There is no more intrepid explorer than a kitten.
~Jules Champfleury
The abandoned kitten lay stretched out across my husband’s hands. Paul fed the newborn — her eyes not yet open — with a tiny bottle from our veterinarian. Our children named her Stripes after the dark, symmetrical lines that ran from her face down to the tip of her tail. Despite the lavish attention the kids paid to our little kitty, she selected Paul as her special person.
Paul was an early riser, and Stripes kept him company each morning while he ate breakfast. When he returned home from work at night, Stripes ran to him and demanded attention. Paul would caress her as she lay on her back, stretched out the same way she’d done as a newborn.
When Stripes was three years old, we moved to a new home near a Dairy Mart. The convenience store was just across the street — kitty-corner from us, so to speak — and Paul walked there for milk twice a week. Paul began to notice Stripes trailing him to the store — always at a distance. He worried about her crossing the busy street, but when he tried to catch her, she always remained just out of reach. The kids were never able to snag her, either. Whenever Paul left for the store, Stripes slipped out the kitty door or hid in the bushes, waiting to follow him.
Stripes would sit outside the Dairy Mart and wait for Paul. Other shoppers noticed the kitty waiting patiently beside the doors. They would laugh at the sight of a cat sitting by the entrance of a milk store.
The clerks began asking Paul, “Did you bring your kitty cat with you today?”
“I don’t bring her,” he’d say. “She follows me!”
Whenever Paul returned from the store, Stripes jumped up on the bench beside our refrigerator, sniffing at the milk jugs as he set them inside.
One day, Stripes grew even bolder. When Paul came out of the store carrying two gallons of milk, she trotted in front of him in a zigzag pattern. Stripes pawed at his legs, even snagging his jeans. He tried to ignore her and walk faster, but she thumped against him and meowed noisily. Then she plopped onto the sidewalk, right in his path, almost making Paul trip. She seemed to be demanding a ride home.
Finally, Paul relented. He rearranged the jugs and picked up Stripes. He must have been quite the sight, balancing a kitty draped over his shoulder, as well as two gallons of milk.
The next time Paul walked to the store, the kids and I sat on the porch to watch. As soon as he crossed the street, Stripes shot out of the bushes beside our house. She galloped along the sidewalk and across the road. Once Paul was inside the store, she trotted over to the large glass doors, sat down, and daintily licked her paws.
We waited to see what would happen. Sure enough, when Paul emerged with the milk jugs, we saw Stripes dance in front of him. She even rolled onto her back, reaching for his legs. Surrendering, Paul set down one jug and picked up his furry friend. She cuddled his neck as he picked up the milk, steadied his load, and carried her home.
We all ran to greet Paul as he walked up the driveway, Stripes riding contentedly on his shoulder.
“I can’t imagine why this kitty is so obsessed with your milk runs,” I said to Paul. “I never feed her milk. It’s not supposed to be good for cats.”
A guilty expression crossed my husband’s face. “Actually,” he said, “I feed her the little bit of leftover milk from my cereal every morning.” I pulled the cat gently off his shoulder. “You are one clever kitty,”
I cooed to her. “I think you figured out that Papa goes to the store to buy you milk!”
“Mama!” one of the kids cried. “She needs a treat for being so smart!”
And from then on, every time Paul and Stripes returned from the Dairy Mart together, our milk-loving kitty was rewarded with a spoonful of her own.
~Janny J. Johnson
