The Long Con

A break from writing about horses to tell you about a friend.

It was a long con. I got bamboozled. Scammed. Hoodwinked. All by a sly, black-as-the-midnight-sky, crafty cat.

It was June, 2012. He made sure I saw him crossing the very busy street outside our business. He looked tough. Street-worn. Lean and muscular. A few scars. I watched him saunter between the parked cars and through the lot next to our building.

A few days later I caught a glimpse of him in the alley behind the dumpster. Looking for food, no doubt. I figured I'd lure him in with food. But he knew I'd do exactly that. The good stuff — Sea Captain's Supper. Irresistible to an alley cat, for that's all I thought he was.

He was hungry and went for it. The next day I set the food in the dog carrier. He went in. I shut the door. Wait. Wasn't he supposed to be feral? No hissing. No scratching. He even let me pet him. We made an appointment at the vet. His Tom-ness was scheduled for removal. He took it like a champ. I kept him confined two days before letting him go, never expecting to see him again.

Two hours later, I opened the door to take out the trash and he raced back inside. I already had a dog coming to work with me. The neighbor had left her cat behind when she moved out. There was no way to keep another cat. Shadow had a different story. A friend took the neighbor's cat. Shadow had found his home. He never begged. He arranged circumstances until kindness seemed like our own idea.

A little more than a year later, I closed the business and retired. By then Shadow had made the store his home. With the store gone, what to do? We had a rule as old as our marriage: no more than two dogs, no more than four cats. We already had four cats. Worse, I had written the rule, and I'd invoked it on Ranae for thirty years. Now I had to break my own law. She loved Shadow too, so it didn't take much convincing. The other four cats had plenty to say about it.

We brought Shadow home in his carrier and let him ease in. The other cats were not happy. But Shadow had lived on the streets. He knew how to get along and he knew how to get his way. In no time he had the run of the house. The other cats had their areas. Shadow had the whole place.

Early morning was the best show. We'd hear him use the cat box. The moment the job was done came a quick scratching cover-up, then the zooming. Shadow tore up and down the hall on the hard floors, sliding into walls, feet churning for more speed like Fred Flintstone working up his car. The finale: a full-speed run from the living room to the office, hitting the office chair seat just right to send it spinning while he held on for dear life.

He was great company during the pandemic. For the price of a few Temptations, he'd sit up, chase a ball, jump through a hoop, and give a high five. He'd sit on my lap while I worked, and if I got too intense he'd drape himself over the keyboard, reminding me it was time to have fun.

The years passed. He slept at the foot of the bed. He claimed the top of the couch, and when the TV was on he knew how to set himself in your direct line of sight. He discovered Churu treats and the water drained from a tuna can. He could hear the soft rattle of the treat bag even three rooms away, dead asleep.

Shadow began losing weight these last few months. He grew finicky about food. Ranae tried everything. The vet said it was his teeth, but the price was far beyond our reach for a 17-year-old cat who likely had other problems. We kept him comfortable. We kept him fed. We kept him loved. On his last morning he sat by the door, asking to go out. We knew the time was close. He walked out onto the grass and fell asleep in the morning sun. He won the long con.