November 17, 2013
About two weeks ago a slight, gray-haired, older man came to my door late at night. When I answered the door he looked anxious and shy. “I’ve lost my cat. I haven’t seen him in days,” he said. “I’m just wondering if maybe you haven’t seen him?”
“There are a lot of cats that hang around here because I feed them. What does he look like?”
“He’s all black.”
“Oh. No, no I haven’t. I’m sorry.” The man didn’t look very positive; he’d been looking for his cat for the better part of a week and didn’t have much hope left that he would get him back.
“Is it okay if I look in your backyard?”
“Of course. There’s a shed back there he might hide in. If you’ll hang on for a second I’ll come help you.”
“Oh no I won’t go inside, I’ll just call him. I’ll be able to hear him if he’s in there.” I didn’t go outside with him. I was home alone and, honestly, I was still a little afraid that maybe this man was trying to trick me. I hate that I’ve become so weary of strange men, but I can’t help it. Anyway, he thanked me and disappeared into the back. A few minutes later I heard another knock at the door. There he was again.
“I-I thought I heard a meow coming from your shed,” he said. He wrung his hands. “The stray cats you feed don’t get in the shed do they? I think there’s a cat in there!”
“Actually they do. They get in there all the time.” I could see that last bit of hope just drain right out of him. It was really awful. “But, I’ll go in there and check anyway.”
“Okay, I’ll go around the back.” I went out the back door and into the shed. I didn’t see or hear any cats. The man was up against the door trying to see inside. I looked at him through the window and shook my head. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t see or hear anything.”
“That’s okay. Thanks for looking.” He looked absolutely crestfallen, but also somewhat unsurprised. He thanked me again, and turned to walk away. I turned around and just before I opened the back door I heard a tiny mewing noise. It was very faint, and very quiet; you could easily miss it. It didn’t sound like any of our cats. You get to know your cats cries, like a mom knows the sound of her baby over someone else’s, and this definitely wasn’t a familiar meow.
“Wait!” I yelled. He was instantly back in the window. “I hear a cat! It’s not one of ours!” This man – oh my God this poor man – as soon as the words left my mouth his face was pressed up against the glass, hands to the sides trying desperately to see inside. He was shaking from nerves and excitement, trying not to scream.
“Do you see it? Is there a cat?! IS HE BLACK!? IS IT A BLACK CAT?! Oh God, is it him?”
I heard the little mew again, coming from this hole that leads to a crawlspace under the house. The hole is really small and Bogart has gotten his fat, goofy self stuck in there more than once, requiring me to wrench him free while he screamed and scratched me. I leaned down next to the hole and called, kissed and anything else I could think to do to attract a cat. I heard another mew, this time closer. “Come here, kitty. Come on!” I couldn’t see the cat from where I was standing, but could hear it coming closer. It’s cry sounded very quiet and sickly. Whatever cat this was, it had been there a while.
The man was still pressed up against the glass, jumping from one foot to another.
“Oh my god is it black? Is it a black cat? Oh god.”
Finally a little face poked out – an all-black face. I reached out to stroke it and the cat nervously leaned into my hand. A paw inched out next, followed by a shoulder. The cat was pretty big, though rail-thin from what I assume was near-starvation, so I had to reach in and gently pull him out to free him. He was covered in burrs, dirt and cobwebs, and shook in my arms, and clearly relieved to see a human. “He’s black! He’s a black cat!” I yelled out. I held him up to the window. The man’s face turned away for a second, overwhelmed, before he spoke.
“Oh God it’s him! It’s him!” The man walked toward me slowly with his arms outstretched. The look on his faceĀ oh man, I will never forget it as long as I live: it was like heaven and earth had opened up just for him.
“Oh Oscar. Oh Oscar!” he cried. His voice cracked as I handed the cat to him, and it seemed to me that Oscar was also reaching out for his owner. The man hugged him tightly, kissed him, and openly wept. “This is my best friend. He’s my best friend. Oh God, oh Oscar. I thought he was gone. My best friend. I’m so happy. I’m so happy! I’m going to give you so many treats. So much meat! Oh God I’m so happy.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me into a hug as he thanked me over and over. Then he disappeared out the door, dancing and spinning in the rain as he made his way down the street holding his beloved cat.
Maybe I’m silly, but it really struck me to see such pure joy and love and relief. I was crying for the next half hour. I’ve saved, rescued, fostered, re-homed, etc. literally hundreds of animals, but I don’t think I’ve ever reunited a lost pet with their owner. All of it, the entire experience, was really a beautiful thing to witness.