Long ago and far away I found a cat. I was a young lad who was barely ten summers on a rainy Saturday afternoon at my father's business before it moved to its current location within my father's hometown. I was sitting in the back room where a ruckus caught my attention.
I wandered out spying folks standing around a parked car in front of the shop. My grandfather came back in holding a white cat with black spots. She had been under a car and people were trying to keep her from being hurt. My paternal grandparents were saints with animals. In fact the business was host to two other felines Momma Cat and Fraidy Cat.
Anyway grandpa told me to return to the back with the cat. I petted her and she was quite friendly to me much to my surprise. Most of my interactions with felines up to this point have mostly been watching from afar and never being able to hold or stroke a kitty.
Quittin' time rolled around and it was time to leave. I wanted to keep her but my father said we couldn't take her home because it wouldn't be fair to Cleo. Cleo, for those of you playing along at home, was our white cat with black spots who truly was my father's cat in the way that Spot is my cat. I do hope that Spot forgives me for phrasing our relationship in such a fashion but I write for expidency rather than to be pedantic and belabor a point.
My grandfather adopted the cat which was a huge surprise because I do not believe that my grandparents had ever owned a cat. Knowing that she would have a good home I wished her farewell.
I wish I knew what happened to her. In the next few weeks I heard from my grandparents about how "Impy" got her name and lived up to it. They described her as a hellion who would only share her claws not love with them. One of the days I came over to visity Impy was a surprise for me.
Their basement was where Impy would hang out and she found a hideyhole behind my grandfather's desk. While everyone else was upstairs I sneaked down and crawled under the desk whispering soft and soothing words. I reached my hand towards the dark crawlspace only to be buffetted by a flurry of now-clawless paws. Trust me she understood that she couldn't draw blood so she put every ounce of energy into her muscles to make those swats really hurt.
What happened to the sweet kitty that I held and petted for a few hours not so long ago? Perhaps Brandy, my grandparents's beloved Norwegian elkhound, frightened her. Maybe my grandparents treated her like a dog rather than like a cat? I just would like to know the source of this misunderstanding. While I hold Spot in my lap while I write this I am reminded of that brief connection and nascent friendship that never was making me a little maudlin.
Anyway white cats with black spots are always very important cats.
Not as important as your cat.
You know what I mean.
I want a night where I don't go to bed at nine, awaken gasping for air at one then fall asleep again until three where I have another breathing panic until I finally rest the remaining time before the alarm.
Shit's making me downright ornery. Worse, I have no outlet. Jesus someone fucking cheer me up. I know I don't deserve it and I'm overwhelmingly aware that I've burnt every single god damned bridge in my life.
Bah, fuck it.
