Please Come Home

[VoltTurtle]

There was once a fluffy black cat named "Mister Kitty," who lived in the witch-town of Salem, Massachusetts. He had big, round, green eyes that would shine in the dark like little spotlights. He was playful and curious, adventurous and loving. His fur was shiny in the light, and almost always neatly brushed. He had a tendency to leave his tongue sticking out when he finished grooming himself, and he loved hiding in places he wasn't supposed to go.

One day, his favorite person in the whole world left, and hadn't come home the next day. This wasn't the first time it had happened, so he wasn't worried. She had been gone for weeks three times before, but she always came back in the end. Just like he had every time before, he waited for her, watching through the window in-between snack breaks and naps.

[VoltTurtle]

Days passed. He started to get antsy, but he remained dutifully at his post.

The older people of the household, who had remained even as his favorite and her sister had left, took care of him in her absence. They didn't treat him like she had, though. They fed him and cleaned up after him, but they didn't pet him, and they only brushed him when they noticed his fur tangling and clumping together. He didn't like them, not like he loved her.

Time marched forward. Days bled into weeks bled into a month, and the whole time, he waited for her. She had never been gone this long before. His anxiety turned into listlessness, lethargy. He left the window only to eat and relieve himself.

[VoltTurtle]

One night, the older woman stood a few feet behind him, holding a little plastic brick next to her ear, as she cried out.

"Ash is dead?" he heard her say, though he comprehended only her stricken tone. "What about-"

He stared at her with interest, the distress in her voice unusual, notable. The woman covered her mouth, eyes bulging out of her sockets, an expression he didn't understand.

"She killed how many people?"

[VoltTurtle]

Nothing was the same after that night. The older people would forget to feed him, barely cleaning up after him, not even looking at him. His fur became tangled, clumped, and then matted. Stress became routine. Yet, even as months turned into a year, he remained, decomposing by the window. The older woman took offense.

"Katelyn's not coming back!" she would yell at him.

He didn't understand. He didn't stop. The yelling became louder, more frequent. The woman started to spray him with water whenever he tried to look out, scaring him away from his perch. Why did she hate him?

Stress turned outward. Throughout the night, he'd meow, and meow, and meow, begging for them to return his favorite, but they did not listen. He started tearing out own fur. He sunk his claws into their furniture. He peed where he wasn't supposed to. He did everything he could think of to get them to listen.

They did not.

[VoltTurtle]

One morning, everything changed again. The older man grabbed him, forced him into a tiny cage. He was taken out of his house, away from where she was supposed to return. He was brought to an unfamiliar place. He saw dozens of other cats behind bars much like his own. The air around him filled with strange scents and the miserable wails of other creatures in pain. He chafed and scratched at the walls.

They left him there. They did not say goodbye.

Strange people hurried him out of his cage, stabbed him, and then put him behind more bars. They fed him, cleaned up after him, and brushed the mats out of his fur, but they did not treat him like she had. He didn't have a window to wait by anymore. All he wanted was to be held by her again.

Soon, his own wails joined the chorus.

[VoltTurtle]

This prison was his home for the next six months. He cried and cried, begging to be set free, to be allowed to return to where he belonged, but they didn't let him out. Time lost all meaning it had before.

Every cold, lonely night, he never stopped thinking of her.

[VoltTurtle]

One afternoon, a woman with gray hair and deep-set wrinkles came to stand in front of his cage. She smelled of strawberries, and looked down at him with soft blue eyes.

"This one, what's his name?" she asked, to someone he couldn't see.

"Uh... Felix, I think," the other person replied.

"Felix? Okay," the old woman said. "And how old is he?"

"Ten or so," the other person replied, sounding bored. "He was going to be euthanized next month."

"I'll take him, then," the old woman said. "He deserves a good home."

And soon after, his cage was opened, and the old woman picked him up, holding him close to her chest. He was startled at first, but she soothed him, and rubbed the back of his neck. For the first time in two years, he began to purr.

[VoltTurtle]

He arrived at his new home later that night, a quiet, musty house. There were other cats there, six in total. Some of them were younger than him, some of them older. He avoided them, for the most part, preferring to be on his own. For the first week, he explored his new environment, but after a while, he settled by the old woman's front window. He couldn't bring himself to be anywhere else.

Life was calm after that. The old woman who had taken him home was nice. Sometimes, he would even leave the window to sit with her, but he would always return in the end. His caretaker noticed this habit, but didn't stop him or yell at him. Instead, she would come to visit him, ask him questions he didn't understand, call him by a name that he responded to, but was not his.

He couldn't answer, so she drew her own conclusions.

[VoltTurtle]

One day, an old man with a bald head and deep wrinkles came to visit his caretaker, greeting him on the way in with a friendly pet. Then, his caretaker and the visitor ate together in another room, and later, as the visitor was leaving, asked his caretaker a question.

"Oh, this one hasn't moved at all," he said, with a chuckle. "Is he always like that?"

"Yes," his caretaker answered. "I think he's waiting for someone to come home."