Toe in the Water

The Nameless One

The Nameless One

Soon after my first marriage, we were living in a small apartment in the city. We had no thought of acquiring animals and I don’t know now whether they were allowed in terms of the lease. But one evening there was a quiet scratching at our front door.

We answered what appeared to be a request to be let in and so came to know a large, battered old warrior of a cat. He marched into the place as if he owned it. Scarred and tattered as he was, it was clear that this fellow had seen life and understood how to survive the worst it could throw at him. We fed him dutifully.

From the apparent ease with which he took us as his staff, it seemed to me that he had done this kind of thing before. In fact, I suspect that he had a whole series of households on which to call when he felt the need for some comfort. He may well have progressed regularly from one to the next, never living on the street unless he felt like a bit of roughing it. His battle scars proved that he knew how to take care of himself, that was obvious.

He stayed with us just three days that first time. We did not even have time to think of a name for him before he disappeared one day. And he did not reappear for several weeks.

When he did, it was in the same way as the first - the scratching at the door, the imperious entrance, a brief stay, and then silent and unannounced departure. This became the pattern of the few months in which we stayed in that apartment. When we left for greener pastures, he was away and so the question of his coming with us never arose. We knew he would be fine.

That fellow could handle himself, that’s for sure.

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