As carryover from my days with Cartoon, often when I meet a cat, I squeal, “I’m gonna get you, kitty!” even if I’m sitting right next to it. (Then I pretend my fingers are scissors and “snip” its tail off. I have such a vast imaginary tail collection.) But once upon a time, I said it—and almost meant it!
When Honey Bear and I lived at The Landing Pad, pre-Max, every now and then we’d see an orange cat, milling around the same batch of apartments. We often noticed it when driving to or from the grocery store, and we’d pause the car a few feet from it and attempt to chat. “Kitty! What’re you doing?” I’d call out the car window in my high-pitched, half-admonishing, half-you-are-just-too-adorable tone. (Honey Bear always finds it funny how I ask animals questions: “You pause like you actually expect an answer!”)
In November 2015, we were on the way to a library media sale when we saw the orange cat, sniffing around the same area we saw him last time. (I say “he” and “him,” but I had no idea if it was a boy.) This time, Honey Bear parked the car in a nearby spot and took a chance at trying to woo this kitty, who was wildly friendly: He flopped over on the ground and let Honey Bear rub and pet and love on him. Why was he so sweet and domesticated? Had he been abandoned by someone who moved out?
I went to the office to see if they knew anything about the orange cat. One of the property managers (who all had interesting or soap opera-esque names) said he wasn’t aware of it, even though it hung out literally next door to the office and that particular property manager lived in the complex as well. But he said, if we captured and adopted the cat like we intended to, don’t forget to tell them so they can add it to our rent!
I returned to where Honey Bear was still heaping affection on the cat, whom we started calling Pepperoni. (I always wanted an orange cat named that.) We weren’t sure what to do right then, so we opted to stick to the original plan of heading to the library sale—but on the way back, we nabbed some cat food and litter. A plan was a-brewin’ in our souls!
When we got to the parking lot, Pepperoni was lounging in the sun on a second-floor apartment’s front porch. I knocked on the door to ask the renters if the cat was theirs, but no one answered except a dog, who was whimpering on the other side of the window. So Honey Bear took action: He scooped up the cat, carried it down the stairs, and put it in our backseat.
During the hundred-or-so-foot drive to our own apartment, Pepperoni became skeptical of us and our intentions. He was, however, not too skeptical to help himself to some of our freshly purchased cat food. (It managed to avoid the green veggie nibbles.)
After exchanging many WTF-do-we-do-now looks, Honey Bear and I crafted a plan to get Pepperoni inside our place. I would go ahead into the apartment and unlock the door (manning the drawbridge, if thou wilt), while Honey Bear would carry it inside. We were seconds away from making this scheme work when it wriggled out of Honey Bear’s hands, scampered away, and ran back to its sunny porch. (We know this because we later drove by and saw him chilling up there like nothing had ever happened.) So close!
We continued to see the kitty around every now and then. Since he was clearly not meant to be ours, he couldn’t possibly be Pepperoni, and so we referred to him as Peppernotti instead.
But right before we moved out of The Landing Pad and into The Schmoop Shack, we bumped into an enthusiastic tattooed dude having a cig in the parking lot one day. He revealed that Peppernotti’s name was actually Luke, after some sports star. To illustrate Luke the Cat’s own athleticism, his owner told about a time when the cat was chasing a bird and went sailing out the second-story window after it. Thanks for tidying up those loose ends, sir! Meanwhile, Honey Bear and I stood there, making polite conversation as if we hadn’t ever tried to steal his cat.
It was good to learn that Peppernot—er, Luke did indeed have a home and a owner who was happy to brag about him to complete strangers. Since our first and only attempt at cat-napping, we still haven’t gotten a feline of our own, but that’s all right: One Max is plenty for us for now!
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