Tales from a Small Town (2)

I’m allergic to cats.  Deathly allergic, in fact.

When it comes to some cats, anyway.  I don’t know if it’s a matter of the breed, the cleanliness, or the diet that determines what cats I can live with (which I have before, while attending college) and what cats I cannot be within 20 feet of without my throat closing up.

On this particular day, it was a cat that fell somewhere in between.

It was dark.  Well past my normal working hours. I was finishing up some chores before going to bed when I heard my doorbell ring.  As per usual, I had to visit all three of my entrances before coming to the correct one. This time, it seemed, I was able to greet the visitors before they assumed I wasn’t home.

There were five of them. The oldest was around 12 at the time – the ringleader of the band of children. But, the one who was most comfortable talking with me was the second-oldest. She spoke up.

“Pastor Ben, we found this kitten abandoned by its mom by the church.”

The youngest, a boy with far too much unchecked energy and absent a good father figure, was holding a frightened, watery-eyed grey ball of fur close to his chest.

“We can’t take it home, so we were wondering if you would like to keep it as a pet since you live alone.”

I was immediately amused by this clever maneuver, and wondered how long they talked with one another about the best way to convince me to care for their newly discovered prize.

“Unfortunately,” I started, “I’m allergic to cats.”

Prepared for this, another one chimed in: “My aunt is allergic to cats also, but she takes medicine. You can get some of that, then you will be able to have a cat!”

I was tempted to see if they already discussed how visiting hours with the kitten would work.

“I’m sorry. I can’t keep it. Have you tried talking with the other neighbors?”

They began listing off more reasons than I expected of why no one else was qualified to care for their new ward.

In the end, I made them a deal. I would watch over the kitten for the night, and then I would pass it on to an animal shelter. I called up some favors, and procured an animal crate along with some cat food before starting to investigate where to deliver my new feline roommate.

It should come as no surprise than in an area with more cats than people, finding a shelter that accepts the rapidly breeding fur-creatures is easier said than done – especially one that promises a “no-kill” policy.

The following morning, I opened the door to the small entryway that served as a temporary animal crate storage.  What I saw was a pitiful state. The kitten – no doubt in an attempt to escape – had tipped over the water dish and soaked the food. I don’t know how long it had been clinging to the wire mesh door to avoid getting wet, or whether it’s meowing was out of fear or hunger. Probably both.

Even without experience working with small animals, it was painfully obvious this young cat was not yet weaned. Maybe it was abandoned as the children say, or maybe they stumbled on it while the mother was hunting for food. At this point, all I felt was pity.

Later that day, I drove it to a shelter a few towns over. They had me fill out some paperwork while they took the crate to the back room. I still remember those watery blue eyes staring at me as the curtain closed. In the long intake form, the only line I could fill out was the name. “Noah,” The children named it, feeling it was appropriate since it was found near the church. But, was it actually a male kitten? I didn’t even know how to fill out the gender portion. I sheepishly handed the paper back to the clerk, and returned home.

I tried to think of how I could avoid the children over the next few days, but I also knew they only had one priority on their minds right now.

Ding… Ding…

The doorbell rang again, before my engine had time to cool off from the journey.

“How is Noah doing?”

They knew I was taking him to a shelter, so there was no sense hiding that. Fearing for his life, they asked, “Will he be okay?”

“The people there will make sure he is well taken care of.”

I commended the children for their care and attention, and willingness to look after God’s creation.

The next morning, while I was drinking coffee and preparing my work on an empty stomach, I wondered if a certain young kitten was able to see the same sunrise I did.

Tales from a Small Town (1)

The wind was beginning to pick up. The clouds in the West wore a dark grey underneath.  I could smell the water in the air.

The scent of the oncoming rain mixed with the sun-dried soil as I pulled the garden rake across the ground.  A light fog of tossed dirt was settling around my bare feet.

SMACK! The high-pitched sound of a hand slapping against skin rang in the air. It was shortly followed by the crying wail of a child, which echoed in the trees.

I paused for a moment, and looked off into the direction of the sound. 

It must have been the weekend. The children didn’t stay in that place during school days. Judging by the voice, it must have been Rose – the younger of the sisters.

I lowered my gaze, and continued raking the garden bed.

SMACK! It rang again, followed by an even louder scream.

I wondered what had happened in that house. What had led to this dramatic conclusion – if it was the conclusion. Was this form of pain infliction justified by a wanton or selfish act? Or was it the result of an alcohol-fueled rage?

It was impossible to know for sure. I had seen enough of the lives in that town to know that the only difference between the children and adults was their age.

Looking around, I glanced at the nearby homes and trailers. I turned my head to peer down the road going into town. Nothing.

The garden grew darker, as the clouds rolled overhead. I tied-off the gate, and hoped that the fencing would keep the deer out for another night.  I had seen their tracks nearby; no doubt they knew what I was growing by now.

My mind drifted to the screams, and I thought back to the previous week when I saw bruises on young arms. Curious. Perhaps they weren’t from playing rough in the yard, after all.

A quick burst of wind drew my attention, and I notice the silence once again. I put the tools away in the shed, closed the door, and headed indoors.

That night, I watched the clock tick midnight before I heard the drops landing on the roof.