Deborah Norling, 1999

We were out walking for exercise when I heard a loud meowing and a little tabby came rushing across a busy street towards us. It wove itself between our feet meowing pitifully. We walked on, but it trotted beside us like a puppy, crying for attention.

I stopped and picked it up. It settled immediately into my arms and the meowing ceased immediately. It rotated and rubbed and its little body vibrated with a rumbling purr. Its fur smelled of freshly vacuumed carpets and its owners perfume.

My boyfriend did not want a cat. He made that clear as I stood cuddling the little kitty. I didn't either, but its owner no doubtedly wanted the little cat back. Nobody, I reflected, had ever been cruel to this little creature. But a few nights outside under greasy cars and it would no longer be so pleasant to touch. Chased by a few dogs, teased by a few cruel teenagers and it would become skittish and wary. Now, as we set it down and continued our walk it trotted beside us trustingly, like a retriever out for a walk.

We continued our walk but the cat followed for blocks. Finally I carried it, because we were crossing streets and I didn't want it to get run over on my shift. Unlike many cats that protest against this treatment, this little one was quite contented until we got to a particular corner. Then it leaped from my arms, charged across the street, and slipped under a fence.

"It's home," I thought relieved, and we walked on.

But I couldn't get it out of my mind. Had it really found its home, I wondered. I wanted closure. So we circled back to check. It was sitting on the fence, yowling again. And when it saw us, it charged across the same busy street again and set into step beside us. 

My boyfriend was disgusted now because I had screwed the whole evening up. I had not let the little cat go when I had a chance. I wanted to knock on doors and ask people about the cat. But the fence it had disappeared under surrounded the whole house so you were trespassing just to ring the doorbell. We live in these fortresses, I thought sadly. We zoom into our driveways, and from inside our isolation chamber cars we push the garage door openers and disappear into our garages, all without ever making contact with anyone in our community.