The Black Cat Who Followed Me Home

I was miserable, haggard and in desperate need of a joint and a shot or two of vodka that rainy night... until this devious black cat greeted me at the door.

I just worked an impossible shift dealing with entitled, curmudgeonly women, perverted, drunk old men, and a few weirdos who love coming out to the "legion" for cheap booze and free entertainment.

The Royal Canadian Legion, an organization representing service veterans, runs halls, which double as a major community centre. There is one in every part of a city or town and the locals call it, the legion.

Most people love the unassuming, low-key vibe in a legion. Often, a legion will be equipped with a pool table, VLTs, a jukebox, darts, like a cool vintage rec room. Over time, it's become cool for the younger crowd. Not this legion, however.

I have hosted karaoke nights at this legion for two years. The crowd has improved a little but the whole vibe remains the same. That Friday night was an especially frustrating night filled with horrible singers with equally horrid attitudes to match. Even the good crowd couldn't save my night.

This rant is best for another day.

More importantly, I have to tell you what saved me that night.

The legion is only two streets away from my apartment, so I usually drink at work and walk home. It was 12:40 a.m., I had a couple of double cocktails in me, and rain was ravaging the streets. Kate, the amazing pretty bartender, offered to give me a ride home but she was unfortunately unable to leave in part due to handling a greasy, disoriented lady who was glued to the VLTs past closing time. So to help Kate close the bar, I escorted the lady out, got her a cab, said a quick bye to Kate, and walked home huddling in my raincoat.

My hair somehow got wet after the short walk. I rushed into the side entrance, shook the water off, and went to check my mail which was in the lobby on the upper level.

As I was closing my mailbox, I absent-mindedly turned to the lobby door and locked gazed with a pair of green eyes, watching me through the glass.

A black cat.

He was sitting so still and stared into my eyes without wavering.

My apartment is pet-friendly and there are cat owners in the building who allow their cats to roam freely around the property, much to my landlord's chagrin. I figured this must be someone's cat. It was still pouring outside, so I let the cat in the lobby and walked to my apartment.

As I was opening the door, the cat bolted in to my apartment and decided that my living room rug is the place to be tonight. I didn't realize the cat followed me home.

I have had very limited interactions with cats, having raised by my grandma who was mortally afraid of them. My close friends have cats, but their babies are not social enough to hang out with intruders like me.

This cat was surprisingly calm and was in no rush to get out of my apartment. It was already past 1 a.m. and I hope you agree with me that knocking on doors and bothering your neighbours about a lost cat at this hour is not exactly polite.

I decided to bother my boyfriend on video call instead. As this sweet guy always does, Nick got on video as he was hanging out with his co-workers at a legion. He had a cat before so I figured he could give me some advice what to do overnight. He thought the cat looked like his cat, Helix, who sadly passed away during a trip to the vet.

He could not do much being 12 hours away from me, but it was so reassuring to talk to him.

Once I got off the phone, I tried to feed the cat with a can of tuna, made a mock litter box made of a cardboard box and shredded paper, and set up a cat bed with blankets. He didn't seem too interested in food but he was curious anyway. While he was sniffing the plate of tuna, I posted his photos and a description on my news feed. A few people responded and were very kind to give advice. I looked up from my phone and saw him staring at me.

I was instantly reminded of Breakfast at Tiffany's--Holly looking for Cat in the rain. I thought, let's call him Cat.

From the answers on the post, I found out that the tattoos on an animal's ear can trace when and where they had their spay/neuter surgery, and through that data, you can find out who the owner of the cat is.

I looked for Cat and found him at the same spot on my living room rug, licking himself dry without a worry in the world. I couldn't disturb the guy and touching his ear will most likely scare him off. Still, I have a mission to return him to his owner.

It was about 3 a.m. at this point. My drunkenness finally sank in. I had to wake up at 9 a.m. for a day at the lake with my family. So I went to bed and resolved to do more the next day. Cat was very quiet, is he sleeping too?

With very few hours of sleep, I got up around 7:30. I checked the box to see if the cat pooped, and there were none. I checked the makeshift cat bed, and there was no cat. I turned around and there he was, snoozing on the couch, curled up and blended in with all the throw pillows.

Cat got up when he heard me in the kitchen. I didn't realize how big this boy was until he jumped on the kitchen counter, on the top of the fridge and above the kitchen cupboards. He wanted a better vantage point of his prey, I guess. And the prey served him another plate of tuna which he quickly scarfed down this time.

