Edward

My Latin name is Felis catus, but my humans call me Frank. Sometimes they would switch it up to Frankie, Frankiekins, Frankencat, and even That Damn Cat. That is, they used to. The humans here in the Humane Society call me Mr. Whiskers. Clever, no? "Humane Society" makes it sound like an upscale place with balls, banquets, tuxedos and big fluffy gowns. What it really is is a place where unwanted beasts such as myself are left in the hopes that some new humans will pick us and take us to a "fur-ever" home, as they call it. These humans think they're so damn clever, I tell you. Giving everything cutsie names in the hopes of increasing interest. Now we're even live streaming our little cages to give humans worldwide a look in a day in the life of a miserable creature they can save. Right now the Society is open, and we have loads of humans poking their heads in the hall where our cages are lined up. The kittens and puppies and bunnies all get the same reaction. "Aww, how cute!" Some of the dogs perform tricks; rolling over, getting up on their back paws to dance, sitting tall and offering a paw for a high five. Shameless beasts that will do anything to ensure just a few moments more of a human's time. We cats, however, have no need to pander to the whims of the bipeds. Especially those of us that have been here awhile, like myself. We know that our time here is limited. At the end of our sentence, we either get adopted or we make a final trip to the veterinarian's office. While that prospect is a bit intimidating, I am not scared about it. I have lived quite a long time already. I could not tell you how long, however. Time moves differently for us inmates. My story is all too common, and honestly, I am just plain tired. Today the humans haven't been opening my cell to see if I'll be good fit for their little family, so I'll just rest and tell you an abridged version of how a wonderfully behaved, black short haired house cat ended up in this ever-shrinking cell.

I have no real memory of being a kitten. I don't know if I have any siblings, or what became of my parents. My earliest memories are being trained to use a litter box, where the food and water bowls were, and how to read my humans' emotions. At one point, there were two adult humans and their three children. We also had six cats (myself included), two dogs, and inexplicably, a rather tiny pig. It was a messy, loud, smelly, chaotic time for all of us. The male human always appeared to be in a foul mood and was surrounded in grey swirled with red; and the female human, surrounded by yellow with murky blue, spent most of her time cleaning, feeding everyone, and crying when she thought no one would hear. The dogs and a few of the cats usually stayed outside. We had a fairly large yard with a tall wooden fence encircling it. There was a rather rickety shed the other animals would use when they didn't want to come inside or as a respite from the weather. As for the rest of us, we much preferred the safety and comfort of the inside of the house. There were lots of places to climb, scratching posts and toys to destroy. When the children weren't in school or at their friends' houses, they usually played with and pampered us. The youngest girl would often dress us up in her doll clothes and try to have tea parties with us. Only the pig enjoyed those times. He was an odd creature as far as pigs go. From what I understand, pigs don't generally tolerate wearing clothes and being made to act like a living doll. A very messy and smelly doll, to be sure, but Pignatius as he was called, seemed to love the attention.

The first time I went to the vet, I was given something called anesthesia that made me oh so very sleepy. Some time later I was sort of half asleep, I had been wearing what they called a cone of shame, and the lower half of my body was quite sore. I slept a lot over the next few days, waking to eat a little, struggle with the litter box and was force fed nasty tasting medicine. When I finally was able to move around better and take stock of the house, I noticed that Pignatous and a couple of the outdoor cats were gone. Once the humans went to sleep, Janey, my only real friend in the house, sat down next to me and explained the situation. Apparently, the male human took the outdoor cats somewhere, and when he came home they weren't with him. Then some other male human came to the house and took away Pignatious. The kids all cried ferociously about the losses, but the adults yelled at them and sent them to their rooms. We agreed to be on our best behavior and try not to get underfoot as much as we could. The household was very tense for a long time afterwards. The adults argued a lot, the kids retreated to their rooms, Janey and I tried to sneak in to console the adult female when the male left, but she usually just took us out of her room and closed the door. The years came and went as they always do, but we never reclaimed that ease we once had. The kids got bigger and left, one of the dogs crossed the Rainbow Bridge after choking on something he shouldn't have been eating. The man dug a hole in the yard by the shed and buried the dog, along with a few of his toys. The kids came home for that, and they brought along several boxes and a carrier. By the time they left, all of their personal possessions that they had left in their rooms were gone. Janey, too. The youngest girl took her away. I mourned the loss of my friend very deeply, and I think the woman took notice and pitied me when I stopped eating and climbing and scratching everything. I went about my days and nights wandering the house, curling up in spots where Janey's scent was still strong. That's when the woman would scoop me up and bring me to sit with her on the couch. She'd spend long hours holding me, giving me pets, and just talking to me. She usually ended up crying herself to sleep, but I didn't mind her holding me close. It was comforting, to be honest.

