BODEGA CAT

It was a muggy Saturday night on August 12, 2023, when an unexpected incident forced me to use a gift that God had given me, and I hid from the world! I was in the back room of a

Bodega eating my last meal for the night, which was located on 161st Street in the Bronx, New York, between Yankee Stadium and the Bronx Courthouses.

Just before I was about to take my last bite of food, I heard some commotion coming from the front of the store. My best friend, and the store owner, Mario, had just closed the shop for the night. I figured that the noise was coming from a last-minute customer that Mario let in the store for a quick purchase.

Mario was like that, kind. He never denied any customer a last-minute purchase, whether it was an often-hungry Yankee fan on their way home after a late-night game, or a young, desperate mother who ran out of milk for the little one.

I was curious to know who had entered the store, so I inched towards the front to find out. Expecting to see a hurried customer, instead I witnessed two masked men pointing their guns at Mario.

“Get over there, now!” one of the men demanded, now gesturing the gun towards the cash register behind the counter.

“And don’t get slick, or they’ll be picking the pieces of your brain up from the floor,” the other man bellowed. Mario put down the broom he held in his hand and nervously walked over to the cash register, opened it, and handed one of the perpetrators the cash.

“Please,” Mario begged, holding his hands up in the air. “Take everything. Please, don’t kill me. I have a family!”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Right after the last gunshot rang out, Mario hit the ground like a ton of bricks. I panicked, scattering behind the counter. I watched as one of the men stuff the cash in a black duffel bag.

Then they both fled the store.

I crept over to Mario as he lay in a pool of blood. I started licking his face. I let out a screeching Meow as I pressed both my paws into his chest, but he didn’t budge. I lifted one of

my bloody paws, brushing it across his face several times. But Nothing!

Get up, Mario! Please get up! I begged silently. He had to get up. He was all I had in this world. I prayed someone would come along soon to help him out. A few minutes had passed, but there was not a soul in sight. I checked on Mario again, hovering over his face, and he was still breathing. I knew if he got to the hospital in time, there would be hope. I knew I had to do something.

Suddenly, it occurred to me. Even though it would be

risky, and I vowed that I would never do it again; I was determined to save Mario! I jumped up on the counter, knocking over the candy jar that Mario always chastised me a thousand times for doing. But at this moment, I knew he wouldn’t care.

With my left paw, I inched the phone off the counter until it fell to the floor, then I jumped down. I was so grateful the phone had a dial tone. Even though I have never done this before, I’ve watched Mario do it a few times before, so I knew what to do. I dialed 911.

Then I heard it.

“911, how may I help you?”

You could do it, Tabby, I spoke silently to myself. Come on, Girl.

“Meow,” I spoke.

“Is anybody there?” the dispatcher asked.

Come on, Girl. Just tried to remember some words. Find your voice again.

I cleared my throat a few times. Then I took a deep

breath.

“I am calling because a man’s been shot!” I blurted out.

“Is he breathing?”

“Yes.”

I gave the dispatcher the street number and the other necessary information.

“Hurry up! This is an emergency!” I screamed, just before the call ended.

“I did it!” I actually spoke full sentences, and I prayed the cops would arrive with an ambulance shortly.

While I waited for them to come, I started thinking about what a wonderful person Mario is, and how pitiful he looked lying there clinging to life. I pray he lives because he has a loving family who adores him. He is so beloved in the neighborhood. Most importantly, I want him to live because he had saved my life not too long ago.

MY STORY

How rude of me. I was so busy running my mouth, trying to get my story out, that I never formerly introduced myself. My name is Tabby, the Cat, and I didn’t grow up in a Bodega. You see, I used to be a typical house cat. Well, not typical. From the moment I was born, I knew I was different, because I could speak.

“Mom, what’s wrong with you?” I asked her after she hissed at me when I spoke out for the first time. Based on her reaction, I knew she didn’t approve of my speaking, so I stopped.

“Ma, you can talk too?” I asked in amazement one day after I caught her cursing under her breath after our owner scolded her for sitting on the velvet couch.

“Tabby, lower your voice,” my mother hushed. She nudges me into a colossal, dark hall closet in the apartment where we lived.

“I prayed none of my kittens would come out like me,” she whispered, hanging her head in shame.

“But why, Ma?”

“Because humans are fierce!” she said with a hiss. “After my original owners found out that I could speak, they sold me to a pot-belly, greasy-looking circus owner for a lot of money.”

