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Refocusing on my guest, I note the lack of a collar. I wonder if it’s a stray or if someone's pet got loose. The weight of sadness pulls my lips into a frown, and I watch as it eats the rest of the food lined up on the floor.
If it’s someone's pet, maybe it has a microchip. I’ll have to get it scanned and looked at by a vet. It looks so small, but it’s brave, and I feel a strange kinship with it. As it licks the last of the food from its mouth, it begins a tentative exploration of the first floor, weaving under furniture and smelling everything.
The overwhelming need to keep it swells inside me, quickly followed by despair. The Standfords have a very specific and clear no pet policy for guests, and that’s what I am, a guest. I don’t own this place, and it’s not my choice whether the little feline can stay or go.
I stand and move over to the sliding door. Watching the cat carefully, I push it closed. The rebellious part of my brain wakes up.
Keep it. They’ll never know. They won’t be home for months.
I shake my head against the intrusive thoughts and think about what to do. I know there’s an old box and some sand in the garage for winter that I can use as a makeshift litter box.
Leaving the cat to its house tour, I gather everything I need and set it up in the corner of the kitchen near the door to the garage. I use a couple of soup bowls as makeshift food and water dishes, filling them with water since if it’s hungry, I’m guessing it's probably thirsty too.
It’s settled on the opposite side of the kitchen counter and peers around the edge, watching me get everything ready. “This work for a bathroom?” The only answer I get is a rumbly purr. I should definitely get that health check done. Thoughts of fleas and ticks flit through my mind, but I’m so tired I don’t have the energy to focus on that.
“Whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me. At least for tonight.” I look around the first floor again and wince. “Please use the litter box, alright?”
The cat yawns in response and begins to clean its face. Hoping to maintain the peace, I ease past it so I’m not standing between it and the food.
After I sneak by, it creeps forward, sniffs the bowls, and jumps into the box. I watch it start to dig and curse as sand flies everywhere. Maybe a towel will help keep it contained?
I go upstairs and pull a dirty one out of my hamper to bring downstairs. The little furball huddles in the corner of the living room while I sweep up the mess and dump it back into the box, pushing the towel underneath. After I put the broom away, the cat approaches, and I freeze. It sniffs my shoe and then headbutts my shin.
“You going to let me pet you?”
It rockets back to its corner when I bend down, so I go to the bottom step and sit, waiting to see if it’ll be brave and come back out.
The cat comes halfway toward me before stopping and observes me with caution. Holding still, I give it time to decide what to do, but it still doesn’t move. Slowly I wiggle the tips of my fingers, trying to entice it. Intrigued despite itself, it comes closer. Close enough that I could touch it. I keep the rest of myself as still as possible and let it smell my fingers.
While it’s still sniffing, I wiggle my fingers a little, and it jumps but doesn’t leave. I can feel its breath on my hand, and slowly, I brush my fingers against the spot on their cheeks cats seem to like rubbed. It lets me and purrs louder.
Pulling back a little to see if it will follow, I rest my hand on my thigh. It sidles nearer and sniffs before throwing itself onto its side and exposing its belly. Up close, I can tell it’s only its paws that are dirty; the rest of its fur is a mottled mix of brown, gray, and black.
Taking a chance, I scoot off the bottom step and stretch my legs out. Without hesitating, the cat climbs into my lap, circles around, and throws itself onto its side, purring madly and making little biscuits in the air.
“You just might be an okay little dude.” I scratch behind its ear, and after a few moments, it closes its eyes and falls asleep.
I stay there on the floor for what feels like hours before the cat suddenly wakes up and goes to do its business. Right in the box. “Good job, buddy,” I praise it quietly so I won’t startle it. The towel seems to be working to catch all the sand spray. The responsible part of my brain says it’d be a better idea to sequester it in the garage for tonight, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
“If I let you stay inside, will you behave?” It sneaks off into the living room and wiggles under the couch.
Picking myself off the floor, I find the wet mop and clean the paw prints from the floor before going upstairs and grabbing my phone.
Hey, I found a stray cat outside. Is it okay if I keep it inside with me tonight until I get it to a vet? I’ll do a phenomenal job of cleaning or get a cleaning company to come in afterward.
My gut clenches at the thought of paying for that, but I feel better now that I’ve reached out to them.
I don’t wait for a response since it’s so late. Plus, I don’t want them to say no when I have no intention of kicking it back outside.
Peeking down the stairs, I see the cat sitting at the bottom step.
“You can come up here if you want.”
It only flicks its tail in response, and I realize I don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl.
“Well, goodnight.”
I leave a light on downstairs and go about my business getting ready for bed, double-checking that my phone is plugged in and charging.
I sit on the edge of the bed before laying back. I turned the upstairs lights out and can look up at a sky full of stars through the skylight.
Deep breaths help me relax enough that I’m almost falling asleep on the bed sideways. I’m startled awake when my phone screen lights up with a notification.
Not a problem. We know you’ll take care of things. Let us know what you find out or if you need help looking for a home for it.
I’m relieved they’re not mad, but I worry they’ll say no if I ask to keep it.
Thank you. I’ll keep you updated.
I settle under the covers and try to sleep.
