I almost had a cat once. The funny thing is, I did not choose this cat. The cat chose me.
(Beware of stray kitties who love attention. It’s just as bad as giving them food.)
There was a stray black cat who wandered around our neighborhood. No collar was found on him, and he didn’t look like a regular. He would nap on the porches of other homes, but for whatever reason, he really liked out house.
Most of the time you could find him napping on the windowsill near the living room. In the beginning he would stare me down, almost like a dare: “Bet you’re too scared to kick me off of here ’cause I’m a cat and may slice you with my claws.” I called his bluff a few days later and tentatively put my hand up against the screen. He sniffed it, found the scent acceptable, and proceeded to rub up against the part of the screen my hand touched.
That was my first mistake. He soon figured out that I spent a good deal of my afternoons in the living room and would wait patiently for hours until I acknowledged his presence. Gradually he became comfortable and would meow angrily if I did not show up at my normal time.
Eventually he figured out that there were other ways of reaching me. He would settle down underneath the bench on the front porch and wait for me to walk in or out of the house. I would pet him, he would attempt to squeeze past me when the door was open and try to invite himself in. When I started taking the back porch route, he learned to climb over the fence and would either sit atop the barbecue lid or scale the fence to reach the patio roof.
I had an official stalker for a good three months. My dog took absolutely no notice of the cat and let him meow to his heart’s content. Exasperated at the turn of events, I took to calling the cat “Creepy Kitty.” The cat was delighted with his name and would actually come to me if I called him by that name.
I have to admit, this cat was cute. Sleek, black, with green eyes, he made the perfect Halloween/Friday the 13th kitty. If he wasn’t so needy, I probably would have put a collar on him and bought kitty dishes.
One rainy Friday the 13th, I actually wandered around the neighborhood sans umbrella looking for Creepy Kitty. There were some middle school boys close by, and although I’d never heard of them being punks, I didn’t want to risk the chance of them grabbing a hold of Creepy Kitty and doing something crazy. Fifteen damp minutes later, I was carrying him back to the house to keep in the garage until the next morning.
Obviously I never took Creepy Kitty in (otherwise everyone would be subjected to my cat pictures). Thanks to the ever growing hearts of my neighbors directly across from me, they took him in and made him a brother to another stray cat rescued 3 years before. Sadly, Creepy Kitty was renamed Inky.
I am not much of a cat person, but I will admit, I do miss his howling for attention directly underneath my bedroom window.