When I was around 16 years old, my friend Genine and I were walking back from having pizza for lunch. We were headed to the bowling alley where all my friends hung out because they had pinball machines, and we loved playing them.
As we approached the corner we needed to turn to get to the alley, we spotted two younger boys, probably around nine or ten years old. They were tossing a black kitten back and forth like a football!
Genine and I quickly came up with a plan and asked the boys if they wanted to play a game called "Monkey in the Middle." Since they already knew the game and how it was played, they happily agreed.
The moment one of them tossed the kitten toward the other boy, I leaped into the air like a professional volleyball player going for the championship point and caught the kitten. Then Genine and I took off running like two fugitives who had just stolen the world's largest diamond. We sprinted down the block, into the bowling alley, and straight into the ladies' room to hide.
Honestly, if there had been an Olympic event for rescuing kittens and fleeing the scene, we'd have brought home the gold medal.
We stayed in that bathroom for at least thirty minutes to make sure the boys had given up looking for us. I held the kitten in my arms, petting him gently and talking softly until he fell asleep.
Genine left the bathroom to scout the area. I watched through the bathroom door that I'd opened just a crack. I stayed behind like A dense wall of an excessive perfume cloud, while she skulked around like an introvert trying to escape a party without making eye contact with the hosts.
When she returned and announced the coast was clear, I knew that was my cue.
I told Genine I was taking the kitten home because my
mother had a soft spot for animals, which is another way of saying every stray
within a three-mile radius had a retirement plan.
I knew if she took one look at that kitten and heard how I'd acquired him, she'd let me keep him. We already had a cat, but I didn't think that would matter.
As it turned out, I was right.
When I got home, my mother was sitting on her bed putting on her socks. She saw me coming and immediately knew I was holding something alive. Without even looking directly at it, she turned her head, raised her hand to block her peripheral vision, and simply said:
"NOPE."
That was it.
Just... "NOPE."
Well, I wasn't giving up that easily.
Every time I moved the kitten into her line of sight, she'd turn her head the opposite way. It became a ridiculous game of Keep-Away. Finally, I decided it was time to explain how two boys had been using the kitten as a furry ball and how I had rescued him.
That story must have tugged on Mom's heartstrings because the second I finished, she finally looked at him.
He was tiny, barely fitting into the palm of my hand.
The moment she laid eyes on him, she sighed and said:
"Aww, the poor little thing."
At that exact moment, I knew the battle was over and I'd won. So I immediately went in for the kill…
"Can I keep him?"
She agreed, as long as I took care of him.
And I did.
I named him Ponch because at the time there was a TV show called CHiPs, and Erik Estrada played Ponch. I had a teenage crush on the character, so naturally I named my kitten after him.
I litter-box trained him, fed him, played with him, and kept him mostly in my room because Mom's cat wasn't exactly thrilled about this new roommate. Apparently, Mom's cat “Gray” considered herself ruler of the household and viewed Ponch as an invading force.
After all, cats are territorial.
And Gray had been there first, like Queen Elizabeth defending her throne from an unexpected challenger.
One day, I came home from school and Ponch wasn't in my room. I asked Mom where he was. Without missing a beat she said, "I lent the cat to your uncle."
Excuse me?
Apparently, my uncle's delicatessen had a mouse. The mice were chewing through bread bags, cupcake wrappers, and anything else they could sink their tiny little rodent teeth into like coupon-clippers looking for free groceries.
I was devastated.
Mom assured me it was only temporary.
Since it was supposed to be temporary like every home improvement project that starts with the words 'this'll only take a few days,' and because I could visit Ponch whenever I wanted, I reluctantly accepted the arrangement.
I visited him every day after school since the deli was on my way home. On weekends, Genine and I would walk over just to spend time with him. Unfortunately, one day my uncle announced that Ponch had escaped and couldn't be found.
I immediately rushed to the store and marched up and down every nearby block yelling:
"POOOONNNCH!"
People were probably looking out their windows thinking I had either lost my mind or was being overdramatic looking for my boyfriend named Ponch.
But I found him!
I scooped him up, brought him back to the deli, and we made signs for both sides of the door reminding customers not to let the kitten out.
Problem solved.
Or so we thought.
Sadly, it happened again. This time we never found him. I cried for days before finally accepting that Ponch wasn't coming back.
Ironically, about four years later, when I was 20 years old, I went to an animal shelter to surprise my boyfriend. We'd been living together for about a year, and he had always wanted a cat.
While I was there, I spotted a tiny black male kitten. He was so small he fit right in the palm of my hand. Seems familiar- yes?
Yes. Just like Ponch had.
Naturally, I adopted him. In a strange way, I felt that something led me to this cat, perhaps some force of nature, trying to correct the wrong of “lending” my cat away? Who knows.
I didn't name the new kitten immediately because I wanted to get to know his personality first. As it turned out, he bonded with me far closer than he ever bonded with my boyfriend. That cat followed me everywhere like an unpaid intern whose only job was to guard the bosses every move.
So I named him Shadow. It was definitely fitting!
Eventually, when my boyfriend and I broke up, Shadow officially became my cat when we moved to our own places. I had Shadow for many wonderful years until he eventually passed away at the age of 14.
In fact, one of my earlier stories in this blog tells about “Shadow” following me everywhere and one particularly ridiculous adventure that still makes me laugh. If you enjoyed this story, go back and look for:
"Shadow: My Brooklyn Cat With Zero Boundaries and a BBQ Chip Addiction."
Trust me.
That cat earned every word of that title.
THE TAKEAWAY
Sometimes doing the right thing involves questionable planning, a flying leap, and hiding in a bowling alley bathroom for half an hour. If someone is using a kitten as sporting equipment, all normal rules are temporarily suspended.
|
KITTY METEOR READING |
|
Category Score Notes |
|
Kitten Interception 12/10 An airborne rescue worthy of
slow-motion replay. |
|
Escape Planning 10/10 A game was used for vigilante kitten
recovery. |
|
Bathroom Camouflage
10/10 Not glamorous, but
surprisingly effective. |
|
Mom's Resistance 2/10 "NOPE" lasted about as long
as a snowball in July. |
|
Gray's Welcoming 1/10
The queen of the household didn’t approve the tenant. |
|
Cat “Lending” 15/10 Still a suspicious loan agreement in the
family history. |
No comments:
Post a Comment