The Black Cat Saga

 

“Giving is an art expressed by those who prioritize kindness, as this act resonates with the receiver.” 

Dr. BLR

I just want to put this on the record: I’m not a cat person. I’m actually allergic to them, so there. I wanted to write this story to document what I’ve had to endure over the past month or so.

It all started one day when I came home from work and saw a black cat roaming the neighborhood, but I paid it no mind. Stray cats are common in my area. I think of them as natural pest control, and they save me money when they’re around the city. Mice begone! 

On weekends, I usually cut my grass, and since it’s fall, I tend to the fallen leaves scattered in front of the house. As I passed one of the standard light poles on the block, I saw a flier asking for help finding a lost cat. The picture of the feline resembled the black cat I had seen before. I snatched the flier off the pole to get a better look. As I was getting up there in age and didn’t have my glasses on, I pulled the flier in close and noticed the contact information. It was at that moment that I made what I thought was a wise decision. I decided to chuck the flier, believing that if I contacted the owner, they would keep contacting me for updates. Ain’t nobody got time for that, especially me. I then went on about my business, or so I thought.

As the weeks went by, I saw the black cat roaming and scavenging for food. I felt like shit knowing I could’ve contacted its owner and helped return it to a loving home. This is what happens when you have a conscience and are properly raised. I developed a game plan to find the cat. I called it “Operation Commandeer Pus in boots on the loose.”

Every evening, I looked outside to see if the cat was still around. I didn’t know whether it was a girl or a boy, so I never gave it a proper name other than “kitty.” And no, I didn’t keep saying, “Here, kitty, kitty.” It was more of a “pssst, pssst!” I don’t even know if this is how you spell it or if it’s a word, but what the hell.

A few days passed, and nothing happened. I had given up hope until one evening, my “pssst, pssst” drew a tan cat. Not what I expected. I didn’t know what to do, so I persisted, and lo and behold, the cat came to me and rubbed against my leg. This was no stray cat, and for a moment I was unsure what to do next. I came to my senses, ran into my home, and grabbed a can of tuna I kept in abundance for those evening meals when I needed extra protein. I quickly opened the can and returned to feed my new friend; I guess. 

I went inside my home and watched from my hallway as the cat devoured the tuna, then left without a nod or a meow for the sustenance. Duly noted. While this cat wasn’t on my agenda, I felt good helping out. I went on about my evening without giving it a second thought.

Over the weekend, I went shopping with my kids, who knew about my mission to rescue the black cat. As I walked down the pet food aisle, I decided to buy some cat food just in case I saw the elusive feline. That’s when I realized how much it costs to feed a cat. I picked up the can, hesitated, then said, “fuck it!” There was a sale—8 cans for $9.00. I grabbed the cans, tossed them in the basket, and kept shopping. My kids smiled at me as if I were the cat’s hero.   

Most evenings, I tried calling the cat several times without success. I almost lost hope until late one evening, when I decided to try one last time. The clock had gone back because of daylight saving time, so it was dark around 5-ish. I stepped out of my front door into the hallway and looked through the glass door. I didn’t see anything, but I opened the front door and whispered, “pssst, pssst,” as I waited. Nothing! I whispered again, “pssst, pssst,” and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the black cat slowly walk from the side of my house. I was overwhelmed with emotion. It felt like I was a cat whisperer. I stood there and made eye contact with the cat. I sent it a telepathic message that I would provide food. The black cat’s glowing eyes assured me it would stay.

I quickly ran into my house, opened a can of cat food, and then went back outside. I hoped the cat was still there, and it was. As I stepped out the door, it scurried toward the side of my house. Undeterred, I set the open can of tuna on the ground where it could be seen, then went back inside. Within seconds, I imagined the tuna's scent would make the cat rush toward its dinner. I watched with pure elation, feeling proud to have completed this task. I didn’t know what the future held for the cat, but my heart felt warm.

The next evening, I decided to follow up, and to my surprise, my new friend was sitting near the front entrance of my hallway. Once again, I was so happy to repeat what I had done the night before, with the same results. I didn’t know how long this would last, but I felt sad I hadn’t kept the flyer with the potential owner's contact information. As usual, the contents of the can were devoured, but this time, things were different. 

When I went outside to grab the empty can, my friend was still standing off to the side. I looked at it, wondering what was wrong. My cat instincts told me hunger was still on the agenda, so I went back inside, grabbed a second can of food, opened it, and set it on the ground. Without missing a beat, I returned to the hallway, and my friend bounced on the can. No worries, eat on, my friend. 

I didn’t know how long this routine would last, but I felt that as long as my friend returned, I would provide food. However, nothing could have prepared me for what happened the following evening. 

I got home a little earlier, and it was still daylight outside. I had a salad in the refrigerator for dinner. I grabbed it from the fridge, took out my boxed red wine, poured myself a glass, and headed to the den to relax. I didn’t think much about my friend that evening because I was busy talking to my kids via FaceTime. As the conversation was ending, I casually told the kids that I hoped my friend would come back for dinner. They also expected the cat would return. It was about 7ish when I looked outside and immediately saw the cat sitting at the top of my steps, waiting for me. I couldn’t believe how confident and purposeful its stance was. I’m a nice guy, but the arrogance of this little bastard. I walked toward the front window and immediately saw an opossum at the bottom of the steps. It was as if the cat told the opossum to come by for dinner without asking me. I violently opened the door and yelled at the opossum to “pound salt and get the fuck outta here.”

I watched as the cat ran to the side of the house, but not before giving me a quick glance, as if to say sorry. I instantly forgave the entitlement and went inside to get a can of cat food. No sooner had I retrieved the can and returned than I noticed another, smaller cat standing nearby. Wait! Not another mouth to feed. My compassion for feeding hungry souls wouldn’t let me ignore the second feline. I went back inside and grabbed a second can for the guest. They both stepped out of harm’s way as I placed the cans close to each other on the ground and went back into the hallway. This time, I wanted to take pictures to show my kids and post them on Instagram, because nobody would believe the story I was about to tell.

I don’t know how much longer this act of kindness will last, but I realized I wouldn’t let my allergy stand in the way of being kind. The only thing I regret is not contacting the cat's owner, because I think it’s an awesome buddy and needs to be at home or somewhere stable.