I was just about to head out the front door when the telephone rang. I put down my fishing rod and tackle box and picked up the phone.

  "Hello.  OK," tapping my fingers on the wall.  "I'll be there in a few minutes."


  I hung up the telephone and headed out the front door.  I watched the traffic very closely as I had to walk across a busy highway in order to get to the furniture store, located across the street.

  My friend, Sherman, had telephoned and asked me to help him pick up some used furniture which he had purchased earlier that morning at an estate sale in Modesto.

  When I arrived, he was pulling around the building in his large white U-haul type truck.  I opened the cab door and slid in.

  Nothing was said as we drove.  He knew I despised his driving and that it irritated me to no end.  Sherman was one of those drivers who constantly pushes the gas pedal and then releases it -- over and over again.  It never stops.  I was at wits end when we finally arrived at the small apartment building.

  The back of the truck was opened and out came the hand trucks. Around the building we headed until we reached apartment 147.

  Just as we reached the door it opened and there stood a young woman about 25 years old.  As we talked, a slightly older man walked up behind her.  He jumped trying to block the doorway as a large, longhaired cat tried to escape.  But the cat was scared to death and ran back into the apartment.

  "I'm going to get that little bastard and put him in the bathroom.  After this is all settled, I'm going to knock him in the damn head with a Coca Cola bottle and bury him in the backyard," said the man, with a very serious look on his face.

  I watched as he trapped the cat in the living room corner and threw him into the bathroom like a baseball.

  "What's with the cat?" I asked Sherman.

  "It belonged to her mother.  She died several weeks ago and I guess they don't want it."

  "Why would someone not want to keep something that loved their mother?" I asked.  Sherman just shrugged his shoulders and entered the apartment.

  For the next hour we broke down beds and furniture and loaded the truck.  When all was done Sherman paid the woman and we turned to leave.

  I stopped in the doorway, turned around and said, "You not going to kill that cat are you?"

  The man looked at me and replied, "I don't want the damn thing and I'm going to kill it."

  "Can I use your telephone," I asked the woman.  She pointed to the kitchen.

  I walked into the kitchen, picked up the phone and telephoned my wife.  I explained the situation and was rather surprised when she firmly rejected the suggestion that we take the animal.

  Slowly, I hung up the telephone and turned toward the man.

"We'll take the cat," I told him.

  I looked at Sherman, who was now shaking his head.

  I held the scared cat on my lap until we returned to the furniture store.  Carrying the cat against my chest, I jumped out of the truck and walked across the highway.  Slowly, I opened the front door of my house and let the cat walk in.  I quietly closed the door and walked back across the street to help Sherman unload the furniture.

  When I was done, he paid me and I headed back to my house.

  I opened the front door and hearing nothing, I began to look for the cat.  When I finally got to the kitchen I saw my wife sitting at the end of the kitchen table holding and petting the cat.

  "WHERE THE HECK DID THAT COME FROM?" I yelled, acting surprised.

  "I don't know.  He just was here.  He came walking into the bedroom.  Isn't he beautiful?" she replied.

  "Well, we are not keeping it," I told her.

  "If we can't find the owner we are keeping it," she advised me.

  "If I couldn't keep that cat I called you about you are not keeping that animal," I said, in a very stern voice.

  "We'll see about that," she said, as she walked out of the kitchen, carrying the cat in her arms.

  Well, the cat named "Hema" lived with us until our divorce, seven years later.  The judge granted her the cat in the divorce proceeding and he lived with her for another eight years.

  That incident was one of the few secrets I ever kept from my wife.

  -- Roger Dean Kiser  trampolineone@earthlink.net

This story first appeared in Petwarmers 19th July 2006


Roger has written other great stories which you'll find on this site:

Cat Man

Little Missy

The End of the Rope

Three Orphans


You can read more about Roger's amazing life and stories at his website by clicking here: http://www.rogerdeankiser.com. You can email him by clicking here: mailto:trampolineone@earthlink.net

Roger takes in cats and their kittens and cares for them on a limited income. If you would like to help Roger with food, or other items, please send your donation - no matter how small - to: Roger Kiser, 100 Northridge Drive, Brunswick, GA 31525. Remember - every little helps!







One Cat is Company

"One cat is company.
Two cats are a conspiracy. 
Three cats is an attempted takeover.
Four or more cats is a complete coup!"

Shona Steele (Australia)

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