Things got really hard at home since she left. He turned into an ogre, all bitter and always in a mood; the young human simply adapted to the situation. He made of the dog and myself a punching bag. The house was a mess and his mother was absolutely tired of cleaning after him and stoking the pantry with more than beer and trash food. She cooked for him as well, because he had no idea of how to fry an egg. Oma did feed us too and took care of us. Since oma and opa lived next door, the young human and I decided to spend our time there, with them. When he wasn’t at school -the only reason he had to stay in the house-, he used to ride his bicycle and meet his friends somewhere to play. I begun wandering about the lake and taking my naps on opa’s car -the only means of transportation he had after the woman left in his car-.
Though full of love and good intentions, oma simply couldn’t replace the woman of the house. And I could see it in my bowl of food and the softness of my fur. The high quality supermarket dry food days were over and I had to settle for the cheapest dry food in bulk the local market had available. My fur didn’t get its weekly brush and my bedchambers moved from the comfortable and warm living room cushions to a cardboard box in a corner of oma and opa’s garage. Even the water decreased its quality. After the woman left, I ended up drinking too warm or almost frozen water, depending on the weather, and full of dust, dead leaves and mosquitoes.
The woman of the house had adopted me from a shelter a few years ago. She intended me for her young human. He needed a friend and she thought I was the right cat for the job. His son grew fond of me in no time and she made sure I was always healthy, clean and happy. When she was around, the food was good, the vaccines were up to date, my fur was shiny and flea free. I lost all those privilegies the day she left. If only her man had been a little bit less selfish and lazy or if the young human had liked the idea of making new friends in a new school in a new town and we had left with her!
The weekends here were very lonely and grim. She came to take the young human with her every Friday evening and drove him back on Sunday night. His weekly departure made the ogre angrier and grumpier than usual. And, of course, I was the recipient of his anger.
The first snowfall was the worst. The young human pleaded on my behalf, but the ogre didn’t change his mind and I had to curl myself against the walls of the cardboard box in the garage to survive the freeze. In his mind, I was “that woman’s cat”, so I was tainted by association. “If Jan didn’t love you so much, I would have taken you back to the shelter, filthy cat”, he told me one Saturday night, when his beers didn’t manage to ease his pain. Well, that’s what oma told me the morning after as she refilled my food bowl and change my water bowl.
Humans had the habit of ruining their own and everybody else’s lives for no particular reason. The presumption that they can own every single living creature in this world, including their own kind, causes a lot of mental pain to themselves and the ones around him. But cats had never fallen into their games and had always made clear that our life is ours to live the way we please, wherever and whoever we please. So, out of pleasure, I decided to lead the life of a stray cat and begun spending my days across the street, on the abandoned house’s grounds…
The property has a huge patio, big enough to make any cat exhausted after running three laps. When the woman took me home, the place was already empty. When I explored it for the first time, I came back home covered in ticks. The woman applied a liquid on my back and the bugs dropped dead after a few hours. Ever since that day, I was banned from going anywhere near the abandoned house and the young human was given the task of keeping an eye on me. But the other neighbourhood cats did keep visiting the place until some punks broke into the property to steal the stuff left there and scared them away.
I came back to explore a few months before it was sold. Two old walls that shared a sheet metal roof and a very rusty hatch. The wooden planks used to improvise the back wall were so gnawed that I could easily go through one of its holes. The leftover wood was pilled up by the wall that had a small window covered by wood, where I found shelter from the strong wind, the cold and the bitterness that had poisoned my home. I made of this pile of wood my favourite place… until they moved in.
They got out of a big car, with a baby and a small human. From the back of the vehicle they took out four cages: in the biggest one there was a shaggy huge dog almost as white as me; in the middle ones there were three cats, a white and orange one and two tabby ones, like “Gloves”, the alpha male of the block. The most scared cat I have ever met was in the smallest cage. Her big blue eyes were full of anxiety and fear and I felt sorry for her fur. They all came into the house and didn’t see them again until the morning after.
