Purrsistence

It started out just like any other Sunday. Mr. Peterson sat at his kitchen table reading his daily paper with the sun as his light through the kitchen window. Every day for the past year, this had been his daily routine. The table was rather bare besides his newspaper, glasses, and his daily cup of coffee from the closest convenience store. The chair next to him remained empty; he would never dare place anything there. Inside the newspaper that day was a portrait a local artist painted of a white daffodil. Her favorite flower. He sighed before putting the paper down. He never felt so alone.

   “MEOW!”

The unexpected noise disturbed his reading. He looked outside to see an orange tabby’s amber eyes staring right at him. Displeased by the rude interruption, he merely glared at the cat and said “Shew!” The cat didn’t budge. Mr. Peterson slowly stood up and raised his voice “I said shew, ya hear!” The cat seemed planted where it was. He sighed, closing and locking his kitchen window. He grabbed his paper in a huff and waddled to his living room chair. He plopped down, letting out a big sigh. He put his glasses back on and lifted a book from his coffee table.

     Scratch.Scratch.Scratch.

He grit his teeth at the annoying scratching sound coming from his kitchen. “Really?!” he thought out loud. He got slowly up from his chair, shuffling back to the kitchen to see the cat merely sitting there, with his two amber eyes, still staring right at him again. In an attempt to scare it away he flung open his door. “Hey you, I’m trying to read alone. Now shew!” The cat remained un-phased, sitting and staring. “That’s it!” he proclaimed. He waddled to his kitchen pantry to grab his broom. Taking it outside, he swatted toward the cat as he raised his voice again. “I tried to be nice, but you wouldn’t budge. Now GET!” The cat scurried away. He felt proud of his victory. Now he could get finally back to his day.

     The next day he waddled out to his car to venture to his closest convenience store and get his daily cup of coffee. He liked this store. It was familiar and safe. His favorite cashier was there every day, just like he was. The best part was, they knew not to question him about what happened. Besides a short daily conversation with his cashier, he preferred to spend his days alone.

As he slowly shuffled his feet, he looked up to the car and was surprised to see the cat again. This time it sat right by his driveway, staring at him again with its amber eyes. “You again?!” Now he was really mad. With his big black boots on he stomped toward the cat. “You’re not welcome here, remember. Now, get!” The cat scurried away, and again he was proud of himself for this small victory.

On Tuesday he waddled out of his house a bit more slowly, on the lookout for the pesky intruder. “Ha!” he thought and he didn’t see it anywhere. He could finally enjoy his reading in peace.

"MEOW!"

Mr. Peterson snapped his head toward the sound, seeing the invader creep his way out of his front rose bush. Her rose bush. The cat sat and stared at him again. Mr. Peterson felt his fists and jaw clench simultaneously. "Get outta there you!" he yelled while shaking bush with his paper. The cat scrambled out of the yard and down the street. He took a deep breath, checking the bush for any signs of damage. He had spent every day that year checking on that bush and watering when needed. He simply had to keep it alive. It made her so happy.

Wednesday arrived too quickly. It was the day he had been dreading all year long, her birthday. He ventured beyond the convenience store to buy her a bouquet of white daffodils, as he did every year prior, and placed them in the usual small glass vase on the kitchen table. All years prior, she'd smile and kiss him on the cheek. He could still hear her whisper "Thank ya, hon." This year, his heart ached as he glanced toward her empty chair. He quickly glanced back to his paper.

    “MEOW!”

His blood boiled. Not today. He slammed his paper onto the kitchen table as he slowly rose from his seat to greet his arch nemesis. As quickly as his old rusty would move him, he stormed outside to confront this pest face to face. There was the same cat, sitting and staring again, but this time Mr. Peterson noticed something new. A small white daffodil laid in front of the cat on the grass. Astounded, Mr. Peterson commanded “Where’d you get that?!” He frantically looked around; surely this had to be some sort of twisted prank.

    Seeing nothing and no tracks of anyone being in his yard, Mr. Peterson felt stumped. He slowly approached the enemy, as he was now convinced that the cat had somehow stolen this white daffodil from the arrangement he purchased before it got into the house. “I’m taking this back where it belongs, and I’m calling animal control today to get rid of you for good!” As he bent down to grab the daffodil, he was surprised to see the cat gently rub its face across his hand, purring very loudly.

For the first time that year, Mr. Peterson smiled. He looked around the yard again. No one was there. Looking back down at the cat with a softer tone he said, "Ah well, I guess you're not leaving, are ya?" The cat sat and stared back at him, very proud of his territorial victory.

Later that morning, the cat sat by her rose bush as Mr. Peterson slowly waddled his way back into his car. They made eye contact and he smiled. He carefully made his way back to his favorite convenient store to get his usual cup of coffee. This trip was a bit different though. "Tuna this time, Earl? You're trying something new?" He chuckled as he was questioned by his favorite cashier. "Yep. Time to branch out, I guess."