A cat assures its owner of good luck.
~Chinese Proverb
On a rainy December morning on Long Island, I drove thirty miles to Save-A-Pet animal shelter to look at kittens. Among the chaos of kids, barking dogs, and parents, I picked up a black kitten. She appeared to be six months old. She clung to me and purred as I petted her silky coat. How could anyone find a black cat unlucky? I had to take her home.
But I was just there to look. I didn’t have a pet bed, food, or bowls for her. Furthermore, that night I was going out with Ed. We had been friends for quite a while, but this was our first “official” date.
I had to leave the kitten. “Goodbye, Muffin,” I said and handed her to Kyle, the shelter volunteer.
As I drove home, sheets of rain beat against the car. And I cried tears for my kitten. Why did I have to name her? I thought. Now, she is a part of me like a heart or a lung. I can’t abandon her now. I should be excited about my date, so why am I sad?
At home, I looked at the clock: 3:00 p.m. If I hurry back to the shelter, there will still be time to adopt Muffin before it closes.
I tore off my wet clothes, pulled on dry ones, and ran to the car. The rain had turned to hail. Golf-sized lumps of ice pummeled the vehicle. I struggled to see through the blurry windshield as I rushed back to the shelter to save my Muffin.
I must have looked like a madwoman when I got back, but Kyle brought Muffin to me. “She’s been waitin’ on you.” I opened my wet coat and held her against my chest. She stretched her neck, stuck out her pink tongue, and licked me. Looking into her huge green eyes, my heart filled with warmth, love, and happiness.
“How did you know I’d come back?” I said to Kyle.
“Oh, you were hooked big-time. And the little girl, too.” He scratched her head. “I’ll get the adoption papers started.”
“But I don’t have any food, a bed, or a cat carrier.” Through my shirt, I felt her heart beating. The winter chill was gone as she warmed me.
“No worries. We have some food and a box to take her home in,” he said.
At the checkout counter, I signed Muffin’s paperwork and paid a small fee.
The volunteer gave me a bag of dry food and put Muffin in a carton. He carried her out to the car for me and put the box on the passenger seat. Outside, the rain had stopped. A glimmer of sun fought through the clouds. Muffin let out some meows.
Kyle said to Muffin, “It’s okay, girl. This nice lady’s goin’ to make you a good home.”
Shivering in my soaked jacket, I thanked Kyle and opened the trunk. I put the food inside, closed it, and got into the car. Then I peeked inside the box. Muffin was gone!
I looked on the floor, under the seats, and in every corner I could find. No kitten. I ran into the shelter. I came back out with Kyle, and we went to my car. He pulled a lever on the bottom of the front passenger seat and pushed it forward. Muffin was huddled inside the small space.
“What are you doing in there?” I said. I patted her head. She peered up at me. Kyle picked up Muffin and put her in the carton.
“How did you know where she was?”
“‘Happens all the time.”
“Thanks again for rescuing us.”
“Any time.” He went back to the shelter.
I grabbed a blanket from the back seat, tucked it around Muffin, and made sure she had plenty of air. On the ride home, she cried. That was heart wrenching. Maybe I had made a mistake.
Inside my apartment, I gathered blankets and pillows. I made a place for her next to my bed and filled bowls with food and water. But she was not ready to take a nap. Muffin wanted to explore. Sniffing the air, she dashed under the bed, around the furniture, and into the kitchen. I got ready for my date even though I really wanted to stay home with my new kitten. It was too late to call Ed and cancel, but I thought that perhaps I should make a spaghetti dinner and invite him to eat in.
An hour later, I was dressed and ready. When Ed arrived I introduced him to Muffin.
She meowed, “Hello.”
He kissed me on the cheek and I said, “Her name is Muffin. I adopted her about an hour ago. Would you mind if I cooked dinner? I can’t leave her alone on her first night.”
“Hey, Muffin. Sure, we can stay here.”
We ate, laughed, talked, and played with her. I hoped there would be more dates with Ed.
Ed and I celebrated our thirtieth wedding anniversary this year. And Muffin, an indoor cat, lived for sixteen glorious years.
Often, we reminisce about the joy she brought us. Black cats are good luck after all — especially for love.
~Marilyn June Janson
