Shadow’s story

How a homeless cat learned to dream.

Sometimes he just can’t sleep. Despite the dark. Despite the quiet. It’s as though the fear won’t let go of him for long enough.

Sleeping can sometimes be worse, though. When he sleeps, he forgets. Forgets to worry. Forgets to be afraid. It makes waking up that much harder. Some kind of noise jolts him out of sleep and brings memory. And the fear.

Granted, his current conditions are far better than his previous ones. He’s warm. That’s something. There’s food and fresh water in two bowls. That’s new. How many nights had he tried to sleep with a grumbling belly?

Plus, someone changes the blankets and towels every day. And they’re really nice. He loves when they hold him. Cuddle him. Pet him. And he purrs. He didn’t think he could anymore, but he does. Sometimes he considers those few minutes the best of the day.

He knows he can’t rely on it, though. Can’t start to expect it. Because when you do, you get disappointed. If life has taught him anything it’s the minute you think all is well, that’s when the bad stuff happens.

He still shudders when he remembers that other cat. To this day, he can’t figure out how the cat had found his hiding place under the porch. He’d been there for a long time. Started to think of it as home. And then he came back one night to find another cat there.

Dear God, the eyes on that cat. He’d known the minute he’d made eye contact that this cat had seen and experienced the kind of hardships no one really talks about. He knows it sounds crazy, but that cat had hollow eyes. Eyes that had witnessed too much. Defeated eyes. Tired, exhausted-beyond-the-point-of-caring eyes.

He’d made an attempt to fight. Maintain his territory. Keep what was his. But he had known when he’d started that he didn’t stand a chance. The other cat had outweighed him by too much. And he had no idea how to really fight. So he’d left the relative safety of the porch. Wandered the streets for days. Practically asleep on his feet.

Then he’d been brought here. Some kind of animal shelter. He trembles, curls himself inside the litterbox they’d put in his cage. He figures maybe if he’s invisible, he’ll get overlooked. He’d heard the stories.

But this place seems different. The people are really nice. Plus, they gave him a chance. No one else ever had. And the other cats seem hopeful. He’s too decent to tell them what happens when you get your hopes up.

And the kittens. God, to have that kind of energy again. He can’t remember a time when he was happy like that. It feels like he was born an adult. Never had a chance to be young. Although the kittens get adopted pretty fast, so maybe they know their futures are different. Maybe they have some kind of innate intuition that tells them they’ve got a chance. That would definitely be a reason for celebration.

He watches the kittens “go home” as the staff calls the adoptions. He listens to the “oohs” and “aahs” of the people who want to adopt them. “Oh, mommy, look, they’re adorable!”

He stays in his litterbox. What’s the point? He knows he’s not adorable. He’s just a regular black cat with green eyes, who’s a little rough around the edges. He’s nothing special. He knows he can’t compete with those kittens for the attention of the people. He’s seen the older cats try. He watches when they put a paw out of the cage, rub against the metal. Give the people the look that says, “I’ll love you forever.”

Doesn’t matter. The people go for the kittens. Always.

He tries to stay grounded in reality. It hurts less that way. When your expectations aren’t high, you don’t get let down when they aren’t met. He sees so much hope around him. Although, he must admit, sometimes he envies them. They sleep through the night. They stretch out on the blankets. They’re not tight inside the litterbox. They believe they’ll be adopted.

He sighs. It must be nice. But he doesn’t want to be a fool. He wants to face life with his eyes open, understanding what could happen and not being caught off guard. So he can’t do it. He just can’t hope.

But he still dreams. And the dreams have become dangerous. Because they make him feel exactly what he doesn’t want to. They make him long for what he knows he can’t have.

He’s heard the stories. On rare occasions when he was out on the street, he’d actually seen the cats about whom the tales had been told. He’d glance up to a window and see one. The cat with a home. Asleep on the back of a couch. And it always made him stop and stare. Because he didn’t think that kind of peace was possible.

And he’s seen it here. The faces of the cats who have an adopted sticker on their cages. Relief. Ease. Like the proverbial weight has been lifted.

And, God help him, in his dreams he sees her. The woman he calls mom. She has such gorgeous hair. It smells like apples and she lets him run his nose and paws through it when he sits behind her on the couch. And she has incredible eyes. So kind. They look into his and he knows she knows. He knows she understands what he’s been through. She knows he’s not perfect. Not the most beautiful creature on the planet. But she opens her heart. And loves him. For who he is. Scars and all.

And he loves her back with everything he has. He purrs in her lap, rubs his head against her legs. Tells her every day, even though he can’t speak in words, how very much she means to him.

And it’s beautiful. That dream. So very vivid that for a few minutes, he knows what peace would feel like. Because with his mom he’ll never again know hunger, fear or loneliness. He no longer would have to be afraid because he knows she’ll protect him. He’s safe with her. Safe and loved.

But he wakes, every time, inside the litterbox. In the cage. At the shelter. And it hurts. That the dream isn’t real.

He knows it’s foolish to hope. He doesn’t want to look like an idiot, but still, on the days after an especially intense dream, he can’t stop himself from looking.

For her.

When the doors open, he peeks over the side of the litterbox and the flame of anticipation flares. He hears the shrieks about the kittens. “Oh, look! How cute!” His head drops back down to the litter.

And so, he waits. For that day. When the kittens are overlooked for him. And he’ll know the real feel of her arms, smell of her hair and sound of her voice when she says she’ll love him forever.

He has to believe she’ll come for him. He has to. Because he’s found that after everything, he wants a chance at that dream.

*******

Years ago we had a black cat come into the animal shelter named Shadow, for whom this story was created. When he first arrived, he spent every day in his litterbox. He would pop his head up every once in a while, but he lived in that litterbox. He wasn’t a special breed, didn’t have an exotic color and he was older. But Shadow would rub against your hand when you reached out to pet him and he would purr. He got overlooked for a long time, but eventually…eventually he found his mama. Just like his dream. Shadow’s story reminds us of three simple words: never give up.