The Nine Lives of Jay Catsby (#OnceUponNow)

A Happenstance Meeting

I first saw Jay Catsby last year on Garman Road. I was following up on a lead and decided to travel back roads to save time. I got stuck behind a middle-aged woman more concerned with her cell phone than driving when I saw a small dog dart out in front of the road. Instinctively, I slammed on my brakes and honked my horn, but it was too late. I watched the woman's blue Chevy Impala jerk upon impact, and heard the unmistakable sound of a dog's cry. I jumped out of my car and told the hysterical woman to call the vet at Chambersburg Animal Hospital, which was about a mile away. One look at the dog's still form, lying motionless in the road, told me everything. The woman relayed that the vet asked us to check the collar and try and contact the owner. When I turned back, a black and gray tiger-striped cat was sitting next to the dog, staring at me. The dog was moving! Stunned, I rushed over and the cat took off into the high grass by a nearby farm. The dog, a black and white border collie with a red collar, was conscious, albeit in pain. He survived with minor cuts and scrapes and a broken leg.

I was rinsing the dishes that night after dinner, relaying the story to Tiffany, about to tell her about the odd appearance of the cat, when she yelled from the dining room, "Steve, there's a cat on our patio."

I stopped scrubbing, nearly dropping a plate into our porcelain sink. I ran to join Tiffany, who was staring at this cat through our patio door that overlooked the backyard. Despite twenty miles between our last meeting, there was no mistaking it was the same cat. The striped patterns, the gaze in his eyes, was unmistakable. When he saw me, he lifted a paw to the door, eliciting an enthusiastic "Aww!" from Tiffany. I couldn't find a coherent sentence to explain to my wife that I had seen this cat earlier in the day, nor did I have the time, because only seconds after reaching for me, the cat collapsed onto his side, and we found ourselves bundling him up and rushing to another veterinarian's office.

Dr. Nichols, a woman in her mid-thirties with long dark hair flowing out the back of a white coat, came out to meet with us. She explained that the cat's heartbeat seemed to be slower than normal, which could explain his exhaustion. She asked if there were any extenuating situations that could explain his condition, and Tiffany immediately answered that he was a stray. I sat quiet, folding and refolding my hands. I could have mentioned that the cat, who may have just saved a dog's life earlier that day, decided to run the twenty miles to my house, despite not knowing where I lived and that could potentially have tired him out, but the story had more holes than a block of Swiss cheese, and I wasn't ready to commit to it. Dr. Nichols went on to say that she wanted to run some additional tests overnight and despite the fact he wasn't ours, I gave her my phone number when she had an answer for whatever this was.

"I'll admit he's cute," Tiff said that night when we got home. She was changing out of her jeans and into a sexy pink nightie. "But do we really want to take on a cat? They pee in a box, Steve. You know I'm not going to clean that up."

"I'll do it," I found myself pleading as I flopped onto the bed. "But without an owner, he'll go straight to a shelter with a hundred other cats and never find a home." I rubbed my temples, thinking of the events earlier that day. The dog, the trek to my house. "I mean, he found us, Tiff. That has to mean something, doesn't it?"

"It could just be random," she argued, but I could tell from her tone that her resolve was weakening. She sat down next to me, and I knew how I could win the argument.

"C'mon," I whined, running a slender finger along her bare thigh. It drove her wild. "We could give it a cool literary name." Her eyes lit up, her lips parting into a giant smile. We eventually agreed on Jay Catsby.

I decided to take the day off to purchase supplies for Catsby: litter box, litter, scooper, cat food, food dishes, and most importantly, toys. I was debating between a fuzzy fish and a pink plastic ball that jingled when my cell phone buzzed. It was Dr. Nichols, who asked me to come in immediately. She didn't want to say anything more on the phone.