The Tomcat

The Tomcat

I have owned a number of cats since my childhood (secretly and otherwise) and have cared for them for the entire time they chose to live with me. Some lived in my house, some stopped by from time to time to say hi, or for a scrap of food (usually the latter).

Throughout the years, there was this Tomcat - ugly little sucker. Fat, dirty, flat face, scars... And the yellowest eyes I've seen on a cat.
He was bad tempered and untrusting. I remember I tried to be kind to him, gave him food. He didn't touch it, and spat at me when I went close.

I would have let him be, but he would constantly attack my cats. Every one of them was terrified by this gunda of a tomcat. I even blame him for the death of one of our house cats, though I could never prove it.

Today, after all these years, I saw him sitting by our door when I came home. We looked at each other, but something was different.

He didn't run off when I approached him. He didn't move when I sat next to him and clicked a picture. I saw he was shivering slightly.

He had grown old and weak, I realised. He might even be sick. I felt sorry for him and laid some cake down for him. He approached it warily : finally accepting a human's help must have been shameful for he who had always hunted house cats.

As I watched him eat, I tried to pat him, but he was on his guard - he wasn't used to someone being kind to him.

He accepted my patting. Later, he slowly stretched, and walked away.

I don't know why I felt sad. I must have cursed him a thousand times, shooed him away, even thrown a stone at him to keep my cats safe.

It's how we feel after watching a villain die. We hated him, but we had had a history.

I don't know if I will see him alive again. In J.K. Rowling's words : what do you say to each other after a lifetime of hatred?