Puck

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


 

He was my best companion during the initial lockdown. I didn’t know what would happen or where I would have to go. Everyone I needed to see right then was far away. 

 

Enter Puck. 

 

Puck is a black cat with a tipped ear and an eternal winter coat. His front teeth are longer than average, so they stick out like fangs on a cartoon vampire. He also sports wicked, wicked claws.  Were you to look at him, you might assume he’s mean. Puck does possess a mighty hiss when he chooses to. That’s not his fault. He just can’t see you very well. He’s a silly cat who wants to be everyone’s friend. He dances on his front feet when he’s happy, which is really any time he gets attention. 

You see, Puck is the darling of the community. It’s simply not permissible to walk past his little abode without giving him a scratch or two. Offerings to him line the sidewalk - here’s a plate of treats; there’s a blanket (long since covered in cat hair). 

Above all, though, Puck was MY darling. I’ve already mentioned that his vision is lacking. He can hear, and he’s no fool. I’ve never trained a cat before, but it was gratifying to see him trotting down the path to come find me whenever I whistled for him. He trusted me like no other. I was allowed to hold him. He even purred and kneaded my shoulder. I was the one who let him explore forbidden buildings when it got cold out. He padded by my side like a tiny, green-eyed demon. 

When the lockdown happened, much of the community was gone. Instead of the steady stream of people, both Puck and I had loneliness. The solution involved a bag of cat food from CVS. The daily routine of feeding Puck twice a day maintained my sanity. It also made for a couple of good stories - you’d be surprised how many skunks desire a fine evening meal of Meow Mix. I would go see him and scratch him for a while, letting him know that he was a good kitty and that I was there for him. He returned the favor occasionally - my torn-up arms bore witness. He doesn’t care for toys at all. He just wants attention and love. I was delighted to offer him both. 

Alas, forever is just a word. I soon was told that I had to relocate in order to be safe from the virus. Soon ensued a panic for Puck’s welfare. He’s a feral cat who can hunt (trust me, I’ve seen proof), but he’s used to people providing for him. I couldn’t just leave him! 

Thus began an ill-conceived plan to make Puck into a housecat. Long story short, he wasn’t having it. No surfeit of treats or reassurance could convince him to subject himself to the dishonor of a cat carrier. My heart was broken, but luck had not abandoned us. I had a few friends still in the area who agreed to feed him. They tell me he’s doing well. I wonder if he misses me. I’m safe now with a few people (and my own cat), but heaven knows I miss him.


Submitted: May 05, 2020

© Copyright 2021 Morris Rivens. All rights reserved.

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