from Anne Montgomery
"Ms. Montgomery, there's a cat outside."
Two of my students stared at me.
"Go and get it," I said, immediately rethinking that idea after
they'd left the room. I hoped the cat wasn't mean or scared and left the kids
with bloody gashes. I tried to stop them, but they were gone.
A short time later they returned, sans cat. "We couldn't catch
it," they said in unison.
"OK." I was relieved, but just momentarily.
"It's so hot out there and the cat is panting."
I looked at the sweet girl who tried to rescue the animal. "Is it
hurt?"
"I don't know."
Crap! I've had more kitties than I can count over the years.
Strays and cats who'd wound up in shelters. But I didn't want another one. I
still had three furry felines - down from seven - most of whom died after long,
pleasant lives. And a big cattle dog, as well.
The problem is, I'm getting older, and whenever I'm faced with a new pet I
start doing the math. If said animal lives 15 years, how old will I be? What if
I die? Who will take care of them. While I know my sweetie pie is as
devoted to our four-legged friends as I am, what if we both died?
"So, you think the cat might be injured?" I said again.
She shrugged.
As it was lunchtime, I put the young cat in my office and, as I ate, he
jumped into my chair, curled into a ball and slept at my side. "Well,
aren't you a sweet boy." I patted his head and he purred loudly. I
squinted as he closed his eyes. "But I don't want another cat." He
ignored me.
Later, the girl who found him appeared and said she wanted to take the cat
home. "My mom said it would be OK."
I looked at the kitty and he stared back at me. "Great!" I said,
not feeling great at all. "Let's find a box."
After we placed the cat in the container, I waved and watched her walk away.
I admit, I was a bit sad. Still, I'd done the right thing.
"We found a cat at school today."
My sweetie pie peered at me over his glasses, then glanced around the room.
"You'll be proud of me. I found him a nice home."
He raised both eyebrows, and didn't have to say, How unlike you to not
bring it home.
Later, I thought about the cat and decided to call the girl's home to make
sure he was settling in. Her father answered the phone.
"I don't want a cat!" he said, an edge to his voice. "I don't
like cats. I don't want it in my house. If she keeps it, we'll put it in a cage
in the backyard."
I sat up. It was close to 110 degrees in the Arizona desert that day.
"A cage?" I jotted down the address. "I'll be right there."
An hour later, I released the kitty in my living room, and he quickly made
friends with Westin, my deaf Bombay cat. And then I noticed the similarity.
They were almost identical. They nuzzled one another and again I realized this
cat was no stray. He belonged to someone. He blinked at me and meowed.
"No, my friend. I can't get attached to you."
A few days later, the vet waved a hand-held machine over the cat's shiny
fur. My heart beat quickly. A chip would be good," I told myself.
I'll take him back to his owners, who are surely missing him.
"No chip." The vet said.
I exhaled, then stared at my new kitty, who the vet informed me was just a
baby at ten months old. I started to do the math, then stopped. I realized it
didn't matter that I'd be pushing eighty when he reached 15. As much as I tried
to deny it, this cat was mine.
He head butted my hand and stared at me with those huge gold eyes.
We call him Morgan.
