Buddy

And now I will tell you the story of Buddy the Cat.

It was May 4th, 2006, and on this rainy Saturday night in Nashville, I got home around midnight. As I turned the key in the door to my apartment, little did I know that I had the attention of a stray cat that was watching eagerly from a dark corner of the parking lot.

Shortly after getting inside, I heard an odd animal noise outside my front door. Cautiously, I creaked it open to find a black cat looking up at me with bright yellow eyes—and anticipation.

At that moment we were both unsure what to do. The cat was seeking shelter from the storm, but could he trust me? I was skeptical about allowing any creature into my apartment, but I didn’t want to turn away what appeared to be a friendly feline in need.

After a few seconds, the cat made the decision for both of us, quickly scurrying into my apartment. "Alrighty," I thought, closing the door behind me.

"Beggars can't be choosers" is probably what he was thinking.

He immediately began surveying the scene. Would this be a suitable place to stay for the night? Or maybe longer?

I quickly called my girlfriend at the time, who had two cats of her own. She would know what to do.

Soon thereafter I was equipped with cat food and a litter box. Up until then, the cat had been understandably standoffish. But the second I dumped that dry food into his bowl, I was his new best friend.

One of the best moments came later that night when I got into bed. The cat quickly sprang up onto the mattress and sprawled out against my leg, purring like crazy. He’d found a new home—at least for the night—and he was a happy boy.

* 2 *

Although I liked pets, it wasn’t my intention to keep the cat, mostly because it wasn’t mine and I was used to living alone in my nicely controlled environment. But a few days later, after having received no responses to the "Lost Cat" signs I posted around the apartment complex, I wasn’t sure what to do.

My girlfriend, who had indoor cats, warned me about letting him outside, never understating the perils that lurked in the parking lot and the general outdoors. But the cat that was staying with me was not like hers, and he made sure to let me know it about every 30 seconds with insistent pleas to venture beyond the four walls of my apartment.

The next day, against my girlfriend's adamant admonition, I decided to let him out after putting up with his whining at my patio door for the better part of the day. At that point, I felt good about honoring his freewill, knowing that he would be happy to roam about and do as he pleased. It felt like the right call. If the situation was somehow reversed, I’d hope he’d do the same for me.

The cat didn’t return for the rest of the day. When I told my girlfriend about it, she muttered sadly, “Well, that’s not what I would have done.”

"Well, that's easy for you to say—you weren’t locked up with him all day long listening to his incessant whining," I replied. I felt justified in saying that.

Later that night we were watching Lost, and my girlfriend was still a little bummed about the situation. Then in the middle of the episode, we heard a light scratching sound on my screen door. Sure enough, it was the cat! He’d found his way back at night. Needless to say, my girlfriend was overjoyed, and I was happy to see him again in an unexpected reunion.

At that point, his semi-miraculous return felt like a sign that I was supposed to keep him. Sure, I wasn’t looking for a pet and he seemed a little needy, but he was also the most affectionate cat I’d met. Even as a dog person, I knew this cat was special. So I decided to give him a new permanent home.

* 3 *

I took the cat to the vet the next day. When I filled out the form, I didn’t know what to put for his name—I didn’t have one.

The vet’s first impression of the cat was a positive one. He did have to pull him out of his carrier, but was met with no audible resistance. After a few seconds he said, “You’ve got a real friendly cat here.”

And that's how everyone who ever met my cat felt.

The vet said the cat had already been neutered and estimated that he was about 2 or 3 years old. So where was his owner? The vet informed me that, sadly, many people abandon their cats. They just drive out to a random spot and dump them off. I guess I’ll never know for sure if this was the case with my cat, but to this day that’s all I have to go on.

In my mind I flashed back a few days before the cat showed up on my doorstep. I remembered hearing meows and cries around the parking lot that week. Now I wonder how many other apartments he'd scoped out and potential owners he'd considered before inviting himself into my place : )

* 4 *

But, what to call this friendly little roommate? No good names really came to mind, other than “Midnight” and “Whiny.”

But to this point, there was one name I'd generally referred to him as by default because it just seemed so natural, given his friendly demeanor.

Buddy.

And so it was. All of my friends who met Buddy agree that he’s pretty much the best cat ever. He’s got the sweet affection of a dog that wants attention and needs to explore the outdoors (often when nature calls), but the independence of a cat that you can leave at your apartment while you’re gone for the weekend. He was even open to potty training for a short time (lol). Buddy is a rare breed of cat, or cat dog, which I think is a more accurate classification.

Much to my surprise, I discovered how easy it was to treat Buddy the way almost every other pet owner treats their pet: like a baby and a member of the family. Before I knew it, I was singing silly songs to him and asking what he’d fixed me for dinner when I got home from work.

Buddy made me smile. There wasn’t a day that went by when I didn’t just look at him napping in the fetal position or listen to one of his many sounds of satisfaction and not crack up. Buddy was one of the funniest things in my life, and he never knew it.

* 5 *

Out of all the sacrifices I’ve made in moving to New York City, giving up Buddy has been the hardest. Think about it: My car is at my parents' house, and while playing hockey here is much more inconvenient, I can still do it. Buddy, however, is a companion who's no longer in my life. All of this didn’t hit me fully until I pulled out a picture of him the other day.

It’s easy to get sad from dwelling on what you no longer have, but to move forward, you have to focus on the positive part of a situation. I gave Buddy to a former co-worker who had fallen in love with him the first time she cat-sat for him months earlier. So he still has a good home, and Lisa is thrilled to have him.

As for me, I think about the fact that I rescued Buddy from abandonment and gave him a good home for a year and a half. I showed him love, and he showed me the same in return—by greeting me at the door every night when I got home from work, by racing home to meet me upon being summoned from the porch, and by curling up against me in a little ball every night when I went to bed.

Given the circumstances, deciding to not take Buddy to New York City with me to share a tiny apartment with my brother was the hard-but-right decision. At the expense of my emotions, he and his new momma are in an ideal living situation, and they're both happy. And that makes me happy enough to live with my decision.

When people asked me how I got my cat, I always laughed, because I didn't choose him. He chose me.

And it was one of the best decisions I never made.