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How a Feral Cat Stole My Heart
Black cats aren’t unlucky after all…
One evening I was spending a quiet moment with my teenage daughter when I heard a frantic cry outside our back door. “That sounds like a cat meowing out there.”
“That’s the little black kitty. She’s hungry. I’ve been feeding her.”
This was news to me. “I told you not to feed any cats. Next thing you know they’ll be moving in. We already have three others. We can’t have any more.”
“But she’s hungry,” said my daughter. “I just give her some water and cat food and she goes home.”
I watched as she opened the back sliding glass door. “Hi Kitty,” she said. She reached down to pet a skinny black stray with a dull coat and enormous green eyes. ‘Wait here,” she told the cat.
My daughter laid a small plate filled with food outside and began to pet the little cat, who arched her back gracefully. The cat ate quickly, frequently pausing to glance around skittishly at some unseen threat. Soon she stopped eating and slunk away, meowing loudly as she walked.
The black kitty showed up every few days, meowing at our back door. We’d have to pet her as she ate, or she’d run off in fear. I found myself growing more and more attached to the lonely little cat and it worried me. I could barely afford to…
