Laser Cat Jack

A cozy fire burns brightly beside me and Jack, warming our old bones from the frigid winter cold. Jack rests, nestled contentedly on his little bed. He enjoys the warmth sinking into his bones even more than I do - at his age of 20 years, I fear our time together will soon come to a close. The thought weighs heavily on both my mind and heart. Even as this brings a tear to my eye and my throat closes painfully, I cannot help but smirk as I recall my first days with my dear, mischievous black cat, back when he was young and nimble.

It was Christmas time, and my parents had driven me along with them to visit my grandparents out of state. I had been around 17 at the time - still in high school and living with mom and dad. Dad was afraid of flying, so we drove the full 9 hours to my mother’s parents’. Grandma’s health had been in steep decline, and my mom was concerned it may be her last chance to visit her before she passed away. Her fears were well-founded, and she wasn’t wrong; that Christmas was the last time mom saw Grandma alive.

I was already in a foul mood: I hated school, all the people in it, and now had to suffer the long drive with both of my parents to visit my grumpy grandparents. I wished I had been able to stay home alone for Christmas; I would have rather enjoyed playing video games, eating junk, and staying up late. I didn’t look forward to being surrounded by family for days on end.

I remember watching small kids and teen couples skating on the frozen pond as we drove through mom’s hometown, just minutes from my grandparents’ house. I was bitter and jealous of them, so carefree. Seeing one couple kiss was a punch in the gut; my girlfriend of two years had broken up with me in the fall and I still felt the sting. My mood was so sour upon our arrival, I didn’t say anything to anyone - just helped dad unload the car silently while mom went to dote on her mother.

The house was as festive as it had always been for the holidays. The tree was so covered in light strings and ornaments, I could hardly even see the tree. Grandma and Grandpa may have been constantly critical and complaining, but they loved decorating for Christmas. Grandpa had gone all out, sensing it might be his wife’s last. It was simultaneously heart-warming and heart-breaking.

Despite my bad attitude, I couldn’t deny that the house smelled delicious. Christmas music filled the air as thickly as the wafting scents of gingerbread, peppermint, and warm, sugary vanilla. My uncle James had spent all day baking cookies for both the family and the local hospital staff, and he was nodding off at the kitchen table after he’d boxed up the goodies. He’d seen a lot of the staff that year with Grandma in and out so often, and wanted to repay them some kindness. He was even dressed as Santa - I don’t think I ever admired him more than on that day.

It was almost surreal to walk into my grandparents’ home so full of festive cheer with my grandmother as bad off as she was. I was never told what was wrong - I only ever caught small bits of conversation between the adults. But there was no mistake that it was bad.

The first song I caught was “The 12 Days of Christmas”, singing about birds and pear trees. I always wondered why pear trees of all things. I didn’t care for Christmas music - any of it - so I quickly lost interest in paying attention to it. After my dad and I unloaded the car, I was sent upstairs to, “say ‘Hello’ to Grandma”.

Practically unresponsive, my grandmother lay in a hospital bed in her room. She was hooked up to oxygen, meters, and so many other things that I didn’t even know what most of them were. My mother tried to smile and engage with her, but I watched the corners of her mouth tremble and strain as she fought back despair. Grandma looked like death warmed over; pale, sickly thin, and unkempt. The room, closed off from the rest of the house to allow her a quiet place to rest, smelled terribly. It didn’t take long for me to become uncomfortable and leave after only a quick, fleeting hug. Grandma was so frail, I was afraid to embrace her; fearful she would disintegrate under even the lightest touch.

We eventually brought all of our luggage and gifts to the proper rooms and began unpacking. Thankfully, I wound up with a room all to myself - no parents, cousins, or anybody.

I pulled out my gaming system and a select few games. They weren’t as portable back then and I’d had to beg my parents to let me drag it along for the two-week stay. Dad nearly didn’t let me, saying I could only bring it if I could find room for it after all the essentials and gifts were packed. By luck, it had just barely fit. I spent the hours before dinner playing my games with disinterest; I hadn’t stopped thinking about my ex-girlfriend all day.

When dinnertime rolled around, it was my uncle James who came in to get me. He was no longer dressed as Santa, but he greeted me with a warmth and grin that could just as well have come from the jolly man himself.

“Hey bud,” he started, “you ready for dinner?” I shrugged, standing up to follow him to the dining room. As we began walking down the hall, he continued, “You know, I’ve got a gift I’d like you to open tonight. I hope you like it.”

