Stray

Stray Kitty could be ornery. That's why she stayed with us, why we never tried to find another home for her — because we knew it would be difficult, if not impossible, to adopt out a cat who was likely to strike out at anyone who got too close to her, even someone she knew and (ostensibly) had come to trust. She was one of the never-ending series of stray cats we encountered when we rented an apartment in Jersey City. We never knew for sure, but we always wondered, based on that temperament — and her beautiful markings — if she had some Bengal in her bloodline.

She never got along with any of the other cats in the house, either. She preferred solitude, and I think she was happiest when we bought a house, and there was plenty of opportunity to be left alone. Toward the end of her life, she kept to the Master Bathroom upstairs — she liked to sit in the sun, on a shelf beneath a skylight. She would occasionally wander out into the bedroom, even into the hall, but she never needed to go too far, as food and water and everything she needed was in that small room.

It was years before Stray would demonstrate any real affection. And even then, if she got too excited, she'd swat at the hand that was stroking her (though in her later years, without using her claws). But that was simply who she was, and I understood the nature of our relationship. I'll always remember a Christmas day when she curled herself up on my lap and went to sleep, in front of the fireplace.

And she was the only cat I've ever known who sort of chattered at me, when spoken to. (It often sounded as though she was muttering at me, when scolded.)

She died not too long ago. It wasn't unexpected, she was old, and her health was obviously failing. I could have, perhaps I should have, brought her to the Vet, but the experience would only have been traumatic for her. She had grown weak in her final days — I could see the end was coming, and I hoped it would be swift.

Hours before she died, as she lay uncomfortably in her basket, she cried out — while stroking her head to try to comfort her, I wondered if she was calling for attention, or because of pain or discomfort. I'm haunted by that cry.