For about 6 days, the newcomers devoted their time to explore the surroundings, while their male human did what the woman at home used to every single morning: leaving the house very early every morning, get in the car and drive away. The female human was only outside from time to time to take the dog to the litter box. The small human simply spend the day chasing the white and orange cat and plucking flowers from the neighbouring gardens.
I kept my distance during the summer, autumn and almost all the winter. I missed my warm and cozy spot, where I could hide from my humans and other predators, sleep tight or hunt the birds that had their nests on the branches of the old tree that grew by one of the walls of the garage. Or playing with Gloves. He didn’t trust the newcomers either.
I found consolation in the graveyard by the lake. The humans buried there had been long forgotten by their descendants and their tombs were -most of the time- shabby. Sometimes, the neighbouring children went there and play until their parents called them to their houses. The rest of the peasants were no problem at all. They only crossed the graveyard to go to the other side of the lake, heading home or to take their dogs for a walk. Birds, however, were frequent visitors. I could never catch any, however, because they knew my fur well and took off when I got near them.
Their first snowfall in the abandoned house was a blessing for us all. The cemetery was all covered with a very thick layer of snow and my fur colour made me almost invisible to the human eye -and to birds too!- and while I was hiding behind a huge gravestone I saw her standing there. She was carrying a black thing humans use to “take pictures” -whatever that means- and was pointing it to the graves, the trees, the birds, the frozen lake and even to my paw prints in the snow. For a moment, I feared she wanted to follow them to trace me, but she wasn’t interested in finding me; she was just taking pictures. After a few minutes, she turned around and walked away. I didn’t get interested in her until the end of the winter.
In early March, the mood of the ogre worsened. It was about that time, a few years ago, that the woman had left him and that the very thought of it increased his hatred, pain and frustration. So I learnt it was wise to stay away from him if I didn’t want my butt to be kicked again. The tip of my tail still pulsating made sure I didn’t forget the day he was so angry at the woman that he released steam stepping on it and broke it. This time I was ready to stand up for my fur and pluck his eyes out if he dared touching it again. To avoid being sent to the shelter for blinding the ogre, I decided to take my chances in the lot across the street and went to explore for the first time in 6 months.
She approached in a smooth and quiet way and once we were face to face she dropped a handful of dry food on the floor, took a few steps backwards and watched me it in silence. That was the most delicious dry food I had ever eaten! They were even better than the ones the other woman used to get me. She dropped more on the floor, closer and closer to my fur and while I almost swallowed them all at once, she touched my head. I left the place immediately, but she simply left another handful of dry food on the floor, turned around and went into the house. Next morning, when I came back to explore again, the female human came out and fed me some more. After three days, I got the courage to go meowing at her window.
That first meow granted me my own bowl of food. The pampering, the fur stroking and the water bowl came later. We became friends in a few days and she gave me a name: Marlowe. My favourite spot was within paw’s reach once again and the female human built me a bed in the garage for me to sleep on whenever I pleased.
The ogre wasn’t aware of my absence until the small human asked after me the Saturday the woman couldn’t take him home with her. I did hear him call my name and shout some bad words, while I was eating the tuna the female human had filled my plate with. I didn’t bother showing.
Gloves, every now and then, gets pampered by her too. She caught him stealing from my bowl, so she decided to leave an extra bowl full of dry food and tuna at the backyard door for whenever he visits. It was her who named him “Gloves” and all the cats of the block meow him that way.
The cats of the family gave me a warm welcome and play with me. Everyone, but the scared cat. She fights everyone whenever she feels attacked. I still sleep in the garage of the ogre -because I don’t wanna leave the young human-, but I spend my days in the garden or garage of the abandoned house. Every morning, when the young human sets off to school and the female human takes her child to the kindergarten, I go to the house for breakfast and some love from her. The garage is still my shelter from the rain and its roof, my sunbed when it’s warm.
When I feel like it, I enter the house through the kitchen door or the living room window, to sharpen my nails in the biggest cat condo I have ever seen. I love sleeping in the garden, under the slide or playing in the patio with the white and orange cat they call Tolkien.
The ogre hates to see me all happy living across the street, but I am quite sure he would never ever dare confronting the female human, nor locking me in his house day and night; it was the woman who cleaned my litter box everyday, not him. When she left, he got rid of it and sworn to kill me if I peed in the house.