“I heard about the circus. That must have been fun!”

Her head shifted downward. Then she raised her paw and slapped me so hard, I landed in the back of the closet.

“What did you hit me for?” I asked, meekly walking back over to her.

“That circus owner exploited me. He made me talk all day long just to amuse people, just so he could make money.”

“Oh, Mom, I am so sorry.”

“It was horrible. He let me starve whenever I refused to speak.”

“That sounds awful.”

“It was even worse. He…….”

“He what, Ma?” I demanded to know.

“He beat me!” she cried. “He would hit me with a belt so hard until some of my fur came off.”

“Oh, Ma.” I cried. “I am so sorry you had to go through that.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “Thank God, things have gotten better. Don’t you see, Child? That is why I don’t want you to let anyone know that you can speak."

“I understand, Ma. I promise. I will never open my mouth again.”

“You don’t have to be that extreme. You can only speak to me when we are alone, and only then.”

As time moved on, my mother and I would speak openly to each other sometimes when the owner and her daughter were out for the day.

We would chat, laugh and sing a few songs that we heard on the radio back in the day. We had a lot of fun, but then one day it all ended. Mom died. She had stomach cancer. Poor thing, at the end, she had gotten so thin.

“I love you, Ma,” I cried with tears in my eyes.

“Take care, my beautiful, Tabby. Remember what I said. Don’t let anybody know your secret.”

“I won’t, Ma.”

Like that she was gone.

For weeks, I lay around all day and barely ate my food. I didn’t want to live anymore. To make matters worse, six months later, the owner got sick after her daughter got married and moved out. She was no longer capable of taking care of me, so she gave me away.

To say I was frightened out of my wits would have been an understatement. I never known anybody but my mother, my owner and her daughter. I didn’t know what to expect

from this new family that adopted me.

At first, I hid in a closet in my new owner’s apartment. I was so hungry, but didn’t want to come out to eat. I didn’t know if these people would harm me or treat me right.

One day, a young girl rushed into the closet and grabbed me. I cried out, pulling back. I didn’t want to come out. I didn’t want to face life. I was crushed! This tug of war between me and the little girl went on for a few minutes until I got angry and scratched her.

“Ouch!” she screamed.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” the child’s mother rushed to her.

“That cat scratched me!”

“Oh, let me see.” She grabbed her daughter’s arm, examining the scratch.

“It hurts, Mommy.”

“I know, let’s give kitty a break. She’ll come out when she wants to. Meanwhile, let’s clean up that scratch.”

Her mom was right; eventually, I did come out of the closet, a day later. I was so damned hungry, and I couldn’t hold out any longer. I crept out of the closet and slid towards the kitchen, where a bowl of food and a bowl of water were waiting for me. I sniffed the food in the bowl before diving in. I ate so fast. I thought I was going to choke. Thank God, there was a bowl of water sitting right next to the food. I lapped the water up to wash down the food.

“Mommy!” I heard the little girl call out. “You were right. She came out!”

“I told you," Her mother said. “She was frightened.”

“Can I touch her?”

“Let her finish eating and we will take it slow. Right now, you have to get ready for school. She will be here when you come home.”

“O.K.,” the little girl said, as she waved. “Bye, Kitty.”

After I finished eating, I slowly walked around the apartment, sniffing the different rooms. There were only two bedrooms, which were decorated with pink painted walls, and fancy, flowery curtains hung from the windows.

It smelled fresh and clean, and I walked into the lemon-scented bathroom, finding my litter box freshly clean. I had to release myself after that meal. Afterwards, I scratched the sand, in the litter box to cover my deposit, and then jumped out of the box.

I was tired, so I lay in the cat bed they prepared for me in the living room. I sighed as I wrapped my tail around my body, and closed my eyes. Living here seemed like it was going to be nice. I thank God. I might have found a good place to live.

After the little girl came home from school, she immediately searched for me. I was receptive to her now. My belly was full, and I was getting used to my environment. She came over to me and patted me gently, rubbing my fur.

“Be kind,” her mother coaxed her.

“I am, Mommy. She is so pretty.”

I purred and then closed my eyes, enjoying the gentle strokes the child was giving me.

This love fest between me and little Sara went on for several months. This was the first time that I have been this happy since my mother’s death. Sara and her mother, Jocelyn, would feed me, pet me, and give me all the love I could ever want. But you all know about life. It’s filled with ups and downs.

