The Small Black Cat and the Sucker
Once upon a time, there was a small black cat and a sucker. The black cat, who was not really a cat yet, but getting too big to be called a kitten, lived in the parking lot of the sucker's apartment building, and began making his way up to the second floor through a door that was always open, there to plant himself in front of the sucker's humble apartment door and commence yowling with hunger.
The sucker, being a sucker, could only put up with this treatment for so long. Despite the fact that he told everyone, including himself, that he was not a cat person, he eventually opened the door and let the small black cat into his apartment. He told everyone this was because there were short-tempered drug dealers living downstairs, which was true, and that he was afraid they would get tired of the yowling and just shoot the cat, which was less true.
But, since he had told everyone, including himself, that he was not a cat person and had no intention of adopting a cat, he only fed the cat on occasions when the cat seemed too piteous to do without food, which was to say, most nights. He also refused to let the cat into his bedroom, on the grounds that if the cat had fleas, surely they'd have the manners to stay out in the living room. Furthermore, since the cat was small and affectionate and purred very loudly whenever he got near, he decided to sleep on the ancient sofa bed in the living room on those nights when the cat was there. To keep an eye on it, he told himself. And the fact that the cat would curl up on his pillow next to him and purr him to sleep had nothing to do with it.
This went on for a little while, until the sucker realized that he was getting to the point where the cat had become an actual responsibility instead of an occasional good deed, at which point he freaked out and decided that the next time he saw the cat, it would be going to a no-kill shelter. This was because the sucker had told everyone he didn't like cats, and because the sucker had student loans and was working in the tabletop roleplaying industry, where one goes to become rich in anecdotes and not in dollars, he realized that there was no way on God's green earth he could afford a cat - not even one who slept on his pillow.
That night, instead of his usual hearty meow, the cat reached the sucker's doorstep and let out a strangled wheeze. The sucker, who had been steeling himself all day, immediately broke. He threw the door open, picked up the cat, and realized that the poor creature was sick, feverish, and weak. Not having a cat carrier handy (because, as he told everyone, he didn't like cats), he took a cardboard box, poked some holes in it, put a towel and a bowl full of water in it, and put the cat inside for immediate transportation to a 24 hour animal hospital in the heart of Atlanta. He took the box with the cat to his car, which then refused to start. Fortunately, a young lady of his acquaintance claimed to be very fond of cats, and she drove him and the sick cat to the vet.
The vet, who knew a sucker when she saw one, examined the cat and quickly determined that he'd been in a fight with another, larger cat. He'd taken some damage and gotten an infection, but it was nothing a little subcutaneous fluid and some antibiotics couldn't cure. And, she told the sucker, she would make him a bargain bundle on all the things required to adopt a cat, such as a basic course of shots, removing his tiny cat wonton of love, and otherwise turning him from a feral parking lot kitty into a pet.
But the sucker protested, and said it wasn't his cat, and he was just taking it to the vet in the middle of the night because, well, it wasn't a very good excuse and we'll leave it at that. The vet looked at the sucker, and then looked at the cat, who lay, sprawled out and panting, on the examining table. As she watched, the cat picked itself up, dragged itself over the edge, hauled itself across the room, and jumped up into the sucker's lap. There, it lay purring, a puddle of fuzzy inky blackness, utterly content.
"Not your cat. Right. I'll leave you two here to discuss it," she said, and left the room for a minute.
And the sucker looked down at the giant purring blob of kitty fur in his lap and realized, without a doubt, he was a sucker. Because suckers were the sorts of people who drove cats halfway across Atlanta in the middle of the night claiming they were just being good samaritans to local strays, and who let stray cats from the parking lot sleep on their pillows, and so on and so forth. So, having discovered his inner sucker, he decided to embrace it, adopted the cat, and lived happily with said cat, who it turned out was named Ember, for a very long time.
****
And that, boys and girls, is the mostly true story of how I met my cat Ember, who grew to be a very large cat indeed, and how he adopted me. That was in early 1996; he had been with me or my parents ever since. He's had some utterly ridiculous adventures, many of them involving household appliances that cats are not supposed to be smart enough to operate, he has defended his ever-growing tribe of humans from any threats that he could, and he has spent more time sprawled across my shoulder or my wife's than would seem anywhere reasonable to anyone who did not own a Giant Evil Cat Of Evil (large purring kitty division). He watched over my mother when she was ill, and he walked with her when she began the slow road to recovery. He sat still for my niece and nephew's first fumbling attempts to pet a real kitty, even when they were awkward and still learning to be gentle. He made friends and purred like a madman and always found a spot on the floor at the center of every party we ever threw.
And today was his last day. He could barely walk any more, setting down to rest after fifteen or so steps. He couldn't leap onto the couch without help, and he nearly fell off it when trying to get down. He was skin and bones, and while he still looked sleek and cool, it was clear he had slowed down past the point where he could go on without 24 hour nursemaiding. To keep a beloved pet in those circumstances is, I think, a selfish act. For a long time, I was willing to be selfish. Every possible sign of improvement, I seized on. I wanted to believe in miracle recoveries.
