Wadena Meets a Stray Cat

There was a small form huddled just outside the patio door.

It was a cold night. Not just the silent frozen still dead-calm cold of late December Minnesota.....this was the howling-wind cold that breaks you.

Cold that you can hear. Cold that stirs long-dead and ancient memories of how it was to live outside.

Cold with a wind that freezes tears in your watering eyes and hardens your face in seconds and chills you right through your many layers of heavy clothes.

It was the grim wind-blown cold that convinces.

And there was a small form huddled just outside the patio door. A pile of wood somewhat sheltered it from that swirling wind and a snow drift curled close around it. It was a black cat.

Wadena, on a rug on the warm......INSIDE, side of the glass, stared out at the intruder.

"A cat," I said.

Wadena sighed. "Once again you amaze me with your ability to figure out the really hard stuff."

"Looks cold," I said.

Wadena stared at the cat.....a frosty stare that out-iced the -40 wind chill. "Ya think?"

"Maybe we should let it in to warm up," I said.

"Even again you amaze me.......with a really bad idea--even for you."

I shrugged. "Seems like the right thing to do."

"You really don't think these things through, do you?"

I hesitated......mulling it over, not wanting to look stupid in front of a cat. "What?"

Wadena turned the stare on me. "What?! What if it has fleas? What if it bit me? What if it ate all the food? Does it look like it's had its shots? What if it has some nasty disease? What if it stinks? Opening the door would make a cold draft. Why would we want one more cat in a house that doesn't have enough food now, anyhow? That's NOT a litter-box trained cat, you know.....that's a crawl-behind-the-couch-and-make-a-mess kind of a cat. "

"Can't just let it freeze," I said.

"Freeze? It's happy out there. Some cats choose to live that way. They like it."

"It's shivering."

"No......it just looks that way....that's the wind in the fur."

"I don't think so," I said, "maybe we should give it some food."

"Let it catch a mouse," Wadena said, "there are mice all over the place out there. If it catches its own mouse it will be able to keep its self respect and dignity."

"Ah," I said, "I just realized something."

"That it would be stupid to let it in?"

"No......you reminded me of a man I saw on t.v. He was a politician.......he said that if you GIVE a man a fish you feed him for one day.....but......"

Wadena sat up. She's always especially interested in any conversation about fish. "But what?" She said. "And what kind of a fish was it?"

"I don't know.....but he said.......rather than give a man a fish--you could give the man a job in your fish canning factory at minimum wage. He could work for you and make enough money to buy food for himself. And with any luck at all, his children and grandchildren would eventually work for you, too. And you would become very rich."

Wadena nodded vigorously. "But....was it a big fish?"

I took the cat inside that night. It was very sick. It wouldn't eat or drink. I called the Humane Society, but they had no room at their inn.

Budget cuts, they said.

I'll take it to the vet in the morning, I thought. In the morning.....it was dead.

Wadena said it was all for the best.

I had to agree.

"You're a Republican, aren't you?" I said.

Wadena yawned. "Of course. All cats are Republicans.......if you want something panting, drooling and caring--you should buy a dog."

"Now there's a thought," I said.