A True Story About a Cat


This is a true story about a cat:

I just got off the metro and was on my way back home. And it always starts out the same way … by minding my own business. Behind the bushes, I noticed a a pair of golden eyes. Something was peering at me intensely. I don’t know how I noticed. Call it intuition or sixth sense, but I can sense when I am being stared at. Was it the stare of a predator? A look of desperation or of hope?

I stopped walking, turned towards the eyes, and saw a black feline with tatters of orange. She was not quite a kitten nor was she a fully grown cat.

She didn’t run away and instead kept looking at at me.

I knew she wanted something from me. I instinctively smiled, squatted down, reached out my hands and beckoned it over.

She cautiously made her way towards me and meowed. She rubbed herself over my feet and ankles.

I petted her. The hair was fine and she was thin. Maybe a bit too thin. It didn’t seem like anyone was taking care of her.

She kept walking around me, rubbing her face and back on my shoes. She put her face on my ankles and nuzzled me. Then she came closer to my crotch.

I stopped petting and stood up. This was a wild animal and I wasn’t sure if she was going to bite my balls. I didn’t want to risk it.

She kept circling around me, sliding herself on me, and rolling on the ground. I didn’t know what to do. Maybe if I walked away now, she would lose interest.

So I walked away.

She followed so closely behind, I thought I was going to graze her with my shoes.

I didn’t want to hurt her, so I stood still.

She continued the antic. She seemed to enjoy herself so much.

I was paralyzed.

A passerby noticed and said, “It seems like you got a new friend.”

“It seems so,” I replied.

“Aww … she just needs a home.”

I didn’t know what to say so I didn’t say anything. He better not expect me to take her to my home. But at the same time, I felt guilty about leaving her here. Maybe if I took her home, she’ll really have a chance. Maybe she wouldn’t be so thin. Maybe all she wants is love.

Then I remembered my uncle and his cat. His was a Persian cat, with long grey hair. He adopted her from the animal shelter. At first, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. But she licked his hands and moved herself so he would stroke her from head to tail.

He thought she was really warm, affectionate, and friendly. So he adopted her.

Now she doesn’t care much for him. She doesn’t seek his company. She bites him. She bites the hands that feed her. What an ungrateful cat.

I remember the Persian biting me. At first, she came up to me and walked in a way that forced me to pet her head, back, and tail. I thought she was really sweet. So I continued to play with her. Play. Play. Play. BITE!

What the heck!

I thought it was an anomaly so I tried it again. Same thing, but the bites came quicker. Play. BITE! BITE! So I left her alone.

The next day, she came back and wanted me to pet her. I didn’t. To this day, she keeps coming back every time she sees me. I would lock her in a room so she’ll stop bothering me.

Everything that Blacky was doing seemed so similar to what the Persian did. What if I take the black cat home and she shreds my furniture? What if she poops everywhere? Do I have to spend time to play with her? And do I have to buy her food?

Maybe all she wants is love. But I can’t tell, and it seems like too much work to find out. Yet, I felt guilty leaving her. So I remained still, paralyzed to the concrete on a hot and humid day.

She continued rubbing herself on me. She seemed oblivious to my dilemma. At least one of us was enjoying ourselves, and it wasn’t me.

I took a few more steps.

She followed.

I stopped. I had some leftovers from my 3 hour lunch with two girls. Maybe if I gave her the leftovers — a chicken burrito … Then I thought against it. I wanted the leftovers; it was good food. If only another person comes, maybe she’ll lose interest in me.

“Ooh, it’s a kitty,” he said. My savior was a goofy-looking guy in mismatched outfit. Maybe he was wearing sweatpants. I cannot remember. He didn’t seem as educated or as well-off. He seemed kind though.

The feline wasn’t too keen on the stranger and backed away. It didn’t run away but remained at a distance.

This was my break and I walked for a half a block. Then I stopped and looked back.

She was looking at me, then at him. She didn’t know what to do.

The guy stood there and beckoned her to come.

She remained at a distance.

I walked away and sighed a breath of relief. She isn’t my trouble. Not anymore.

My younger self would have looked at me with disappointment. She needs you, I would have thought back then. But I know better now. Don’t blame me for not bringing her home with me; she could have bitten my balls.

And yet, this story isn’t really about cats.

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