But he had already used up his miracles, it seemed, and today we had to have him put to sleep. Farewell, Ember. It was a magnificent run. The German shepherds of the world will not forget you, and will always tremble at your name.
And we miss you already.
The sucker, being a sucker, could only put up with this treatment for so long. Despite the fact that he told everyone, including himself, that he was not a cat person, he eventually opened the door and let the small black cat into his apartment. He told everyone this was because there were short-tempered drug dealers living downstairs, which was true, and that he was afraid they would get tired of the yowling and just shoot the cat, which was less true.
But, since he had told everyone, including himself, that he was not a cat person and had no intention of adopting a cat, he only fed the cat on occasions when the cat seemed too piteous to do without food, which was to say, most nights. He also refused to let the cat into his bedroom, on the grounds that if the cat had fleas, surely they'd have the manners to stay out in the living room. Furthermore, since the cat was small and affectionate and purred very loudly whenever he got near, he decided to sleep on the ancient sofa bed in the living room on those nights when the cat was there. To keep an eye on it, he told himself. And the fact that the cat would curl up on his pillow next to him and purr him to sleep had nothing to do with it.
This went on for a little while, until the sucker realized that he was getting to the point where the cat had become an actual responsibility instead of an occasional good deed, at which point he freaked out and decided that the next time he saw the cat, it would be going to a no-kill shelter. This was because the sucker had told everyone he didn't like cats, and because the sucker had student loans and was working in the tabletop roleplaying industry, where one goes to become rich in anecdotes and not in dollars, he realized that there was no way on God's green earth he could afford a cat - not even one who slept on his pillow.
That night, instead of his usual hearty meow, the cat reached the sucker's doorstep and let out a strangled wheeze. The sucker, who had been steeling himself all day, immediately broke. He threw the door open, picked up the cat, and realized that the poor creature was sick, feverish, and weak. Not having a cat carrier handy (because, as he told everyone, he didn't like cats), he took a cardboard box, poked some holes in it, put a towel and a bowl full of water in it, and put the cat inside for immediate transportation to a 24 hour animal hospital in the heart of Atlanta. He took the box with the cat to his car, which then refused to start. Fortunately, a young lady of his acquaintance claimed to be very fond of cats, and she drove him and the sick cat to the vet.
The vet, who knew a sucker when she saw one, examined the cat and quickly determined that he'd been in a fight with another, larger cat. He'd taken some damage and gotten an infection, but it was nothing a little subcutaneous fluid and some antibiotics couldn't cure. And, she told the sucker, she would make him a bargain bundle on all the things required to adopt a cat, such as a basic course of shots, removing his tiny cat wonton of love, and otherwise turning him from a feral parking lot kitty into a pet.
But the sucker protested, and said it wasn't his cat, and he was just taking it to the vet in the middle of the night because, well, it wasn't a very good excuse and we'll leave it at that. The vet looked at the sucker, and then looked at the cat, who lay, sprawled out and panting, on the examining table. As she watched, the cat picked itself up, dragged itself over the edge, hauled itself across the room, and jumped up into the sucker's lap. There, it lay purring, a puddle of fuzzy inky blackness, utterly content.
"Not your cat. Right. I'll leave you two here to discuss it," she said, and left the room for a minute.
And the sucker looked down at the giant purring blob of kitty fur in his lap and realized, without a doubt, he was a sucker. Because suckers were the sorts of people who drove cats halfway across Atlanta in the middle of the night claiming they were just being good samaritans to local strays, and who let stray cats from the parking lot sleep on their pillows, and so on and so forth. So, having discovered his inner sucker, he decided to embrace it, adopted the cat, and lived happily with said cat, who it turned out was named Ember, for a very long time.
****
And that, boys and girls, is the mostly true story of how I met my cat Ember, who grew to be a very large cat indeed, and how he adopted me. That was in early 1996; he had been with me or my parents ever since. He's had some utterly ridiculous adventures, many of them involving household appliances that cats are not supposed to be smart enough to operate, he has defended his ever-growing tribe of humans from any threats that he could, and he has spent more time sprawled across my shoulder or my wife's than would seem anywhere reasonable to anyone who did not own a Giant Evil Cat Of Evil (large purring kitty division). He watched over my mother when she was ill, and he walked with her when she began the slow road to recovery. He sat still for my niece and nephew's first fumbling attempts to pet a real kitty, even when they were awkward and still learning to be gentle. He made friends and purred like a madman and always found a spot on the floor at the center of every party we ever threw.
And today was his last day. He could barely walk any more, setting down to rest after fifteen or so steps. He couldn't leap onto the couch without help, and he nearly fell off it when trying to get down. He was skin and bones, and while he still looked sleek and cool, it was clear he had slowed down past the point where he could go on without 24 hour nursemaiding. To keep a beloved pet in those circumstances is, I think, a selfish act. For a long time, I was willing to be selfish. Every possible sign of improvement, I seized on. I wanted to believe in miracle recoveries.
But he had already used up his miracles, it seemed, and today we had to have him put to sleep. Farewell, Ember. It was a magnificent run. The German shepherds of the world will not forget you, and will always tremble at your name.
And we miss you already.