Night

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About a year ago a black feral cat took up residence in the neighborhood. Based on its bedraggled state of affairs, I surmised it was (and is) male in gender. When I first saw him, he appeared to have mange covering the back half of his body. As time passed, (and although I am not fond of the feline species) I began to feed him; simply because I felt sorry for the poor creature. When what appeared to be mange began to disappear, and new fur began to fill in, I guessed that what I thought what a skin condition was simply the result of malnutrition. And while “Night” (since this seemed to be an apt name) never gained a significant amount of weight, he began to look rather healthy.

… Until

he “showed up” one day with a nasty, red wound under one side of his neck. There could be no doubt, whatever, that he was, well, a he. As a result, I figured that the wound would become infected, and he’d be “past tense” in the course of a few days. About this time Night “turned up missing,” and I figured the wound, and resulting infection had done its “best” work. Much to my surprise, however, the bedraggled black cat returned six or eight days later, strolled up to my porch, and indicated that he would really like something to eat. (Thank you).

Speaking of “Thank You” I sometimes question Night’s gratitude, as when I set a paper plate full of dog food, (yes, dog food) in front of him, he will occasionally “haul off” and scratch me, (as if to say, “You’ve done what I needed you to do, now get the heck outta my way so I can chow down)! Needless to say, I have never attempted to pet him, as, no doubt, I would rue the day for my efforts to do so. At this writing it has been some time since I have served as a potential victim of Cat Scratch Fever, thus I’m hopeful my cat’s mean spiritedness has come to an end.

He toddled back out of the culvert which runs under my driveway today, his “home away from home,” I suppose, and he definitely looked the “worse for wear.” Night sported a fresh wound under his neck, no doubt the result of a continuing blood sport for his lady’s affection. And as he sundered, he limped badly. Judging from the condition of his back legs, he is experiencing advanced arthritis. 

After I had fed the pitiful feline, and he began to walk away, I noticed the exterior of his hind legs was rubbed raw of fur; another symptom of his aggressive demeanor with another of his species. Perhaps if he could talk, he would say, 

“You should see the other guy!”

I fear my cat, Night, isn’t long for this world, but I like to think I’ve done the best by him that I can, and perhaps in some small way God will reward me for my faithfulness to this poor creature. And perchance, during his final moments on earth Night will know someone cared enough to spare a bit of food, and lavish more than a little loving care.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 22. Copyright pending

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