An Cat Dubh

There’s a black cat that prowls around the back of the building where I live.

He’s often out there — not always, but I see him often — early in the morning and late at night, slinking off through the fence leaving a vague, feral rage in his wake. It’s hard to tell if anyone owns him or not. I haven’t seen a collar and his fur is matted, but he looks healthy enough — almost muscular, even.

Sometimes I see the trash bags torn open and little bits of rubbish strewn here and there. I blame him, but I suppose it could just as easily be racoons or possums (neither of which I’ve seen, however).

I can hear him some nights, yowling in the cold. A lonely sound and there are his paw prints frozen into the deep snow outside my back door.

Some mornings there’s the terrible reek, that sharp and acrid smell of urine which I’m told is due to him spraying his male essense all over the place. It’s horrid and it permeates the building, coming up through the heat registers.

I don’t know who owns him. I think he owns himself. And he doesn’t appear to be concerned at all about keeping me awake or who picks up the trash or the smell or crossing anyone’s path and the bad luck he might be bringing to them.

I don’t think he gives a shit at all, in fact.

Happy Friday the 13th, everybody.