Since the female human adopted me, I have a new favourite spot. I don’t need to hide anymore from the ogre and his mood changes in an abandoned garage; I am part of a true family now and I feel loved and worshipped -of course-. Now, my favourite spot is no longer the garage of the abandone house: my favourite spot is the home of my new human.
Though full of love and good intentions, oma simply couldn’t replace the woman of the house. And I could see it in my bowl of food and the softness of my fur. The high quality supermarket dry food days were over and I had to settle for the cheapest dry food in bulk the local market had available. My fur didn’t get its weekly brush and my bedchambers moved from the comfortable and warm living room cushions to a cardboard box in a corner of oma and opa’s garage. Even the water decreased its quality. After the woman left, I ended up drinking too warm or almost frozen water, depending on the weather, and full of dust, dead leaves and mosquitoes.
The woman of the house had adopted me from a shelter a few years ago. She intended me for her young human. He needed a friend and she thought I was the right cat for the job. His son grew fond of me in no time and she made sure I was always healthy, clean and happy. When she was around, the food was good, the vaccines were up to date, my fur was shiny and flea free. I lost all those privilegies the day she left. If only her man had been a little bit less selfish and lazy or if the young human had liked the idea of making new friends in a new school in a new town and we had left with her!
The weekends here were very lonely and grim. She came to take the young human with her every Friday evening and drove him back on Sunday night. His weekly departure made the ogre angrier and grumpier than usual. And, of course, I was the recipient of his anger.
The first snowfall was the worst. The young human pleaded on my behalf, but the ogre didn’t change his mind and I had to curl myself against the walls of the cardboard box in the garage to survive the freeze. In his mind, I was “that woman’s cat”, so I was tainted by association. “If Jan didn’t love you so much, I would have taken you back to the shelter, filthy cat”, he told me one Saturday night, when his beers didn’t manage to ease his pain. Well, that’s what oma told me the morning after as she refilled my food bowl and change my water bowl.
Humans had the habit of ruining their own and everybody else’s lives for no particular reason. The presumption that they can own every single living creature in this world, including their own kind, causes a lot of mental pain to themselves and the ones around him. But cats had never fallen into their games and had always made clear that our life is ours to live the way we please, wherever and whoever we please. So, out of pleasure, I decided to lead the life of a stray cat and begun spending my days across the street, on the abandoned house’s grounds…
The property has a huge patio, big enough to make any cat exhausted after running three laps. When the woman took me home, the place was already empty. When I explored it for the first time, I came back home covered in ticks. The woman applied a liquid on my back and the bugs dropped dead after a few hours. Ever since that day, I was banned from going anywhere near the abandoned house and the young human was given the task of keeping an eye on me. But the other neighbourhood cats did keep visiting the place until some punks broke into the property to steal the stuff left there and scared them away.
I came back to explore a few months before it was sold. Two old walls that shared a sheet metal roof and a very rusty hatch. The wooden planks used to improvise the back wall were so gnawed that I could easily go through one of its holes. The leftover wood was pilled up by the wall that had a small window covered by wood, where I found shelter from the strong wind, the cold and the bitterness that had poisoned my home. I made of this pile of wood my favourite place… until they moved in.
They got out of a big car, with a baby and a small human. From the back of the vehicle they took out four cages: in the biggest one there was a shaggy huge dog almost as white as me; in the middle ones there were three cats, a white and orange one and two tabby ones, like “Gloves”, the alpha male of the block. The most scared cat I have ever met was in the smallest cage. Her big blue eyes were full of anxiety and fear and I felt sorry for her fur. They all came into the house and didn’t see them again until the morning after.
For about 6 days, the newcomers devoted their time to explore the surroundings, while their male human did what the woman at home used to every single morning: leaving the house very early every morning, get in the car and drive away. The female human was only outside from time to time to take the dog to the litter box. The small human simply spend the day chasing the white and orange cat and plucking flowers from the neighbouring gardens.
I kept my distance during the summer, autumn and almost all the winter. I missed my warm and cozy spot, where I could hide from my humans and other predators, sleep tight or hunt the birds that had their nests on the branches of the old tree that grew by one of the walls of the garage. Or playing with Gloves. He didn’t trust the newcomers either.
