penguin in the desert.

Housing was in short supply and this place was too beautiful to pass up. We could ignore the copper-lined closet and just use it for storage and a razor blade would clean up the transom nicely.

We decided we wanted the house and contacted the owner who we knew lived in San Francisco. She said the house was designed by an American architect who had lived in Japan. After she bought the house, her spiritual advisor told her not to live in the house. (Remember it was the seventies). She explained she could not meet us at the house and she would send the lease for our review and mentioned the “Adam Clause” in passing.

The Adam Clause? There was an addendum in the lease requiring the tenants to take care of Adam the Cat. That didn’t seem like a problem. When I got off the phone with her, I’m thinking I never saw any evidence of a cat.

Before she hung up I asked about the closet lined in cooper? It’s an Orgone Box. Like everyone knows what an Orgone Box is, right?

The mention of scrapping the painted pyramid off the transom brought screams from the other end of the line. Painting the pyramid was an early recommendation from her spiritual advisor to correct her misfortune. By then I was anxious to get off the phone so I passed up on requesting instructions for the Orgone Box.

The first thing we did after settling in was to shop for household equipment including a bowl and cat food. Every morning we put out a fresh bowl of kibble and every night it was thrown away.

A month must have past before Adam showed up. It was a warm day so the living room doors were open to the garden. He staggered in, looked around, ate from the food bowl, then flopped over and went to sleep. The warrior had returned.

I think we were all anticipating a fluffy lap cat, which would purr at our feet every time the electric can opener whirred. That was not what showed up that morning. Adam’s coloring resembled Garfield’s. The resemblance ended there. Adam was missing sections from his ears; there were fresh wounds and old scars on the side of his body, and one swollen infected eye.

In silhouette, he looked like a battering ram, a virtual fighting machine. His skinny battered body was topped by an enormous head. From the front, he looked like a head with legs and a tail as a hat. His jowls were so large they hid his slim body.

Adam hung around long enough to mend and regain his strength. He could only take about two weeks of nurturing before he hit the road again. This pattern went on for a couple of months. Kerry asked one day what is the point of maintaining all the paraphernalia for a truant cat. So Kerry came home one day from grocery shopping with Midnight, a black kitten put up for adoption at a nearby supermarket.

Midnight was what a cat should be cute, playful and always under foot. We soon settled into a routine of living with Adam, our absentee primary cat under contract and Midnight, the auxiliary cat.

Adam was an interesting character study. Nothing bothered him, neither his large nor small new roommates. At first Midnight tried to play with Adam. Adam tolerated Midnight but he made it very clear playing was not cool and he was cool, very cool.

Midnight had not had the required inoculations for a kitten. It happened that Adam was in residence the day we had the appointment with the veterinarian so we brought Adam along. He had recently returned from the battlefield battered and in need of medical attention.

The veterinarian asked Kerry and I to hold Midnight on the stainless steel table while he preformed the check up. He began with a rectal thermometer. By the time the vet had Midnight’s temperature Kerry and I had numerous scratches and teeth marks on our forearms. By the time Midnight had completed his injections our shirt and pants were blooded.

Now it was Adam’s turn. I suddenly remembered the parking meter needed feeding and Kerry remembered he had an urgent call to make. The vet looked at us with a smile and told us to step back and watch.

He grabbed Adam by the tail and the scruff of his neck and placed him on the table. Adam does not move. He is at attention tail erect with his head forward. The Vet inserts the rectal thermometer, nothing. Adam slowly rotates his head sideways toward his tail and back. Nothing — no screaming, clawing, trying to escape. No reaction. Adam receives the injection without a flinch.

The vet says everything is unfamiliar to Midnight so he is constantly on guard and frightened; in comparison to Adam who has seen and experienced it all.

The visit to the vet changed the course of my life. No, I did not immediately set off traveling the world having my temperature taken, but over the years, I have entered dark alleyways and taken chances I’m sure I would not have if it hadn’t been for Adam and Midnight. Every time I arrive at a new destination or a strange situation, I thank Adam. When it goes bad, I blame it on Midnight.

© Copyright Michael Morrissey, All Rights Reserved.

Article by Michael Morrissey is considered one of the new generation of adventure and travel photographers. Based in Bangkok, Thailand with a passion for travel, Michael got hooked on photography while driving a bus from Istanbul to Katmandu in the 70’s; an obsession briefly interrupted with a twenty year career in business. You can view his photography at: www.mjmorrissey.com

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