The man once more left with the remaining dog and the cats, returning without them. He also started bringing home empty boxes. Lots of empty boxes. One day, he came home with another male in a large yellow truck. They took all the now filled boxes and all the furniture and loaded everything in the truck. The only thing left was me, and a small carrier. The woman gently placed me in the carrier, and put me in the front seat of her car as the men drove away in the truck. She cried a little as we drove far from the house. I fell asleep, and woke up as soon as the car stopped moving. The woman had pulled off the road near a forest. She left the motor running as she carried me deep into the woods. She set down the carrier, crying and apologizing, unlocked it and hurriedly walked away. It took a long time for me to fully understand what was happening. She wasn't coming back. I was alone. I wandered around the woods for some time, but nothing was familiar. Several animal smells, rodents, deer, rabbits, coyotes, birds of all kinds, but no other cats. Night came quickly and I grew even more frightened. I went back inside my carrier, pulled the door closed (never did figure out how to lock it) and cried, just like the other unchosen inmates do here at the end of the day.

The next day was bright and warm, which normally would have put me in a good mood. Today, however, my mood was rather foul. I didn't sleep well, all the unfamiliar noises and smells making sleep elusive. I've lived indoors my entire life, meals and treats brought to me by humans at regular intervals. I have no real insight on how to be an outdoor cat, but I was quite hungry. Stupidly I decided that just because I was indoor cat, my instincts would kick in and I'd be able to stalk, kill, and eat some hapless creature. I spied several squirrels running about and thought that that was as good a place to start as any. However, they were faster and much better at disappearing into the trees. At one point, I think the crafty bastards were laughing and taunting me. Before long, they scampered away to points beyond and I was alone again, hungrier and quite dejected. I wandered around for a bit longer until I came upon a stream. I made my way to the edge and cautiously leaned in for a drink. The water was cool and tasted so good. Sated, I went over to the trees to take care of business, my stomach sloshing as I walked. I tried unsuccessfully to catch a couple of chipmunks, but much like the squirrels, they boastfully triumphed. Tail down, I despodently returned to the water's edge. I took a few more crestfallen sips when I saw several schools of small fish swimming close by. I watched them carefully for a short time, and managed to catch one. I pulled it out of the water and watched it flop around, drowning in the oxygen. With a final twitch of it's tail, I took a tentative bite out of it's side. The most vile, disgusting thing I had ever eaten exploded in my mouth and slithered down my throat. I turned away and vomited, gagging on the experience. When my stomach had settled a bit, I kicked dirt on the fish like it was a turd in the litter box. By the time I got back to my carrier, I was so exhausted by the day's efforts, I fell into a much needed deep sleep.