Immediately, my interest peaked. Uncle James had always gotten me really cool gifts: games, electronics, fossils...etc. The anticipation and excitement of what this gift might be kept me eager throughout dinner. I was so impatient, I even skipped dessert so that I could shave off some of the wait time.

My young cousins were each permitted to choose the present they wanted to open that Christmas Eve. I, on the other hand, wasn’t allowed to open mine - that Uncle James picked out for me - until after all the younger kids had opened theirs. Each gleeful face annoyed me; I wanted my turn. It was the longest hour waiting for all the rugrats to pick and open one gift each. Finally, it was my turn.

I was ecstatic when my uncle James approached me with a moderate-sized box. I was a little taken aback by the gift, as there was no wrapping or ribbon on it except a single bow stuck on top. Still, a box that size indicated that there was, indeed, something good in it - it wasn’t a tiny gift. He handled the object carefully, and I began to wonder if there were fragile electronics inside. He set the box down in front of me and backed up, nervously fidgeting with his sweater sleeves.

I opened the box curiously, then withdrew immediately when I saw a pair of big, yellow eyes staring at me. A second look into the box revealed that my gift was a kitten, solid black. He wore a tiny collar with skulls and crossbones on it, and as I met his eyes, the little furball meowed at me in a high pitch.

“Awwww,” came the collective response from everyone watching; the younger kids instantly swarmed over, hoping to play with the kitten.

I was disappointed. I liked cats, but never had any interest in keeping one as my own. This kitten was just one more thing I would have to care for - a burden. As I sat in silence, staring at the cat, my uncle spoke up.

“I hope you like him. I found him the other night.” It wasn’t until I’d had Jack for 10 years that he told me where he’d found him. Jack had been the only one of his litter to survive after they were tied in a sack and thrown into that pond to drown or freeze.

My uncle was so hopeful that I'd bond with the cat that I faked a smile and told him, “I love him. Thank you!” Uncle James beamed with joy that I “accepted” the cat.

After opening our first presents, everyone went their separate ways. I carried the kitten in his box up to my room and set the box in the far corner, well away from me. I then started playing my games again, disappointed in all aspects.

I had just started to get into a game with some interest when the kitten suddenly appeared next to me. I only became aware of him when he started rubbing against my leg, purring and watching the television screen with wonder. I jumped. Then, realizing it was him, I shooed him away from me; I didn’t want him near me. I looked over at the corner where the box was to see he had tipped it over, so I picked him up, put him back in the box, shut the flaps, and moved the box outside my door and closed that too.

It was maybe half an hour later that I heard something downstairs. Everyone else had gone to bed, so I went to go see what the noise was. As soon as I exited my room, I saw the box tipped over again and groaned.

‘What is that furball doing?’ I thought, walking downstairs quietly so I didn't wake anyone.

Once I was able to see the tree, dazzlingly bright in the darkness of the house, my gaze fell to the bottom of the tree, which was now dark. The kitten sat beneath it, batting something small around on the hardwood floor. As I neared, I realized that it was a small bulb; the cat had pulled a bulb out of the string, causing the entire strand to go dark. Cursing, I took the bulb away from him and tried to find where it went using only the light from the remaining tree decor.

After a frustrating minute trying to replace the bulb, I recalled a laser pointer I had in my jean pocket. I pulled it out and began using it to see the strand better. The solid beam of green light helped a great deal, and I was able to place the bulb back in its spot. The remainder of the strand came on in all its glory.

“Meow!” the kitten exclaimed with excitement, his eyes wide as he eyed the laser pointer. I studied the cat before I pointed the laser before him. He crouched, hindquarters wiggling as he prepared to pounce. He failed, hilariously, and I had to fight back a laugh before I woke anyone.

I spent the next hour playing with the cat, watching him chase after the laser. Even once I was done, he looked at me expectantly, tail thrashing and bristling in anticipation and his meows growing in both frequency and pitch. Eventually, I picked him up in mild annoyance, hoping to quiet him before he woke the house. The cute little idiot just stared at me, purring, until I gave in and cuddled him. Suddenly one of his paws flew in front of my face as he tried batting at the laser pointer still gripped in my hand.

“You little shit,” I chided, amused.

Twenty years later, I pull out another laser pointer - also green. Jack wakes from his nap at the sound of it clicking on and sits up, at attention. He wiggles his hindquarters before pouncing, racing against the new kittens after the light. I don’t know how many days I have left with “laser cat” Jack, but I know no matter what, he’ll eagerly chase lasers until his last days.

"Meow!"

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