The Kitty Who Could

Love lives in the corners and cracks, and in four-legged creatures that appear out of nowhere.

It’s been a while, I know. Nice to be back. — kod.

A berry picking box became a favorite perch for bird and squirrel watching.

He came out of nowhere. We knew by sight the handful of feral cats that roamed the neighborhood, but this one we had never seen. Right away, we knew he was different.

He bounded through the backyard with a playful gait, as if he had run away from home for a few hours to go exploring. His Tabby coat was shiny, his eyes bright. Russ spotted his white mittens in the front and white boots in the rear.

This was not the wizened face of the others who look like chain-smoking bandits, their eyes slitty, their hair unkempt, and who immediately scrammed at the sight of humans.

This one wanted to come closer. He meowed and brushed against my shins when I called for him. He had no collar, deepening the mystery. Russ was convinced he belonged to someone.

Remember Shakespeare from Arlington?

How could I forget Shakespeare, another Tabby with a permanent address but who made house calls at the back door, and we were among the lucky few he deemed worthy.

When the cat showed up the next day, and then the next, and then began sleeping on the cushion in the yard, I knew this was something other than a flirtatious neighborhood kitty.

I think he had people, I said, and those people dropped him off at the corner. Fuckers.

Russ went on the local Reddit page, posted a photo of the cat, asking if he belonged to anyone. A woman responded, claiming to have lost her cat recently.

Vlad? Is that you?

She picked him up, inspecting his teeth.

Vlad has a broken tooth, she tells me. Nope, this isn’t him.

Then the cat takes a swipe at her nose.

Hearing her call him Vlad got me thinking: What should we call this guy?

He looks like a Casper.

Russ, who delighted in our new friend’s name, drove to the store in search of victuals.

That night, we invited him in to have supper. Chicken and brown rice kibble via Rachael Ray’s Nutrish was on the menu. We couldn’t get it into the little green bowl fast enough. He dove right in, his mouth open like a shovel, until the bowl was empty. A few sips of water, then he clawed at the door.

By morning, he was back, asking for more, please.

A few days into this routine, we consider inviting him for a sleepover. I grabbed an oversized cushion hiding behind the couch and placed it on the kitchen floor. He immediately was drawn to it, making biscuits and curling into a ball for the night.

But with this invitation, we were faced with a dilemma: What if Kim starts wheezing?

In my mid-twenties, I became asthmatic, kind of out of the blue. It was the cat, the doctor said.

When Russ and I got serious, I told him we could probably never have a cat, and I knew cats were important to him. Through other neighborhood cats like Shakespeare, he got his kitty fix (and I did, too).

Everyone made it through the night. Casper slept on his blue pillow on the kitchen floor, and Kim woke up breathing nice and easy. The next day, my lip kinda blew up, my cheeks red and hot.

We shooed him out, and I vacuumed the floors, washed the pillow cover, popped an antihistamine, crossed my fingers.

But I could not let Casper join the Kitty Chain Gang. I could not bear the thought of his innocence being stolen, his soft edges hardening under somebody’s porch. He just wanted to be loved.

These past few months I have felt a little like Casper. Not like I had been dropped off at the corner out of a moving car, but with a yearning for my mother’s affection.

We will figure this out, I said. Let’s keep him until we find him a home.

Russ made an appointment to have him neutered and immunized. We had three weeks until the big day.

A young couple expressed interest. Russ knew her through work and she grew up with cats, as did her beau. They came by for a visit and were instant fans. The next day, they were in.

You probably know where this is going. Of course we fell in love in Casper. My allergies waned. He purred like an engine. He smiled. He nuzzled. He loved us back.

The plan was to drop Casper off at the clinic first thing in the morning. In the afternoon, we’d pick him up and take him to his new people. We’d hand off the litter box, the pillow and the various boxes he fashioned into forts.

Russ zipped up the carrier and off they went in the Volvo. This is harder than we both thought. We didn’t know we were going to fall this hard. We didn’t know we needed a sweet attack. We didn’t know that we needed a reminder of the fuel that is unconditional love and kindness. We didn’t know that love can come straight out of nowhere if you let it.

Now we do.