Cat Tales 6
The boy found the cat tucke d far unde r the front porch. We lived a few feet from a busy street, so making it from whe reve r he’d come from to our porc h was testament enough to his determi nation. And the connection we saw form in the weeks and months to come was a true testament of friendship be tween a cat and a boy.
The boy came to us just weeks before the kitten was found mewing and te rrified below the porch. The boy had come in much the same way. Eight years old, he was brought to my home late one evening in a police cruiser after having been removed from his tenth foster home. He, too, was scared yet dete rmine d.
“I don’t let nobody unde r my covers no more,” he announce d upon arrival. “That’s a good idea,” I told him.
He slept in a cushy armchair that first night and for many nights to come. He was afraid of beds, afraid of windows, afraid of almost everything. On his third day in our home, the blue eyes that knew too much looke d up at me and asked, “Can I live here a long time, like three months?"
"Well, that’s not very long,” I said. He thought for a moment. “Well, how ’bout till I’m thirteen?” That’s when I knew this boy had no conce pt of family, of foreve r. I called his caseworker to see what the plan was for permanency, and there wasn’t one. “We’ll keep him,” I said, and they didn’ t argue, because nobody else wanted him. Much like the cat.
When the boy found the cat terrified in the dark corne r, something clicked between the m. Not right away, as neither one had reason to trust, and they didn’ t. Both had reason to hate, and they did. It took three days for the boy to coax the kitten out into daylight. It took two more to lead him into the garage, where he could then be guided into the house after several more days of coaxing. The boy was determine d to save that cat. Perhaps he wished someone had tried ha rde r to save him when he was so little and afraid. Perhaps he saw himself in the tre mors and cries that each move ment evoked from the tiny creature.
By the time the cat entere d the house and hid behind the couch, the boy had na med him Fraidy Cat. He set food out on the floor at the edge of the couch whe re the dark met the light, and he stood back to wait. Nothing. He lay down on his belly and watched the dark crevice against the wall. Patient as any kid has ever been, the boy, despite attention deficit disorder, fetal alcohol syndrome, and being born a ddicted to methampheta mines, waited for that cat to come out. For hours, for days, he waited.
While the boy slept in the chair, the kitten watche d. Someti mes while the boy slept the food disappeared, and he was happy knowing the kitten was eating. One day the little guy stuck a nose out from behi nd the couch. The boy was there, watching, patient and curious. Fraidy marched right up to the boy, sniffed, mewe d, and sat, looking eye -to-eye at his new owner.
The boy had not chosen the cat; the cat had chosen the boy. Nobody had ever done that before, wanted hi m. That night, Fraidy and the boy slept in a bed. First something had to be done about the window next to the bed. Though it was covered with a curtain, the gaps at the edges terrified the boy, so we duct- taped the m to the wall. In the weeks and months to come, fear became more and more a part of their past. Fraidy still would not come to anybody else, but he let the boy carry hi m everywhe re. They played games, swung on the swing set, jumped on the trampol ine. The boy lugged him up and down the stairs and all around the house, and each night he carried him to bed, whe re the y snuggled down unde r the cove rs, where nobody goes anymore, and slept safely and soundly.
Their journey of trust had begun.
Three years have passed since that summer night when the boy and the kitten came togethe r in my home. Last night I scurried around getting kids off to bed, the five we have now going off in different directions. The boy came into the living room, whe re Fraidy, now huge and sleek, lounged lazily on the back of the couch he had once hidden behind. The boy no longe r carries him, he just calls his name. “Come on, Fraidy, it’s time for bed.” The cat rose slowly from his spot, stretched his back tall in his I’ll -come-in-my– own- time way, and hoppe d down after the boy. He followed closely on the boy’s heels as they plodded off to be d. I wandere d in to turn off the be droom lights and found Fraidy and the boy snuggled into the big bed, where they sleep together each night. There is no fear in this room, where the curtains flutter in the breeze of the open window.