I finally caved and gave into my lifelong hatred of cats.

The stray neighborhood cat was purring incessantly outside my bedroom window and after hours of sleeplessness, I finally decided to get up and see why it was crying so loudly. It was, after all, my fault the cat was homeless and hungry in the first place.

My family had stopped feeding the stray when I moved in because its fur was bothering my allergies. After my family booted it from their home, the cat tracked me down and started showing up in my backyard, slithering its way through the hole in my corrugate fence. Anytime it saw me though, it ran away – a quality I find to be especially charming in a cat. So, we came to the understanding that it could sleep in my shady yard as long as it didn’t make a mess or beg and that it left whenever I wanted to use my space.

I decided to keep our agreement a secret since I felt guilty for causing my family to abandon the animal. Plus, since it hadn’t been around in their house for awhile, my family started getting rats while I’ve yet to see one in my room.

The cat and I carried on without a problem for a few months. But then, it got complicated. In my lonely village life, I of course, caught feelings. I even considered leaving out food for the cat occasionally, although I hadn’t yet taken that step in our relationship. I may or may not have named it (Sierra), though.

Then, last week, it began meow-ing around nightfall and did not stop. It meow-ed and meow-ed and meow-ed, keeping me up until the wee hours of the morning. This is when the guilt overtook me. I finally cracked and decided to show my feelings.

I had eaten tuna that night for dinner, and took out the package from my trash. There were a few scraps still on the wrapper and I put it outside near the hole in my fence next to a bowl of water. I went back to bed hoping to get sleep and feeling satisfied that I was no longer in denial about my bond with Sierra.

About 20 minutes later, metal cans crashed in a chaotic screeching hiss. I got up to see what caused the commotion to find not one, but two cats duking it out over the residue on my discarded tuna package. Their four green eyes glared an evil glow in the night as their claws scratched each other’s fur off.

It took a few minutes for me to break up the cat fight, which I had to do with caution since my friend’s cat died of rabies. Eventually, both felines skedaddled. I blocked the hole in my fence and finally went to sleep, counting mice instead of sheep.

–JDF