I found consolation in the graveyard by the lake. The humans buried there had been long forgotten by their descendants and their tombs were -most of the time- shabby. Sometimes, the neighbouring children went there and play until their parents called them to their houses. The rest of the peasants were no problem at all. They only crossed the graveyard to go to the other side of the lake, heading home or to take their dogs for a walk. Birds, however, were frequent visitors. I could never catch any, however, because they knew my fur well and took off when I got near them.
Their first snowfall in the abandoned house was a blessing for us all. The cemetery was all covered with a very thick layer of snow and my fur colour made me almost invisible to the human eye -and to birds too!- and while I was hiding behind a huge gravestone I saw her standing there. She was carrying a black thing humans use to “take pictures” -whatever that means- and was pointing it to the graves, the trees, the birds, the frozen lake and even to my paw prints in the snow. For a moment, I feared she wanted to follow them to trace me, but she wasn’t interested in finding me; she was just taking pictures. After a few minutes, she turned around and walked away. I didn’t get interested in her until the end of the winter.
In early March, the mood of the ogre worsened. It was about that time, a few years ago, that the woman had left him and that the very thought of it increased his hatred, pain and frustration. So I learnt it was wise to stay away from him if I didn’t want my butt to be kicked again. The tip of my tail still pulsating made sure I didn’t forget the day he was so angry at the woman that he released steam stepping on it and broke it. This time I was ready to stand up for my fur and pluck his eyes out if he dared touching it again. To avoid being sent to the shelter for blinding the ogre, I decided to take my chances in the lot across the street and went to explore for the first time in 6 months.
She approached in a smooth and quiet way and once we were face to face she dropped a handful of dry food on the floor, took a few steps backwards and watched me it in silence. That was the most delicious dry food I had ever eaten! They were even better than the ones the other woman used to get me. She dropped more on the floor, closer and closer to my fur and while I almost swallowed them all at once, she touched my head. I left the place immediately, but she simply left another handful of dry food on the floor, turned around and went into the house. Next morning, when I came back to explore again, the female human came out and fed me some more. After three days, I got the courage to go meowing at her window.
That first meow granted me my own bowl of food. The pampering, the fur stroking and the water bowl came later. We became friends in a few days and she gave me a name: Marlowe. My favourite spot was within paw’s reach once again and the female human built me a bed in the garage for me to sleep on whenever I pleased.
The ogre wasn’t aware of my absence until the small human asked after me the Saturday the woman couldn’t take him home with her. I did hear him call my name and shout some bad words, while I was eating the tuna the female human had filled my plate with. I didn’t bother showing.
Gloves, every now and then, gets pampered by her too. She caught him stealing from my bowl, so she decided to leave an extra bowl full of dry food and tuna at the backyard door for whenever he visits. It was her who named him “Gloves” and all the cats of the block meow him that way.
The cats of the family gave me a warm welcome and play with me. Everyone, but the scared cat. She fights everyone whenever she feels attacked. I still sleep in the garage of the ogre -because I don’t wanna leave the young human-, but I spend my days in the garden or garage of the abandoned house. Every morning, when the young human sets off to school and the female human takes her child to the kindergarten, I go to the house for breakfast and some love from her. The garage is still my shelter from the rain and its roof, my sunbed when it’s warm.
When I feel like it, I enter the house through the kitchen door or the living room window, to sharpen my nails in the biggest cat condo I have ever seen. I love sleeping in the garden, under the slide or playing in the patio with the white and orange cat they call Tolkien.
The ogre hates to see me all happy living across the street, but I am quite sure he would never ever dare confronting the female human, nor locking me in his house day and night; it was the woman who cleaned my litter box everyday, not him. When she left, he got rid of it and sworn to kill me if I peed in the house.
Since the female human adopted me, I have a new favourite spot. I don’t need to hide anymore from the ogre and his mood changes in an abandoned garage; I am part of a true family now and I feel loved and worshipped -of course-. Now, my favourite spot is no longer the garage of the abandone house: my favourite spot is the home of my new human.
