12.26.2007

12:01 a.m., time's up.

My parents had been feeding some wild cats in their backyard for a year, three generations of felines stalking the neighborhood. A bond formed between them, names were given, the quality and frequency of the food put out for them increased, and a desire to adopt them as house cats came about. Unfortunately, it was too late to fully tame the animals. Once a cat reaches a certain age without human contact they are doomed to remain feral forever, the window of opportunity being closed. The confused creatures went so far as to come in through the sliding glass door when invited in order to get out of the cold, however. One of them, a pitch black panther-looking specimen whom my mother dubbed Midnight, even slept over in the house a few times. Being the youngest and friendliest of the bunch, Midnight was the one with the most potential to be converted into a bonafide pet. He learned to use a litter box and perked his ears up responsively when his name was called. No matter the amount of food given and toys supplied, though, he would not allow himself to be touched and was constantly scanning the perimeter for possible threats like a paranoid junkie making a deal in a back alley somewhere. It broke their hearts to admit it, but my parents finally came to grips with the fact that wild animals have to remain that way.

That didn't mean that they didn't still want a new addition to the family. Several animal adoption agencies were contacted over the course of a few weeks. Upon visiting my family tonight I got to meet the kitten they chose. Fluffy, uncoordinated, and still nameless, she hid in the corners of couches and under pillows. I held her in my lap as I read a few chapters and stroking her pristine fur brought a noticeable sense of comfort to both of us, at least for awhile. That all changed when I looked through the sliding glass door and saw Midnight patiently waiting for his nightly dinner and romp in the living room. My parents told me they'd cut off the wild cats, "the Knuckleheads," as they now called them, a few days ago. Midnight was the only one who still kept his nose glued to the screen door every night since then in the hopes of coming inside again. He wanted to be tamed, but Nature said it was too late, and Nature always wins. Out of pity for his old friends, my stepfather brought some sliced chicken breast left over from dinner out on the patio for the cats. Midnight glanced over his shoulder at his siblings devouring their alms, his portion included, but quickly fixed his gaze back into the warm, well-lit living room. His silent vigil became too much to bear, guilt being a leading cause of human action, so a few minutes later my mother went and closed the blinds. I was grateful that I wouldn't have to watch the painful process of detachment anymore firsthand. Being weened off of something is no easy task, especially a relationship of sorts. The kitten in my lap tired of my company, plopped herself down onto the floor, and scampered into her box in the next room. I finished the chapter I was working on and got up to gather my things for my departure.

After saying my goodbyes I went back to the living room, turned on the patio light, and cracked the blinds. There he was, still pasted to the same spot waiting to come inside and say hello as best he could, though not as affectionately as a domestic cat. Not able to leave him there like that I did something out of character and banged on the glass door with my fist to run him off. He bounded into the night, hopefully to find a warm shed to sleep in and a female companion to pass the time. My mother asked what I was doing as she cradled the kitten in her arms and brought her over towards me. I faked one last stroke on the head of the kitten and realized that it'd take awhile to accept her now. Walking out the door I turned and looked one last time at my mom holding the new cat, the two of them symbols of what the problem I have with most of the world: It's hard to find loyalty anymore, at least in humans. Us Midnights don't stand a chance.




Currently reading:
"The Pleasures of the Damned" by Charles Bukowski.

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