Yo. My name’s Cole. Yeah, black cat, people think it’s C-O-A-L but it’s Cole after Cole Porter. ‘Cause I sing as good as he did. Yeah, like that.
So I’m here at this bookstore with some other cats. Didn’t know any of them before we got here, but I recognize some from that shelter. It was crowded, man, and people were saying things like “cull” and “today.” Made me nervous.
Anyway, in walks this bald guy and then I’m in a carrier, and there’s a vet, which was unpleasant but not awful, couple of sharps and I had to swallow something bitter, and then it all got kinda woozy there for awhile, and I woke up unable to father children.
This doesn’t bother me. Never cared about getting sued for palimony and all that jazz. Now I can tomcat around all I want. There’s a door in the basement here where we can go out in the backyard. Sometimes I sits out on the rail of the porch back there, and thinks about my life so far. It ain’t been bad, but I think it’s on the upswing. Meals regular, plenty of jingle balls and soft surfaces, couple nice cat trees positioned well to see out the window. A guy could get used to spoiling, y’know?
The people here tell me I’m waiting for my “furrever home.” Cute, the way they spell that. They asked me what I wanted, and I had to think a little bit. Don’t know that I’ve expected much so far, but if I was designing the purrfect—er sorry, perfect—cathouse, it would have places to sit and look out the window. There’d just be a few of us, me and one or two other friendly cats. I like cats that like me. Maybe a kitten to raise, y’know, teach the kid to play ball and stuff. That’d be fun.
Regular meals. That’s a given. And when I want to jump in your lap, you’re okay with that. I’m not the biggest carry-me guy in the world, but I does like a lap snuggle couple times a day. I keep it hidden, had to all that time on the streets, but there’s a sensitive side to me.
Yeah, that’d do it. Nothing fancy. Just a home with the basics and a few frills. That’d do me just fine.
The people here say I might get adopted by Christmas. They talk about this holiday called Halloween and how regular punters out there are scared of black cats. Never heard anything so crazy in my whole life. I was on death row after a year on the streets dodging crazy people trying to hurt me, and YOU are scared of ME? Get real! What’m I gonna do, cuddle you to death?
Uh yeah, forgot to mention, at night, I like to sleep on the bed with you, if you don’t mind. Like above your head, or in that curve behind your knees. I ain’t fussy. And I promise not to smother you while you sleep. Sheesh. Who’d work the canopener? People got no common sense these days.
Anyway, come down and visit the bookstore and say hi. We can talk, have a cup of milk, maybe play a round of cards, see how we like each other’s company. Ask me nice and I’ll even sing for ya.
Yes, this was my debut performance, but I prefer to call it my break-out. Anyone can see I’m a natural. And that I have a great instinct for choosing good scripts. At 12 weeks, I’m old enough to know what sells.
{ahem} So when the casting call went out for GIVING TUESDAY, I knew this was the role I had been born to play. My character drew her strength from true life experiences. It was a bit traumatic, really, reaching down in there and remembering the hard times with no food, no warm bed, no security, but it was worth it to see the producer’s jaw drop at the audition. And the rest is history. Making history, one might say. Teehee.
Wendy Welch: Books, Yarn, Cats, Opioids 