Unwitting

If I had known, I would never have done it.

I mean, who really believes they'll be arrested for something so small? I had no idea that rescuing a cat from a tree—and then having it follow you home like some fuzzy, judgmental shadow—would get a person arrested for catnapping. I mean, really. A cat.

The old woman who owned said cat was standing in her doorway the entire time, watching me struggle like I was performing some kind of community theater version of “Man vs. Nature: The Arbor Edition.” She didn’t say a word. Not one. No helpful “Oh, that’s Mr. Whiskers, he does this every Tuesday,” or even a casual “You might want to reconsider your life choices before climbing that tree in khakis.”

Nothing.

And I don’t even like cats. I’m a dog person. Dogs are honest. Dogs greet you like you’ve returned from war when you’ve just taken out the trash. Cats, on the other hand, look at you like you owe them money.

The only reason I took the cat in was because it followed me home, meowing the entire way like a broken car alarm with opinions.

Let me back up.

It started on a perfectly normal Tuesday. The kind of day where nothing should happen, and therefore, something absolutely does. I was walking home from work, minding my own business, thinking about dinner—something involving meat and not involving judgment—when I heard it.

“Meeeeeeeeow.”

Long. Loud. Accusatory.

I looked up. There it was. A cat. High in a tree. Staring down at me like I had personally put it there.

Now, I could have walked away. I should have walked away. That was my first mistake. But there’s something about an animal in distress that triggers a deep, primal response in human beings. Something noble. Something heroic.

Something incredibly stupid.

“Meeeeeeeeow.”

“Yeah, okay,” I muttered. “I hear you.”

The cat did not look grateful. It looked impatient.

I glanced around. That’s when I saw her—the old woman. She was standing in her doorway, arms crossed, watching. Just watching.

“Is this your cat?” I called out.

She tilted her head slightly, like I’d asked her to solve a riddle.

“Cat?” she said.

“Yes. The one… in the tree?”

“Oh,” she said, as if noticing it for the first time. “Well. Isn’t that something.”

That should have been my second warning.

But no. Instead, I took off my jacket, rolled up my sleeves, and approached the tree like I had any business doing so.

Climbing a tree as an adult is different than climbing one as a child. As a child, you believe in your abilities. As an adult, you are acutely aware of gravity, medical bills, and the fact that your boss will absolutely not accept “cat rescue gone wrong” as a valid excuse.

Still, I climbed.

Branch by branch, grunting like a man who had not made good life choices. The cat watched me the entire time. Not with fear. Not with relief.

With judgment.

“You could at least meet me halfway,” I muttered.

“Meeeeeeeeow.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I reached the cat. It did not flee. It did not scratch me. It simply stepped onto my shoulder like we had rehearsed this.

“Oh. Okay,” I said. “That was… easier than expected.”

The descent was less graceful. At one point, I’m fairly certain I became one with the tree. There was a moment—brief but meaningful—where I considered just staying there and starting a new life as a woodland creature.

But eventually, I made it down.

“Got it!” I announced, slightly out of breath.

The old woman nodded. “Well done.”

“Here you go,” I said, stepping toward her.

The cat did not move.

I tried again. “Come on.”

Nothing.

It clung to my shoulder like it had signed a lease.

“She seems to like you,” the woman said.

“I don’t want her to like me,” I replied.

“Funny how these things happen.”

I gently attempted to remove the cat. It responded by digging its claws into my shirt with the determination of a tiny, furry mountaineer.

“Right,” I said. “Okay. We’ll… work on that.”

The old woman had already retreated into her house.

That was my third warning.

So there I was. Standing on the sidewalk. With a cat I didn’t want. Owned by a woman who apparently did not care. Wearing a shirt that now technically belonged to the cat.

“Fine,” I sighed. “You can walk with me. But that’s it. We are not bonding.”

The cat blinked slowly.

I should have known that meant it had already decided everything.

The walk home was… loud.

“Meeeeeeeeow.”

“Yes, I’m aware you exist.”

