Home for the Holidays

Honorable Mention, teens' stories

Chance C. R. Willey |

12/19/2008 - 12/19/08

"I'm sorry, kitty, but with the country being what it is today, we can't afford to keep you," said the woman with tears starting to fill her eyes as she looked down at the fluffy white cat she had set at her feet on the snowy sidewalk.

The cat looked up at the woman's pale, thin face from where he sat, his eyes wide and sad, not understanding what she was saying to him. Why was she — the woman who had loved and cared for him for months before — setting him outside in the cold when she had once offered him warmth in her bed with her?

Looking down at the little cat and saying good-bye was the hardest thing she had had to do in years. Looking at those wide, blue eyes filled her heart with stone, making it fall deep into her stomach. "I will miss you kitten. But don't worry. You're tough and there are a lot of apartment buildings around here so, there will be plenty of places for you to find food," she said.

The woman leaned down and scratched the white cat behind his ears, causing the cat to purr aloud, rub his side against her hand and then sit down again. He looked back up to see the woman stand and turn away. She got into her old car and drove off, leaving the little white cat alone and cold watching the road, his wide eyes glued to the car until it disappeared around a corner. "Where are you going?" he meowed pitifully. "Come back." But she did not.

It was late November and already lights were being hung in the town and luminarias put out along the walkways and roofs in preparation for Christmas. Yet it was far from a holiday for a one-year-old cat that had been left to take care of himself in the freezing cold streets of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Confused and unsure of where to go, the cat traveled in the direction that the car had driven, following the tire tracks left in the snow, knowing they might lead somewhere that had food — and maybe even warmth. He had no illusions about going home; he knew that no matter how complicated the situation was, he was no longer wanted where he had been.

Following the tracks was not the best idea. He soon found himself lost in the maze of three-story apartment buildings. What did it matter to him if he was lost? He had no place to find. All he wanted was food and a warm spot to sleep. He had not been able to find either; he could not see food anywhere.

Suddenly, he smelled something ... an obvious odor coming from a portly man walking from one of the buildings. The man was wearing an Elmer Fudd cap, black snow pants and a red plaid shirt. He carried a fat bag over his shoulder. As the cat neared the man, he figured out it was not the man that gave off the bacon smell, but the shiny white bag the man carried. The little white cat, almost blending in with the snow, ran as fast as his cold little feet could carry him to where the man now set down the plastic bag near a large, green metal dumpster.

Making sure no one was looking, the cat started his work. Using his paws, he started to stretch out the opening of the trash bag in an effort to find the source of the bacon smell. Sure enough, toward the center of the bag lay bent and torn paper plates stained with bacon grease, with half-eaten over-cooked eggs and strips of bacon, white with fat and charred toward the edges. "It is not Friskies, but it is the best I have got," thought the white cat as he began to eat his new-found feast out of the garbage bag.

Over time he had gotten to know the neighborhood like a clock. He knew when and where people were taking their garbage and where the dumpsters that had the best food were. Now and then people would catch him eating from their garbage, but most of them did not care; he was just eating what they didn't want. Still, there were sometimes those bitter people who would chase him off with a broom, afraid he would make a mess. He tried to avoid those types, but there was no telling sometimes.

Food was easy to find in comparison to shelter. He couldn't seem to find a real home. He would hide under cars and in bushes that pushed up against the walls of the apartment buildings. Once, he jumped up onto someone's balcony and slept in a bundle of rags that smelled of paint. That was the closest thing he had found to a bed since his owner had set him on the streets. He had to leave that place quickly when a large, black dog showed up with obvious notions that cats were food.

A few weeks had passed and all around him he saw signs of Christmas. People were coming home with bags full of rolls of wrapping paper and delicious smelling foods. The spiced scent of Christmas cookies baking wafted through the air. In his wanderings through the complex, he would look into windows and catch glimpses of people decorating their Christmas trees and watching Christmas films on their televisions. Now and then, he sat on the sill and watched them too. No one seemed to notice him at all.

Sleeping under a car one night, the cat dreamed that he was one of those cats in the Christmas movies, curled up and warm in front of a fire. The sound of a motor jarred him awake. He tried to run, but something had caught his tail. He yowled in pain and fear. Suddenly, he was free. His white fur was stained with blood, the end of his tail almost cut off and hanging like a broken twig.

A woman was opening her building door when she saw a cat crowded into the small corner behind a plant, almost hidden and bleeding. Her arms were filled with shopping bags, but she put them down, pushed the plant aside and picked up the injured cat. Seeing the ripped tail the woman said, kindly, "We need to get you some help, kitty."

Much later, the cat found himself in a metal cage. His tail was short and bandaged. Around him were many other cages, all filled with crying cats, confused as to why they were there.

Days passed. Occasionally, a kind face would look in on him and move on. And then a family arrived. They took him from the cage, snuggling their faces into his white fur. "He's perfect," they exclaimed, not minding his broken tail or his dirty coat. "It's going to be such a cozy Christmas with a cat in front of the fire."

"A fire," the cat thought and purred. He was going home.