Shelter from the storm – a cat story

The weather had been nasty for about three days. Relentless rain soaked the ground and a chill wind ushered in the autumn season. It was a day not fit for anyone or anything to be outside.

But something was. 

A kitten, barely big enough to fit in the palm of your hand, found itself trapped under a truck in downtown Dublin. How it got there or how long the poor, pitiful creature had been alone is unknown, but thankfully its salvation came in the form of the loving hand of one of my coworkers who has a soft place for animals of all kinds. 

Drenched to the skin and scared beyond imagination, the kitten was dried and placed in a box with a spare sweater. Intermittently it was offered food, water and scratched behind the ear. Soon, the discarded feline became aware that it was now safe and secure. 

That is when I come into the story. I had been stuck at home that morning waiting for a sofa to be delivered. What better time to get new furniture than when it is pouring down rain? That point aside, when I came into the office that day, I was brought up to speed and shown the cat. 

Who doesn’t love a kitten? Even the hardest of hearts is sure to be softened by the innocence of a defenseless animal. Where the creature had come from remained a mystery, but even more importantly what were we going to do with it? 

It just so happened that my daughter had been hitting me up for a cat for some time. I was reluctant. In typical dad fashion I pushed back with the answer, “we’ll see.” We have a busy schedule and a family pet already. A cat would just throw off the dynamic. 

Now the opportunity was dumped in my lap. Here was a free cat (the best kind) and one that needed immediate placement in a loving home (even better). So in typical dad fashion I caved to a daughter and brought home a cat. In the poem “The Naming of Cats,” T.S. Eliot says all cats need three names. One for family use, one a little more majestic, and a final one a little more absurd. Three seems like a lot but cats are said to have nine lives so perhaps they need more names. 

It’s been a week or so since that adventure led to a new addition to the household. The cat, presumably a boy, was promptly named Tuxedo Herald, based on his black and white markings and his short time at the newspaper office. His friends call him Tux. I think I’ll call him Harry. There, that’s three. 

Whether or not he has nine lives, we’ll just have to wait and see. But after getting out of the rain, Tux seems to be enjoying his first.  

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