“Meeeeeeeeow.”

“No, I don’t have snacks.”

“Meeeeeeeeow.”

“This is harassment.”

People stared. A man walking down the street with a cat on his shoulder, arguing with it like they were in a long-term relationship.

At one point, a woman smiled and said, “Aw, that’s adorable.”

“It’s a hostage situation,” I replied.

By the time I reached my front door, I was emotionally exhausted.

“Alright,” I said, opening the door. “You can come in. Briefly. Then you’re leaving.”

The cat walked in like it owned the place.

It inspected everything. The couch. The table. My soul.

“This is temporary,” I reminded it.

It jumped onto the couch and curled up.

“I mean it.”

It closed its eyes.

“Don’t get comfortable.”

It got comfortable.

I made dinner. The cat watched. Intensely.

“No,” I said.

It blinked.

“No.”

It blinked again.

I gave it a small piece of chicken.

“I have no backbone,” I admitted.

That night, I tried to sleep. The cat had other plans.

At exactly 2:13 a.m., it began sprinting across the apartment like it was training for the Olympics.

“What are you doing?” I groaned.

Silence.

Then—CRASH.

“Are you serious?”

I got up. The cat sat in the middle of the room, perfectly still.

“You did that,” I said.

It looked at me like I had offended it.

“This is why I like dogs.”

The next morning, I woke up to find the cat sitting on my chest. Staring at me.

“Oh good,” I said. “Sleep paralysis, but fluffy.”

I checked my phone. 7:02 a.m.

“You need to go home,” I told the cat.

It yawned.

“I mean it.”

It stretched.

“This is not a permanent arrangement.”

It followed me to the kitchen.

I fed it again.

“I am weak,” I whispered.

Later that afternoon, there was a knock on my door.

I opened it.

Police.

Actual police.

“Uh… hi?”

“Sir,” one of them said. “We’ve received a report of a stolen cat.”

I blinked. “A… what?”

“A stolen cat.”

I laughed. Because obviously this was a misunderstanding. A hilarious one.

“Oh, no, no. You’ve got it wrong. I didn’t steal a cat. I rescued a cat. From a tree. It followed me home. Against my will, I might add.”

The officers exchanged a look.

“Is there a cat in your residence?”

I hesitated.

The cat chose that moment to walk into view.

Traitor.

“There it is,” the officer said.

“Yes, but—”

“Sir, the owner claims you took the cat without permission.”

“The owner was there!” I said. “She watched me! She said nothing!”

The officers looked unconvinced.

“She described you,” the other one added. “Said you climbed the tree and took the cat.”

“I did climb the tree,” I admitted. “But that’s not the point! The point is she didn’t say it was hers!”

The cat sat down between us like it was part of the investigation.

“This is ridiculous,” I said.

“Sir,” the officer said gently, “we’re going to need you to come with us.”

“For what? Being too helpful?”

“For catnapping.”

I stared at them.

“Cat… napping.”

“Yes, sir.”

I looked at the cat.

“This is your fault.”

It blinked.

“I didn’t even want you.”

It blinked again.

“I hope you’re happy.”

The cat looked deeply, profoundly satisfied.

As they led me out, I saw the old woman standing across the street.

Watching.

Again.

I pointed at her. “You!”

She waved.

“YOU DID THIS!”

She smiled.

The officer gently guided me toward the car. “Sir, let’s keep it calm.”

“I climbed a tree for that cat!” I protested. “I risked my life! My dignity! My khakis!”

“We’ll sort it out at the station,” he said.

As they put me in the back of the car, the cat appeared at the window.

Just… there.

Staring at me.

“How did you even get here?” I demanded.

It tilted its head.

“This isn’t over,” I told it.

It blinked slowly.

And I swear—absolutely swear—it smirked.

If I had known, I would never have done it.

But then again…

I suppose not everyone gets arrested for trying to do the right thing.

And not everyone gets out on bail because the “victim” refuses to leave their side and causes a scene in the police station lobby.

But that’s another story.