Tokens

The Black Cat

If there is a God, He must surely despise me. Maybe that’s why  He gave me this life---to suffer. As usual, I failed to land a job. I have been unfortunate for as long as I can remember and in terms of everything. I should just stop expecting. But then how am I supposed to live without hoping for things to get better?

I was in a crowded bus fitted to its capacity during rush hour. It reeked a weird mixture of daily sweat and cheap perfume. I was attached to a stranger’s hips and my feet played a game of twisters. Finding space was everybody’s problem and nobody’s problem at the same time. Time! Some of them could’ve just waited for the next bus home, but no, they are in a hurry to reach first.

To each their own, I busied myself spying through the narrow gap of someone’s underarm to look outside the window as soon as the wheels drove into motion.

There was a dark lining in the clouds. The Sun was about to set and the evening to bring a heavy shower with it.

While for some it was a welcome relief, for me my luck couldn’t get any worse. Without an umbrella, I walked home in the rain. Those who got off with me sprinted away as if it rained acid.

Unlike them, I took my own sweet time in snail-paced drowsy steps. The cold of the rain met the heat of my skin. So many big drops falling like bullets. If there is nothing I can do to change my fate, shouldn’t I just accept this cold exchange from Him? Silently, I prayed for it to wash away all negativity surrounding me.

Except for a few people out on business, the streets were comparatively deserted. They appeared a greyish shade of blue, perhaps owing to the dark atmosphere.

On a turn, I noticed a stray kitten in a corner. It was black in colour, such that if it closed its sky blue eyes, one would mistake him for a shadow formed at dusk.

It was drenching wet and forsaken like me. It looked up back at me with those bright eyes. Its eyes were the very opposite of its body. It felt as if it was staring right into the deepest part of my soul and finding potential. It was expecting something from me.

Out of pity and sympathy felt by seeing myself reflected in the poor being, I decided to take him in.

At home, it was only me and my mother. I could well imagine her remarking how we were supposed to feed another mouth when we barely went by ourselves.

While drying him off, a thought came in. Black cats were feared to bring misfortune. Though my condition was vulnerable, I was never too superstitious, and letting a kitten uncared for was not something humane and to make me fortunate.

Lifting it up to face me, I said, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to abandon you. Hmm, I should give you a name. Say, what about ‘Blacky’?” At this, it meowed which I took for an approval.

Soon, a week passed since Blacky had been in my care. I had been doing small time jobs to get by. One morning, I got a call from one of my friends whom I met in one of my unsuccessful job hunting ventures. He got an urgent call for a vacancy and had to rush for the interview and selection process, leaving behind his backup job as a cashier in a local café.

He was asking me to fill in for him.

It was a small café in the heart of a suburb, which is the satellite city of the neighbouring metropolis. The owner is a first generation immigrant who slaved away his early years to save enough money to fulfill his dream of feeding populations. He is a friendly man who treats his employees well as he was once in their shoes. During breaks, he would tell his tale of running away from home and life on the streets. Listening to him made me feel that maybe my life wasn’t so bad and maybe I had found my place where I could dream.

In the afternoon shift, there were more people in the store than on road, a chaotic serving time. As it was, while I was handling the reception, a payer’s wallet was stolen and the thief ran out of the door.

There was another boy at the reception and being nearest to the door, I ran after the thief. I ran and ran like my life depended on it. I ran as if it was my own purse and my own hard earned money. I ran because I didn’t want a thief to get his money so easily while I shed my blood, sweat and tears through the years.

The thief was cursed by my intensity, and stumbled, and fell. I secured the wallet and grabbed him by his neck. The owner of the wallet followed with a local police.

Letting law do its work, I was turning to return to work when the man who was the owner of the stolen wallet called me.

“Excuse me. Thank you for saving my wallet. I owe you.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to thank me.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, are you new at the café? I haven’t seen you before.”

“Yes, but only for today. I’m filling in for a friend.”

The man paused briefly and studied me and my words.

“I see. If that’s the case, please come in for an interview at our company”, saying this, he handed me a business card with a smile.

“I’ll put in a good word for you.”

As much as I doubted his intention, I stretched out my hand a bit involuntarily to accept his card and smiled back politely. “Thank you.”

After much thought, I decided to go to his company the next day. He had really mentioned my name and I was escorted inside a room for further interrogation. Later that evening, I got a message from them telling that I could join next week.

From then on, things started to look up. My mother and I moved into a new apartment, our living conditions getting better. When I was alone with Blacky, I thought that those superstitions were nothing but farce.

One evening, on my day off, it started raining like the day I found Blacky. It was dark and gloomy like my past. There was a lot to reflect on and a sudden fear of a turning tide engulfed me. What if something went wrong and I ended up in misery again? As I was thinking back, a thunder broke my train of thoughts. I started looking for Blacky who was sitting in my lap. Not finding him around, I started searching for him, calling him everywhere, but in vain.

Then, at last, I asked my mother, “Ma, have you seen Blacky? He must’ve got scared and ran off.”

My mother asked instead, “Who?”

“Our pet black cat.”

To this, she finally replied, “Which cat? There was never a cat in the first place.”