CHARLIE


Walking home in the freezing cold around midnight on January 27th, I heard a pitiful cry to my right. About three blocks from my apartment, I looked down to see a beautiful tuxedo kitten craning his neck up at me and crying. Kneeling down by the gate where the little guy crouched next to a garbage can in the bitter air, I extended my hand. "What are you doing out here in the cold?" I asked the abandoned creature as he rubbed his face on the back of my hand.

Reaching through the metal gate, I gently wrapped my hands around my new friend and pulled him to my chest. He began purring immediately and seemed relieved and happy in my grasp. I thought it was strange and amazing that this stray cat called out to me instead of running away like most street felines do. I wondered if this little one, who looked to be about 8 pounds and maybe ten months old, belonged to someone. Anyone who would abandon an animal in the freezing cold doesn't deserve to have one. It was time to mete out some street justice and take in this sweet little guy.

The next thing I remember, I was cleaning up my furry friend in my kitchen while he plowed through half a can of Fancy Feast. While I scooped out the rest of the can onto his cleaned-off plate, my guest hopped around and begged for more.

The name "Charlie" came to mind in the wee hours of the morning. An old book of mine, which featured a story about a tuxedo cat with that namesake, provided the inspiration to honor little Charlie with his moniker.

The next morning, I left a pile of paper towels near my door for Charlie to do his business on. I arrived home from work to find a terrible stench accompanied by a big ol' crusty log on my Converse. I ran to the deli to pick up a cheap tray, a bag of kitty litter and some Woolite to clean up the scene.

In the bathroom, I sat Charlie in the makeshift litter box a few times, but he didn't seem to get it. He obviously wasn't used to such a convenience. Back in my room several minutes later, I felt a horrible smell smack me across the face. I turned around to see Charlie squatting, like a homeless guy, in the corner of my room near the door and the litter box.

After he did his business, I sprinkled some litter on it and placed it in the litter box. After watching me scrape litter over the evidence, Charlie seemed to understand; he began imitating my motions as both of us scraped in the litter. He had either never used a litter box or had simply been long out of practice. The next time nature called, Charlie ran to his new bathroom location. I was so proud of my boy; he had passed the test.

Unfortunately, curiosity got the better of my friend, when my roomate left the door open for a minute at one point that night. Charlie ran downstairs to explore while I was on a phone call. Of course he headed straight for my landlord's door, effectively ending our fun and re-instating the building's no-animals policy.

After a week of bonding with Charlie and gladly suffering allergic reaction at the hands of his dander, I took my furry friend to North Jersey animal rescuer Nancy Maynard. Spending much of her time rescuing cats, dogs and other lovable critters from the difficult conditions of our merciless world, Nancy works with Critter Cab and Jersey City's Liberty Animal Shelter to ensure that abandoned animals find homes.

Charlie let out one squeaky meow, but remained quiet throughout the ride to the shelter. I wondered how much he understood as we rode further and further away from his adopted home. Upon arriving at the shelter, I noticed that while many of the dogs that occupied the ground floor of the shelter barked in their cages, the cats upstairs enjoyed a noticeably less stressful lifestyle. The cat room on the second floor was a lounge/hang out pad for about thirty felines, all overseen by the loving staff.

Cages containing blankets, food and litter boxes lined the walls. Two portly sleepyheads, one tabby and one tortoiseshell, dozed on separate cliffs of the plush tower at the center of the room. Nancy introduced me to "The Mayor," a rotund, puffy tabby who spent her time visiting every cat and checking up on all goings-on. Overcome by what I call a "cute attack," I intercepted The Mayor for a moment to pet her before stepping aside to allow her to return to her duties.

Although it broke my heart to part ways with Charlie, I knew that I had left him in good hands. Charlie had clearly enjoyed his stay with me, his foster dad, and seemed sad and confused at the shelter. His reaction was not surprising, though. Charlie went from freezing on the street to rolling around a big, warm apartment, before traveling by train and car in a carrier bag straight to a cage; a comfortable cage, but a cage nonetheless. The fluffy varmint in the cage next to Charlie's meowed a hello as the other felines bathed, slept and roamed about the room. A few weeks later, I learned from Nancy that Charlie had been adopted into a loving home.

"If you love someone, you must set them free."

I've always hated that saying.

Safe and secure

Under the bed

What? Trying to sleep over here.

Playful at night.

Let the games begin!

Enjoying a moment of tranquility before the sneezing storm commences.

- posted by Hal Miller @ 1:47 AM |