Those of you who read my previous column will probably remember that I fell in love with an apricot cat during an impromptu weekend getaway to Highlands, North Carolina. With the recent passing of my own cat Sam last summer and my subsequent consultation with a “pet communicator” who assured me that Sam’s soul would find me again very soon through the body of a healthy new animal, I couldn’t help but ask me.
Perhaps my encounter with this beautiful cat with a pink freckled nose and white paws who kept a permanent post next to a wooden bench outside Buck’s Coffee on Main Street in the Highlands, charming tourists and locals alike with his charismatic demeanor, might suggest the moving meeting I had. waiting status
Inspired by poignant adoption fantasies, I spent my entire Highlands weekend searching for the owner of this very special cat. I was informed by several employees of the Main Street store that the cat was a stray cat that took up residence in the Little Flower Shop across the street from Buck’s Coffee, where it was cared for by a part-time Little Flower Shop employee; a woman named Michelle. I learned that the cat could enter and leave the store of its own accord through a small makeshift opening in the base of the building, where food and warmth awaited it.
I pictured this sweet little creature on stormy nights huddled in a corner on the cold, hard concrete floor of the Little Flower Shop, alone in the dark, fantasizing about the safety and warmth of a proper home and family and patiently waiting for the day light. Several times over the course of the weekend I wandered into the Little Flower Shop hoping to introduce myself to the cat’s owner only to find, like many Highlands shops on a snowy weekend in mid-January, the doors closed.
On the Monday morning of my departure I made one last attempt and my heart skipped a beat:
The doors of the Little Flower Shop finally opened, and a middle-aged man with a gloomy demeanor was standing behind the reception. He nonchalantly said that Michelle was not around, and that the cat was definitely not available for adoption, although many people, both locals and tourists, routinely stopped by the Little Flower Shop to inquire about adopting the cat.
I resigned myself to the fact that the cat was exactly where it needed to be and it was time to go home. As I headed back to the car where my friend was waiting for me, I shifted my gaze to the wooden bench outside Buck’s Coffee, hoping to catch a last glimpse of the apricot cat.
I slide into the passenger seat next to my friend, marveling at our bad luck that weekend. I never tracked down the cat’s owner, which shattered my adoption fantasy, and many of our favorite restaurants and stores were closed. Even my favorite little bag store was closed that weekend. I was hoping to speak with Bob the store owner about a minor repair to an item purchased there last winter.
My friend and I decided to say a last goodbye to our friend Harry, who owns a clothing store on Main Street. As we were inside the clothing store exchanging pleasantries, Harry noticed that Bob, the owner of the bag shop, had just opened his doors. Bob’s car was parked outside and the lights inside the store were on. I ran across the street and talked to Bob about the repair. He asked me to come back in several minutes, so I went back outside to find my friend. We sat inside the car killing time, until my friend suggested we return to the wooden bench outside Buck’s Coffee and say our last goodbyes to the apricot cat.
When we approached the wooden bench there was no sign of the cat. We decided to lounge in the sun, stretch our legs and fill our lungs with fresh mountain air in anticipation of our five-hour drive home. Suddenly, the apricot cat came over, pacing toward us with an air of authority. I took him in my arms to say a final goodbye, burying my face in his soft, warm fur before gently setting him down on the street beside me. At that crucial moment, a woman came over, lifted the cat into her arms, and rested it on her shoulder.
“Hey Buddy,” he whispered, as if greeting a longtime companion. “Are you Michelle?” my friend asked. “Yes,” she replied, “I’m Michelle.” “I love your cat,” I exclaimed, and then, in quick succession, my friend and I broke the story of our quest to locate her and inquire about adopting the cat. “He needs a home,” Michelle responded quickly, nearly taking my breath away. She said that in recent months, Buddy has learned to cross the busy main street full of tourists, leaving her fearful for her safety amid all the traffic and commotion. She looked me square in the eye and asked if I would be willing to take Buddy home with me. She overjoyed me but didn’t surprise me at all.
Michelle delivered Buddy right into my arms like a precious gift. Later that night, after arriving safely in Charleston, my friend and I sat propped up against pillows on his living room floor, relaxing in front of a roaring fireplace and enjoying an evening cocktail. It was a cold night and we were happy to be home. To our delight and surprise, Buddy attempted to reach out to us and stretched himself luxuriously over both of our laps, where he spent the next several hours sleeping soundly as we lovingly stroked his apricot-colored fur. “Bet on Buddy, this beats walking the streets,” I teased, and my friend agreed.
Buddy’s adjustment to the inner life was remarkable. Several days later, I contacted Michelle to let her know about Buddy’s new found domestic bliss. In a candid moment across the miles, as I sat drinking my morning coffee while Buddy lounged on my bedroom window sill in the morning sun, staring dreamily out over the swamp, I asked Michelle why I had entrusted to Buddy. “Surely there must have been countless offers to adopt him,” I commented. Michelle responded that many people regularly inquire about adopting Buddy, both locals and tourists, but a voice deep inside of her told her to decline the offers. Somehow, she explained, none of these people seemed like the right match for Buddy. Once again, I asked Michelle why she chose me and she replied, “I’m not sure, I just knew. It was like a sixth sense; when I looked at you, I somehow knew right away that you were the perfect match, man.” “. ; Truly an answer to a prayer.”
In that moment I was sure that the soul of my late Sam had found its way back home with me. Buddy’s name has since been changed to Buck, after his favorite coffee shop in the Highlands. He transformed from a mountain cat to a low country cat, and adapted to his new lifestyle quite naturally.
These days, Buck spends his time ensconced in the privacy of his screened-in porch watching squirrels play in the Spanish moss trees and sleeping peacefully in the sunshine, dreaming of his former life as mayor of Main Street in the Highlands and so grateful to have found their way home.
