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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--></head><body lang=EN-US link="#0563C1" vlink="#954F72"><div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal>The Ugly Barn Cat part 2<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Word Count: 1491<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I wasn’t sure why Mom called her car a “Rabbit,” but Once again, she wedged a box lined with towels in the back of her hatchback for me to travel in. This time, Mom’s friend from college helped us drive from Colorado to California. Before hitting the road, they installed an eight-track cassette player to entertain us along the way. The trip was boring until we got a flat tire just over the border into Nevada. Mom and her friend didn’t want to be stranded in a small town, so we paid too much money for a new tire and drove on. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Mom’s friend was a big cat lover. I liked sharing her bed at the motels we stopped at along the way. She played with me like I was a normal kitten. My fragile legs grew stronger jumping at the string she dangled. After two days of driving, we reached the “Bay Area.” Mom said we were about 3,000 miles away from the barn where I was born.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal> “I can’t get far enough away from New York,” she said. I guess she wanted to protect me from the fleas and horses.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Unfortunately, when we reached California, we couldn’t live with the nice lady who loved cats. She had something called a boyfriend and two cats of her own. Instead, we stayed with another friend of Mom’s from high school, but she was allergic to cats like my Mom’s mom, so it was back to the basement for me. I sure was getting a slow start on learning how to be a cat in the light of day. When you’re confined to barns and basements and boxes, it’s pretty scary to stick your nose out the door. I hadn’t learned how to meow. I was happy hiding quietly in the dark until Mom made it home from work to feed me. Alone, I dreamed of changing from an ugly barn cat into a fluffy white feline, like the ugly duckling that turned into an elegant swan. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>It took Mom three months to find a place of our own. By then, I was nine months old. My white fur had filled in all over my body. I looked like a softball with ears when I was curled up on the bed, Mom said. Of course, our housing choices were limited on account of my being a cat.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“The market sure is competitive - I can’t believe I need a resume of my rental history just like I need for my job history. And, the rent is double what I was paying in New York,” she complained. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Mom landed a place down the hill from her friend. Down the hill meant dropping into a poorer neighborhood, closer to the interstate, closer to crime. Mom was kind of nervous about living alone for the first time since she had been attacked. I chirped, trying to convince Mom that I would guard our place - as long as I could do it safely from under the bed. It didn’t bother me that their were bars outside the windows to protect us from the bad guys, but Mom made curtains in the bedroom to hide the bars from view. Inside, our place was wonderful. I skittered about the living room and bedroom on hardwood floors. A picture window in the living room overlooked a grassy and secluded back yard. Mom placed a wicker stool topped with a soft cushion in the center of the window for me to watch the world outside. Perched like a princess on my throne, I chirped at the birds and squirrels, guarding our home from intruders. I was in heaven. I had no desire myself to venture outside; the view through the window suited me fine. I laid on the cushion all day, sleeping or grooming my fur, soft as the down on a swan’s belly. I tried to rub out the dark spot on the top of my head that made me look like I’d fallen head first into a bucket of black paint. It was kind of strange – my mom had a splash of white on her black hair like she’s brushed it with white paint. We were each touched in the head, I figured.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal> <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I could tell that Mom was getting stronger like me. She shopped at a popular import store for tables and lamps, excited to set up our home. At a furniture store, she bought her first-ever new couch, although it was the cheapest one on the floor. She hung lace panels in front of the picture window to provide privacy without blocking the sunlight or my view. At a department store, she found grey bath towels to complement the pink tile work in the bathroom. For the first time in a long while, she functioned like a confident adult. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>One day while Mom was at work, a loud crash sent me scrambling for cover. Strange men kicked in the back door, so I squeezed myself into the springs of Mom’s new couch. I peaked through a crack in the cushions and watched while they ransacked drawers and cupboards. I saw them drop some of Mom’s stuff into a bag. They left the way they’d come in, leaving a gaping hole in the back door. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Mom panicked when she came home. I was nowhere to be found, she imagined I had escaped through the busted door during the burglary. The impact of the splintering door would have scared me into bolting, she worried. She told the police that the thieves had taken a jar of change and an old gold wedding band, but these things were of no value to her. On the other hand, she couldn’t bear to lose Yoda, her ugly barn cat. Mom and I needed each other. I was bedraggled and neglected; she was Recovering from a rough time, too. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>For two days, I trembled inside the couch, unwilling to come out even after all the commotion died down. After all, I was accustomed to hiding in dark places without uttering a sound. Mom sat on the couch and cried about losing me, but I knew I wasn’t lost. I just wasn’t ready to reveal myself until hunger pangs drove me out of hiding. Mom screamed when she felt my paws bat her butt when she sat on the couch the third day. You would have thought the sky was falling, the way Mom jumped off the cushion. Blinking back tears of disbelief at my discovery, She scrambled to fill my water bowl and food dish.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“Maybe my luck is beginning to change,” she exclaimed. She pulled up a cushion and found a rip in the fabric covering the couch springs. From that day forward, my cat house was in the couch. Mom never worried because she knew just where I was - when I wasn’t preening in front of the picture window.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Mom made new friends and occasionally brought someone over to watch a movie or share a meal. Most of her friends never knew that Mom had a cat because I rarely came out of hiding when anyone was in our home. Then, one guy kept coming around all the time so that I got tired of the couch. He was always sitting on it with her. He must have weighed twice as much because he compressed the springs twice as far. One day, I spanked his butt with my paw and he jumped up saying, “What the hell?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>After that, I didn’t bother to hide from him but I scratched and clawed at his hands whenever he tried to pick me up or play with me on his lap. Didn’t he know I was the runt of the litter and couldn’t play rough like that?<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I thought I was holding my own, secure in my place as queen of the castle, until the man came up with a terrible idea.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“I know what! We should get another cat to play with her while we’re at work. She needs another cat to keep her company,” he suggested. Somehow, Mom got talked into the idea. One day, the man brought home a black and grey cat with bandit eyes that made him look like a raccoon. But, for whatever reason, the guy named the cat “Beaver.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Beaver liked to beat me up when Mom wasn’t around. He also liked to eat my food. That’s when I went back into hiding in the couch. I thought I was losing the battle, but then my Mom and the man moved me and Beaver into a bigger house with more hiding places. That was a good thing, because along came a couple of baby girls to add to the chaos. Mom left me alone to hide, busy with babies and work and that man. She didn’t notice at first that I had grown into a fluffy white feline even more elegant than a swan.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>(to be continued)<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p></div></body></html>