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Finally, I hear a meow.
No, meow isn’t the right word. A meow is cute. What I hear is a shrill, ornery hiss.
Like a hockey puck, I slide the circular can of cat food forward over the pavement, towards the source of the hair-raising sound. Then I take out another can and open it, making sure the lid really pops, hoping the sound entices her enough to come out.
“There’s more where that came from,” I announce. “Get your crotchety ass out here already.”
If anyone happened to be walking by right now, they’d probably think I was nuts. Good thing it’s never mattered to me what other people think.
There’s another hiss, this time more subdued, and finally the furball emerges from behind the trash can. She’s absurdly fluffy, her coat mostly white with subdued hints of black and orange. After doing some googling, I’m pretty sure she’s a Norwegian Forest Cat.
“That’s right,” I say, coaxingly. “Nice, wet cat food. The good stuff.”
A skeptical growl rumbles from the cat as she tentatively approaches the open can. She sniffs at it, then paws at the can, spinning it around like she’s examining it.
About a week and a half ago I was taking a walk around town and ran into this cat. When I tried to pet her, she hissed at me and swatted at me with her paw before scampering away. She didn’t have a collar or anything else that indicated she has an owner. I asked at the gas station next door, and they said she’s just an alley cat that they’ve been seeing hanging around for months. I checked local Cedar Shade Facebook pages where people post about missing pets and couldn’t find anything matching this cat’s description.
I came back a couple days later with cat food. Eventually, I was able to get her to eat some. Though she still wouldn’t consent to letting me pet her, flinching away and hissing at me with a fierce scowl whenever I tried.
I’ve fed her a couple more times since. God knows what she gets to eat living out here by herself. I’ve considered taking her to a vet, but the one time I tried to push through her hisses and pick her up, she scratched my arm up pretty good.
Hopefully if I keep stopping by to feed her, she’ll get used to me and trust me.
Finally, she sticks out her tongue and tests the cat food. She tests it again. Then, she digs in and laps it up with hunger.
My cheeks warm as a rare smile spreads across my face.
“Alright, that’s a good girl.”
I inch closer to her. I set down the second open can of cat food next to the first. She goes to town on it, too.
I reach my hand out slowly, thinking maybe today she’ll let me run my palm down her thick coat.
But she draws back and hisses at me, a fierce and forbidding look on her face, her right paw up like she’s ready to remove one of my fingers if I dare try.
“Fine, fine,” I say, pulling my hand back. I open a third can of cat food and place it on the ground between us.
I rise, and the cat perks her head up to look at me for a moment. I nod to her. “See you later.”
The cat just stares blankly before tucking her head back down and digging into the food.
I turn from the alley to walk back home. Even though that cat is ornery, unpleasant, and anti-social, I kind of like her. Maybe because she reminds me of someone.
As I walk through Cedar Shade back to my house, I start thinking of someone who’s the exact opposite of each of those adjectives.
There’s a weird pulling feeling in my chest as I remember that tomorrow morning is my second English class.
5
SUMMER
Achill in the air prickles my cheeks when my eyes first flutter open.
Even though all week it’s been gloriously warm in the afternoon, by late August up in Vermont, some mornings already get a bit chilly. I roll over in my bed, tucking my legs to my chest and pulling my blanket tighter around me. I let out a small groan at just the thought of flinging off my blanket and exposing my body to the cold morning air.
But then I realize something, and my aversion to braving the cold evaporates. Full of excitement, I eagerly uncover myself and hop out of bed.
It’s cold enough for me to wear my goose sweater this morning.