One evening, I strolled into Jocelyn’s bedroom and found her crying while lying on the bed. I jumped up on the bed and lay beside her. Then I licked her hand. She grabbed me and let her tears soak into my fur. She seems so sad. I prayed there was nothing wrong with Sara.

I wanted to ask Jocelyn what was wrong. But I remember the no-talking rule implanted in my brain by my mother. Besides, I haven’t used my voice for a long time. I didn’t know if I was capable of doing so anymore.

“I hate him,” she said, speaking into my fur.

Hate who? I thought.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the front door. Jocelyn placed me on the floor, wiped her tears and then ran to open the door. I ran behind her, curious to see who it was.

“What are you doing here?” she asked the man standing in the doorway.

He handed her a bouquet of wilted-looking flowers.

“I want to apologize for hurting you,” he said.

“I don’t know if I should accept these flowers or your apology.”

“Please, he begged. “I promise you it will never happen again.”

“You swear?"

He raised his large right hand.

“I swear on my mother.”

“Okay,” Jocelyn said, letting the tall, olive-skinned man into the apartment.

She grabbed him by the hand and led him towards her bedroom. He looked at me and then stomped his feet on the floor, chasing me away. He caught me by surprise, but I knew

by his actions and the way, he had Jocelyn all upset, I didn’t like him already.

I was concerned. I never heard or seen this man before. I wondered what he did to hurt her? I assumed this was her boyfriend or lover. It was strange because I had never seen him before. Sara was staying with her father for the weekend because he and Jocelyn were divorced. I guess this was her opportunity to get to know someone before introducing him to her daughter.

The following weekend, I found Jocelyn crying while lying on the bed again. This time when I jumped up on the bed to console her, she shooed me away. Then she ran to the bathroom,

and I followed her. She looked into the mirror while tears ran down her face. She rubbed her face, and I could see that her left eye was badly bruised.

My tail went up, and then I hunched my back. I was pissed. He hit her. That monster hit this nice lady, and I didn’t like it one bit. That son of a bitch! I couldn’t wait to see his ass walk up in here again. I was going to show him a thing or two!

He came knocking at her front door one hour later, holding those same tired-looking flowers he had brought for her before. He was here begging for forgiveness again with that pitiful-looking face.

She might forgive him, but I won’t. She accepted the flowers and invited him in again. As they headed towards the bedroom, I lunged at him, scratching him across the face, and then I raced through the apartment like I was insane.

He chased after me.

“You stupid, Cat! I am going to kill you. Look at what you’ve done to my face,” he said wiping the blood off. He caught up with me and grabbed me by the neck.

“Stop it!” Jocelyn yelled, running behind him. “Put her down!”

She jumped on his back, trying to stop him from harming me. I fell to the floor, and then scattered towards the bedroom. He threw her off him and she fell to the floor, hitting her

head on the End table. I heard the crash of the glass End table hitting the floor. Jocelyn was lying down on the floor with blood rushing from her head.

“You son of a bitch,” I yelled. “You killed her!”

He turned around as if he saw a ghost. All he saw was me standing there. He rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t believe I could speak. I was surprised too because I promised my mother that I wouldn’t ever let a human know that I could speak. But I just couldn’t help myself. Now, I worried about what was going to happen to me.

“I knew you were a strange, little freak, the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“You’re the freak!” I yelled at him. He chased me around the house as I broke up furniture while trying to save my life. Finally, I was able to slip out an open window and jumped, landing on the grass. Thank God, we lived on the second floor and I wasn't injured badly.

But I was tired and out of breath. What was I going to do now? I didn’t have a home. I was alone. I walked the streets alone for God knows how many days? I rummaged through garbage cans trying to get my paws on something to eat.

I had to defend myself against the other stray animals. I got into fights. I looked for shelter in the snow and rain, but often I found myself without food or shelter. At this point, I wanted to die.

I was so tired and hungry. I closed my eyes and rested by a Bodgea store. I thought about my mother and just wanted to be with her again. I opened my eyes when I heard someone kissing at me, trying to get my attention. It was the first time I laid eyes on Mario!

I didn’t trust all strangers, but there was something about his spirit that was warm and welcoming. I accepted the food he handed me, and the rest is history.

The ambulance and police had arrived one hour ago to pick Mario up and take him to the hospital. Two weeks later, the word on the street was that Mario was in stable condition and would make a full recovery.

So, even though my mother was right about not letting people know I could speak, sometimes rules are made to be broken, especially if you can save the life of someone you love.

THE END