I'm seventeen.
It's a scorching afternoon in the middle of summer, with no breeze at all, and the freshly cut grass is tickling my bare legs. Sitting cross-legged in the front yard, watching my dad garden, I feel happy. He is weeding and asks me what flowers he should plant this year. I don’t know anything about gardening, and he knows it, so I roll my eyes. As I stretch out my legs, close my eyes, and lie back, I hear the snap of weeds breaking off the earth.
Something soft brushes against my leg. My eyes flutter open, and a long-haired, one-eyed cat is looking at me expectantly. It is mostly grey with white clumps of fur matted around its paws and neck.
“I asked around the neighbourhood, and it turns out this cat has no home. The owners left him when they moved. His name is Boots, and he is yours.”
It's a scorching afternoon in the middle of summer, with no breeze at all, and the freshly cut grass is tickling my bare legs. Sitting cross-legged in the front yard, watching my dad garden, I feel happy. He is weeding and asks me what flowers he should plant this year. I don’t know anything about gardening, and he knows it, so I roll my eyes. As I stretch out my legs, close my eyes, and lie back, I hear the snap of weeds breaking off the earth.
Something soft brushes against my leg. My eyes flutter open, and a long-haired, one-eyed cat is looking at me expectantly. It is mostly grey with white clumps of fur matted around its paws and neck.
“Hello, kitty.”
I spend the next few minutes giving the cat love—it walks across my lap and rubs against my legs—until my friend arrives, and I have to go.
...
Over the next few weeks, the cat finds me. Whether I am in the front yard, the back yard, or the garage, the cat is there.
It's pouring rain today, and the poor cat is drenched. Why is this cat not at home? I will look after it until the rain dies down. I put the cat in the garage, walk out, close the door behind me, and go into the house. As I pull out a can of tuna from the pantry, my dad asks what I'm doing. I tell him I'll be with the cat. I don’t know when the rain will stop, so I grab a book, too, in case I am here for the long haul.
Together, the cat and I spend the next ten hours in the garage. Cat and I snuggle in a blanket; it purrs, I read. I feed the cat tuna and water. When the downpour finally stops, I go into the house but leave the garage door open, letting the cat linger until it is ready to go home.
...
The next day when I get home and walk in the back door, I’m not sure who is home. “Hello!” I yell.
My dad yells back, "Come see me for a minute!" I kick off my flip-flops, walk into the living room, and see he has the cat on his lap. My mind spins. Why is the cat inside? My parents have never allowed a furry animal inside. I have grown up with fish, turtles, tortoises, and lizards.
My dad yells back, "Come see me for a minute!" I kick off my flip-flops, walk into the living room, and see he has the cat on his lap. My mind spins. Why is the cat inside? My parents have never allowed a furry animal inside. I have grown up with fish, turtles, tortoises, and lizards.
“Go look under the tortoise tank in the kitchen," Dad says.
I run to the kitchen. There, under the tank, are two small bowls. One is full to the brim with water, and the other contains hard cat food.
I run back to the living room. “Why do we have cat dishes?” I ask, dumbfounded.
I run back to the living room. “Why do we have cat dishes?” I ask, dumbfounded.
 |
| Bootsy |
“I asked around the neighbourhood, and it turns out this cat has no home. The owners left him when they moved. His name is Boots, and he is yours.”
