Tragic Trevor's Special Day

New Year. New day. Same city. Same me. Same...everything.

I believe the cliché line is, “It wasn't always like this.” Which is true, boring as it sounds when you compare what I go through since my ascendance into adulthood. Now, I don't mean to knock anyone out there who actually grew up in a bad lifestyle, nor anyone who actually lost everything. I just want to address-

Ouch! Damned ladder!

Anyways, as I walk under the maintenance crew yet again, no doubt finally fixing that air conditioner I had been notifying my landlady about for the twenty-second time since my lease started last month, I reminiscence about what has happened so far. I guess it started with my cat...

I had a black Hemingway cat, a Polydactyl breed with yellow eyes. We called him Charmer because of the way he would sit on someone's chest and seem to try to hypnotize that person. It must have worked, because he was definitely pampered, but we did let him outside for exercise (especially in winter, as he loved the snow). My parents would joke that if anything bad were to happen, it was only because Charmer crossed in front of us, as the superstition goes. Funny enough, as long as I could remember my family having Charmer, we never had any sort of bad luck.

It was barely an hour after my high-school graduation ceremony when I received the news; Charmer was dying. We had him since I was four years old, and I had never seen him look so gray and thin until that day. He was lying in his bed, a blanket keeping him warm, and he was looking out at us through half-closed eyes; his breathing was slow, he moved only slightly as if adjusting himself one last time. I remember crouching near him, reaching out my hand towards his nose; he moved his head back, and then moved it forward and licked my fingers as his token sign of affection. Then he closed his eyes one last time.

A few months later, I landed a full-time job at a gas station, cashiering in the front and cleaning out the back, and I had been doing this for almost a decade. Oh, I gave college a shot, but the lessons were fruitless and the professors were unhelpful; it was like they danced around the subjects that they were supposed to teach. When I pressed for answers, they got angry and singled me out as an example to the other students. This was the start of my burden of bad luck.

After leaving college, I tried branching out to different studies and hobbies, with what I had considered “friends” at the time. I hit the bar once, and found that I hated the taste of beer despite my cohorts urging; there was a lot of spewing there. So, they had me sample an example of a hard-alcoholic drink whose name eludes me, but I remember the fruity taste. I also remember how I spewed that drink out...in the other direction. Let's just say that was the longest time that I remember sitting on a toilet.

Exercise was also on the table, and it started out fine. The treadmill seemed like a good way to relieve stress, at least until the janitor accidentally spilled water on the wire; surprisingly, instead of shorting out, the treadmill unexpectedly sped up, and I found myself relieved of the machine along with whatever water I had been drinking that day. After a change of clothes, I gave the dumbells a try, starting out at twenty pounds and worked my way up to thirty. My cohorts decided that I should jump to a fifty-pound dumbell, but failed to elaborate on the importance of using chalk. I picked up the weight, only to have it slip from my hand and drop on my foot. As reactions go, my yelp could not be helped, but the direction of my one-limb limping dance could have gone any other way aside from the backside of another weightlifter dealing with squats. He ended up falling forward into the crotch of a dead-lifter, who fell in turn on a bench-presser, who barely rolled out of the way of his own weights only to have his own weight smack into a couple women watching, who crashed in an epic domino effect into another janitor and his full bucket of gray water, spilling it all over a bunch of wires leading to more treadmills...

...in short, I'm no longer allowed in that gym.

Outside walks seemed harmless enough, as I have plenty of space between me and everyone else, and it was also a form of exercise that I could get behind. Still, there was the issue of the cars that come close to the sidewalks that I use, and on my walk (where I currently massaged a bruised temple from running into the ladder mentioned earlier), one particular four-door Sedan cruised so close to me, the air it pushed almost sent me tumbling; it was not aided by the blaring horn that came from it. Now, I was on this walk to relax despite my developing headache, and this car was the straw that broke the camel's back. As the car passed by me, I snapped at the driver. What I said should never be repeated, especially since there were references to cigars, excrement, and his mother, but I will tell you what I do remember.

The Sedan stopped and actually pivoted back in my direction. The engine died, and so did the cool breeze (with my heart almost following suit). The door opened, a football linebacker-eque person came out and, in the style of the sport, rushed and tackled me.

I remember waking up in the alley, not far from my home. I felt like I had been under a hammer for the better part of an hour, and it was a real struggle to pick myself up, trying to push against the garbage of previous refuse lying underneath me. Some day I had off, attempting to relax and look for an inexpensive avenue of avoiding other people and anything not bolted to the ground. Having dusted myself off, with only a hint of wet cardboard on my backside, I headed back home. When I finally got to my door, I almost had another heart-attack, as I was so sure someone had left a dead animal in a box, just waiting for me.

I looked closer; no, it was breathing. And oh my, it was a kitten! A black kitten with long hair, a pink nose, and...numerous toes? This was a Polydactyl cat, like Charmer! What's more, there was an envelope underneath him. Carefully, I removed the letter from underneath the kitten, making sure not to disturb him too much as he continued to sleep, and saw that it was addressed to me, from my mom and dad. I quietly opened it, and read:

“Travis,

“Your mother and I hope that this letter finds you well-"

(It didn't, unfortunately, but I kept reading...)

“-and we know how tough it is going on out there, in the real world. A terrible economy, a high demand with high prerequisites, people at each other's throats, et cetera. But, surprise-surprise, a little joy has come home!

“You see, Charmer was a fun cat, and a busy body to boot. One could say that he was active outside while being restless inside and, as a result, we were blessed with kittens! It was from one of our neighbor's cats, the female that would come into our yard on occasion even during the snowy days. The neighbors took care of the kittens until they were of adult age and had sold all but one. In turn, that cat, named Talisman, mated with another female from a few blocks away. When it was found out, those people brought over their kittens to give to the neighbors and to us. Well, we couldn't keep all of them, and we had to sell all but two; we're keeping the sister and naming her Clover. The brother currently awaits you at your apartment, here, ready to receive a good home.

“Charmer was a good cat, and we know how much he meant to you. Hopefully, his grandson will bring you the love and luck that you had that Charmer seemingly rubbed off onto you. Take good care of the little tyke, give him a proper home and attention, but love him most of all. Trust me, you will not regret this. Love, Mom and Dad.”

I couldn't believe it! My cat was a father, and a grandfather! Yet I am concerned; with all that had been happening, especially to me, how can I hope to take care of another living creature? But any further worries were allayed with the soft mewing from below; the kitten was awake. He looked up with his light blue eyes and mewed again, pawing at the wall of his box. A strange calmness surrounded me, and I gently reached down and picked him up. He licked my fingers and started rubbing himself within my palm. Seeing this, I couldn't help but declare, “Charmy. I think I will name you Charmy, to honor your granddad.”

We both went into my apartment, neither of us alone again.