The Cat

There's this cat in my neighborhood that really enjoys sitting on my car when I'm not looking; it is always leaving little brown paw prints as evidence of its stay. At first, this happening quite annoyed me; I didn't like the idea that, because of that cat, I would need to wash my car more often--maybe even multiple times a week if I didn't want residue dirt and cat hair on my front hood.

Last night, after I dropped off a movie at Redbox, I parked in my driveway and there it was: a long-haired tabby cat just waiting for my return. I sat in my car for a few minutes and just stared at it, partially to see if I could scare it away and partially because I had other things on my mind.

And the cat stared back at me--not out of fright, but in a kind sort of way. When I got out of the car, I walked over to it and started petting it. It purred and brushed its face against my hand and side in response. There was something about how sweet the cat was that eased my mind and comforted me in some little way. Why is it that I'm bound to love this thing that has caused me so much previous annoyance?

But I was touched, no longer caring about my car, nor the fact that I may have to wash it a little more because of this creature, so I scooped up the cat in my arms and set in on the hood of my car so that the warmth of the engine might make it more comfortable.

I pet it a few more times, then started to head for my front door and it followed me. It made me smile to think it'd rather be pet by me than to have the comfort of my car.

So now there's no turning back; this reconciliation is quite permanent, for I'm convinced that it will never have any reservations about sitting my car and I will no longer ever have the heart to stop it.