Dogs are well known for their amazing noses. They can sniff out drugs, bombs, cadavers, living people, treats, and can find their way home even from miles away. Cats can do all that as well, we just don't like to brag about it. Police cat? No, thank you. Ours is a much more sophisticated and quiet existence. Nevertheless, desperate times call for desperate measures, and my current situation was quite desperate. I crawled out of my carrier, yawned, and got in some good stretches. I focused on the woman's smell, which still lingered. I followed the smell out to the road and was frightened back to the tree line by the traffic. Cars and trucks of all manner of sizes and colors zoomed past at an alarming rate. I sat down and watched it all from the relative safety of the trees. After some time had passed, I decided to get back in action. Staying close to the trees, I began heading in the direction opposite of the traffic. Surely we must have come this way, even if I can't smell her anymore, there really is only the one way. As the sun sank lower, fatigue started setting in. I decided to stop for the night and wandered back into the woods. After some time, I found a fallen log that was empty and decided to rest there for the night. The next day, I made my to the highway and resumed my walk. Before much time had passed, the sky opened up and it started raining. Hard. I had never felt rain before and was immediately not a fan. I slunk into the trees, but they didn't offer much protection. So I did what any half-starved, freezing, soaking wet, lost indoor cat would do. I curled up in defeat and cried. I'm not super proud of it, but it was all I knew to do. I slept fitfully for a short time, and decided to try again. The rain had eased to a more manageable drizzle, so I pushed back to the highway. There was a car pulled off away from the other cars and had its motor off. Some sort of contraption had lifted it up and there was a human man cursing as he struggled to remove one of the tires. Even with the distance and rain, I could smell food. Ravenous, but still cautious, I made my to the car. A little girl surrounded by yellow and lavender jumped out of the car and picked me up, holding me tight. "A kitty!!! Can we keep him, Daddy? Please? Oh, please please please?" She begged, her vise-like grip dangerously close to cutting off my circulation. The man turned to the girl, weary but not too surprised. "Get back in the car, Lucy. Just...hang tight till I get the tire changed." He closed the door after us and went back to his task, still in blue, brown and amber. Lucy wrapped me up in a towel to warm me up. She was speaking rapid-fire jibberish at me, answering her own questions. She reached into a crinkly bag and pulled something out. When she opened her little hand, there was a small mound of manna that she miraculously produced and gave me to eat. I don't know what it was, but it was heavenly compared to that horrid fish. In all, she gave me three handfuls before deciding that if I ate more, I'd make myself sick. Sensible, really. After her father finished changing the tire, he turned on the car, and blasted the heater. Before they even started talking, I was sleeping the sleep of the warm, dry, nourished cat that I had been once upon a time. When the car eventually stopped, I woke and got my first and thus far, only look at the Humane Society's exterior. Lucy was trying to be brave and not cry, but even I could tell it was a struggle as she held me. Her father guided us inside and told the woman at the front desk that they found me by the side of the road but couldn't keep me as Lucy's mom was deathly allergic to cats. An excuse I've heard countless times over the years, and wonder how often it's merely a fabrication to assuage the human guilt over not wanting to care for their animal any more. After the now openly bawling Lucy and her father left, I was placed in yet another carrier and taken over to the vet's clinic. There, I was bathed, inspected and given shots that hurt like hell, and taken to my new cell. They gave me a bowl of food and another of water and a very soft blanket upon which I immediately fell asleep.

My time at the Society is almost over. I still feel pretty good, despite my joints protesting every time I overexert myself during enrichment time. Nowadays us older inmates sit in the shade and gossip while the younger ones run themselves ragged in the little play area behind the main building. Today, there are a few humans watching us, some of their kids playing with the puppies. There, on the bench, sits a lone human woman in a long billowing black dress watching us older cats. She has a tender smile, twinkling grey eyes and a pinkish golden aura around her. Slowly, she pulls herself upright using a cane. The way she walks it looks like her joints hurt her as much as mine. She comes closer to where we are, my companions stay put, watching with weary eyes. Ignoring the twinges of pain, I hop up on a box and wait for her to finish her trek. She reaches down and places her forehead on mine. I could smell lavender and sage, cinnamon and vanilla. Home. We stay like that for only a moment, but it's enough. She waves an attendant over. "I'd like to take this one, please. His name shall be Edward, and we're going to have a marvelous time getting old together!" After filling out the paperwork, we went home, where we spent a few wonderful years together until I crossed the Rainbow Bridge and found Janey and Pignatius and all the others waiting for me. I ran to catch up with them with zero complaints from my joints.