I was so nervous to leave him alone in my apartment all day but I really had to go. For the whole day, I was mentally preparing myself to come home to a disaster: Pee and poop all over the floor, broken glass, ripped up couch, you know... cartoonish things non-cat owners think of.

But Cat was such a good boy.

My parents and brother wanted to see him so I brought them with me. Cat was right there greeting everyone at the door. The whole place was just as I left it. He also still did not poo or pee in the litter box.

I was so worried at this point. Cat must be holding it all in. That's not safe, right?

The following morning, I immediately took a trip to the pet store, got canned food, a litter pan, a scoop and clumping litter enough to last a few days. I rushed back to the house, prepped his litter box the way I read on Wiki-How, and immediately, Cat stepped on the litter box. He was really holding it in.

While I was cleaning the litter box, I received two messages on Cat. One was from my neighbour who called him Atticus. I was about to prepare to return him to my neighbour when she told me that Atticus is not really hers but he had been coming home with her outdoor cat for the last month or two.

My neighbour said that she can take Atticus back. But I thought perhaps that may not be the best call. His real owner is out there.

The other message was from a lady who's connected to a few lost and found animal pages. I messaged the lost and found board of the details. Within minutes, Cat's details were sent out through their network in hopes that his owner will come across the post.

Cat has quickly become more comfortable in his living arrangement with me. So comfortable that later that evening, he was rolling all over my bed, belly exposed and begging for pets and scratches. Nick was on video chat witnessing Cat's antics---he wished he was in the room playing with him.

I figured since Cat was this comfortable with me now, I can fully read that tattoo inside his ear without freaking him out.

With his earful of black hair, it was tough to decipher. I shined my phone's flashlight behind Cat's tattooed ear and there was the code. I pored over a few charts showing a list of clinics in the city. According to his tattoo, Cat was 4 years old and had himself fixed at a well-known local shelter.

The next day, I called the clinic but I have no luck getting a hold of anyone. I left them a message with my contact info and hoped they will call me soon.

Two days later, I got a phone call back from the clinic. They gave me Cat's info including his owner's name and her contact info. I also volunteered to share my info to the owner in case we miss each other on the phone. Oh and Cat's name was Toothless!

A few minutes later, I was on the phone with Ashleigh, Toothless's owner. She was in shock that Toothless is alive. I could hear the tears in her voice. He had been reported missing about a year ago but no one called her to say he was found. Heartbroken, she adopted two cats - one grown female cat and another young kitten.

Last summer, Ashleigh had a roommate that made Toothless very anxious. So, she decided to find a new place to live. While she searched for an apartment, her friend agreed to keep Toothless.

Toothless was en route to her friend's home, when he somehow escaped his carrier. Her friend's house is just two houses down from the legion where I work. Toothless had been roaming the same area for the whole year.

We set up a pick up day for Toothless. I wanted to be selfish and I ask Ashleigh if I could keep him, but I was so happy that we found his home.

On pick up day, Ashleigh came to the apartment very happy to see Toothless. Toothless remembers her and was happy to see her but when he saw the cat carrier, he panicked and attempted to run away to another room.

I caught Toothless and helped Ashleigh put him in the carrier. Toothless worked so hard, he spread his legs so wide that he wouldn't fit through the door. He wriggled free, ran out of my apartment to the hallway and hid under the stairs on the other end of the hall.

I asked Ashleigh to stay put and approached Toothless but kept my distance. Toothless stared as he always had. I crouched to the ground as I stared back at him. In my mind, I thought he will be okay with his owner. Toothless walked to me, I carried him and without a fight this time, helped him go into the carrier. Ashleigh was thankful.

We kept in touch in case Toothless needed to be re-homed. We had an agreement that if things do not work out with her cats and Toothless, I can take him in. Deep in my heart, I sadly had hoped it will not work out.

I had a very bad feeling that Toothless did not want to go home with Ashleigh.

A month had passed. Nick returned to the city.

I expressed that I loved helping Toothless find his home but I miss having a sweet animal to care for. Nick shared my feelings, too.

We thought of adopting, but we are unsure of the long term commitments of owning a pet. Nick is also allergic to cats, so that was also a deal breaker even though he liked them.

In the end, we agreed on taking in foster animals, focusing on kittens. Since then, we have taken care of and found homes for 20 kittens and counting. We especially loved the orphaned babies, watching them grow and seeing them go to a wonderful home.

My boring life attending to drunks and crotchety people in a worn old legion was not so bad anymore. Fostering has added so much laughter, memories and meaning in our lives.

None of this would have began if I had not met that big, black cat who followed me home in the rain.