Every morning he would sit at the second window on the left, looking at the road. When he sees someone passing, he’ll squint his eyes to see better. Sometimes, his tail would sweep left and right. Sometimes he will stand up and put one paw on the trellis. When a person of interest moves out of his sight, he’ll run to the other window to get more glimpses.
He annoyed Soda Pop enough to have our bubbly girl bare some fangs and send an intense hiss, but even after screams and scratches, he still followed her around.
I intercepted him before another fight broke out, and asked door to door for his momma. No one lost their child. A Neighbour across the street told me that he might belong to a new resident a few metres away. The new family said they know where he belongs, took him, and put him in a cage, but fifteen minutes later, he was on the street again, chasing our girl.
I brought him back to that same house, but fifteen minutes later, he is back on the street again, chasing our girl. I brought him back the third time and asked the new neighbor where his house is. Everyone seemed to be at work, so I locked him up in an empty cage on the verandah and got my day going.
I found him back on the street at night, and he is still wandering around by the next dawn.
He was hungry and dirty. He was sitting in front of my fence. He stared straight into my eyes with such arrogance, though he tried his best to look pitiful.
A week without luck finding his rightful owner, I neutered him because he sprays all over my house. Two weeks without a clue I offered him for adoption, but with Covid going rampant, no one wants an additional liability.
The following week, I give up looking. Que sera, sera. In no time a perfect purebred Persian like him will have a new home and a family who adores him, unlike his domestic short hair peers, who people deem of no value.
Yet, he refuses every offer. He turns his head away from snacks and treats and runs away from open arms. He rejects every suitor.
By his size and the number of scratches and bites he gives to his wanna-be adopter (and me), his name is Goliath.
Among the brethren of David, he is a giant, but when everyone comes together and helps each other, he is an outcast. He’d hang his head low, then, and silently climb the cat tree by the window, watching the empty street.
Once I saw him mauling a roll of kitchen towel, I snatched the roll away from him. He looked at me, turned his head away, and silently climbed the cat tree by the window, watching the empty street.
I feel like a murderer.
Three nights ago, as I was getting ready to go round street feeding, he slipped out of the door and sat beside me.
The arrogant, selfish, egocentric giant leaned on me.
He took a deep breath and curled by my side.
Goliath, deep within, is only a child.
He knows his family does not want him back.
He knows the other cats fear him or hate him for his size and power. He learned the hard way that he is small and insignificant.
Still, when the morning comes I find him sitting on the cat tree by the window on the left, looking down the street.
Maybe this time, someone who will truly love him will come.