An empty cage, an empty heart

On my ride back to the humane society, in the back of the volunteer's station wagon, I noticed my fellow feline's cage was empty. Had that insufferable extrovert been adopted, or had he cleverly climbed from the arms of a cat lover "testing him out" and run free? I suspect the latter. If only my mother hadn't taught me such good manners while I was a kitten, I might be running alongside him right now. 

The car stopped short in front of the shelter and my ears flew straight back. Out of my cage and into the social room with my roommates I went. We all live in the same waiting space, eating, sleeping, playing, pacing, until someone comes to rescue us. I've been here the longest of any of the cats, which is not something I'm proud of. We black cats are often perceived by the superstitious as bad luck. But if you look closely at me, you'll notice my mane is a deep, dark chocolate color. I'm a perfect combination of black and brown. Only a few people have ever gotten a really good look at me because I prefer to hang out way up above my roommates on a wooden perch not far from the ceiling. Up here I feel like I'm resting in a tree in the jungle where I can be cool and mysterious. 

During the day when I'm not napping, I watch people walk slowly by our room or stop and look in at us, their faces pressed against the glass windows, magnifying their features and scaring us so much that our tails puff up and straighten from fear. Sometimes women click their long fingernails against the glass to get our attention, and the kittens answer back with their paws. Me? I prefer to be alone and wait and watch. No getting close to my roommates. Some time ago, my friend Sioux was taken away from here by a member of the medical staff. I never saw her again. She was in decent health at the time, but I knew she had not been adopted. No, Sioux's only crime was that she had been in the shelter too long.

She and I were the closest of friends. We did each other's fur in the latest styles, kept each other warm on chilly nights, and played some great ball together. After Sioux disappeared, I promised myself I would never get close to another feline. I couldn't bear to lose another friend that way. So here I am looking down from my perch watching for that tall woman with the green eyes. I'm waiting to purr again.