On November 9, 2018 my friend Devon walked out of my garage to his car, and exclaimed “Do you know this cat?”

From where I was sitting, I couldn’t see what was on the other side of the door.  Immediately I thought “Well, probably not because I rarely see cats just roaming around my neighborhood.” However, much like Schrödinger, my curiosity got the best of me.

“What cat?” I exclaimed, jumping from my chair and racing to the door.  There I saw a slim, small violet Siamese cat with an injured paw.  She sidled up to the drivers side rear wheel of my car and peered at me coyly.   I knelt down and called her to me, to my surprise she walked forward to me.  She allowed me to scoop her up to look at her paw.  A small injury, but it looked  like it had been deep and healing a while.  The gash in her paw almost appeared as if she had been stuck to ice, and ripped away her pad.

She allowed me to take her inside, clean up her paw and add some Vertricyn to the wound.  She was cuddly and appeared to want to stay close.  How could I say no?

I immediately took to social media; the after hours Animal Shelter site on Facebook, and any other local group that I noticed posts of lost or missing animals. I took her to the vet to see if she was chipped. Negative.  I posted on Nextdoor, a social networking site for neighborhoods.  I called the Animal Shelter. I waited a day and then I went out and bought her food; litter, a litter box and a dish and a couple of toys.

This girl was so sweet, someone must be missing her. It was just before the holiday season, I thought to myself, “Well maybe she was being pet sat and sneakily escaped.  Maybe her person is on vacation or deployment and the cat sitter doesn’t want to worry her owners while they are away.”  I was constantly checking my post, and posts about cats in my area.  Pretty much, nothing.

About a month after the kittery had been hanging out, a woman on the Nextdoor site, insisted it was hers.  That she had left town on November 10 and had only recently returned.  I demanded pictures and descriptions.  Her cat looked nothing like the one I had been treating as my own for the past four weeks.  The markings were all wrong.  She felt dead set it was hers, so I took a risk and said “If you feel that strongly about it, here is my address, come on over and see for yourself.”   Fifteen minutes later she texted back saying that she was called into work (at the military base across town, where she lives) and that she would be sending one of her guy friends to come by.

Honestly I got a little panicked.  I didn’t know if this was a demanding boyfriend type guy or what.  I texted her to drop it until tomorrow and come for herself but she didn’t respond to the message.  Approximately 45 minutes later I got a knock on the door from a short, kind of effeminate Hispanic male and a  slightly taller Hispanic female.  Both seemed somewhere between mid twenties to early thirties.  They explained the situation on their end, and I went to get the cat for their inspection.

I brought the cat out in my arms, lazily purring.  Immediately the woman said, ” Can I pet her? ”  And I reply “Yes.” because I have only seen this cat friendly to people (unless hungry).  She is a lover.  The lady pets the cat and says “This isn’t our friends cat.  Her cat literally hates me.  She tries to attack me anytime I am near her.”  Her male companion proceeds to look the cat over and agrees, “this isn’t the missing cat.”

I tell them my end of the story, and of my growing attachment, and how I thought it would be weird for a cat from the west side of town to make it all the way over here and then not try to go home.  They admit that their friend use to live in the apartments across the street, but it had been over a year and a half ago.  We thanked each other for our time and patience, and they went along on their way.   I cuddled the kitty deeper, and decided a month was long enough to wait for an owner to appear, and then I had the weirdest thought.

What if the owner of this cat died, and the cat slipped out when EMS arrived to remove the body?  Cryptic, right?  I got a strong sensation this was the case.  This cat had been stray for a while, and it was looking for the right person to adopt.  I had proven to her that I care for her well being.  Her love was strong and instant.  All of a sudden I felt “chosen” , again; a feeling I haven’t had since I found my Claddagh Dog.

This cat needed a name.  From the first moment, she just somehow integrated so perfectly.  I continued to let her outside, in hopes she would just find her own way back home.  I’d let her out at night, when traffic is less… and every morning I would wake up to pee and think of her and she would magically appear at my bedroom window.  I would let her in, pour her a bowl of food and lay back down.  She would eat her food, and come nestle herself in the crook of my bent knees.  We would sleep a while, and when I would get up she would make the smallest squeak as to say “Don’t move, I like it here with you.”

Some nights it was a battle of the bed.  Claddagh usually wants front seat being the little spoon against my chest, and occasionally the kittery was first to call it.  Claddagh would seem disappointed, nevertheless would curl up at my feet at the bottom of the bed.

See, I am so blessed with my animals.  Claddagh is a dream come true Dog.  She is so perfect.  She had her issues in the beginning but most of that stuff is out of her system.  She has had a kittery before, she is gentle and observant. I trust her to be kind to the kittery, however I do not trust her alone in a room with a dirty litter box.  It’s good to know every ones boundaries.

This cat still needs a name.  What do I think of her, when I think of her?  Well, it’s like she just came out of nowhere.  Like, she manifested from some other dimension in Time Space.  Quantum.   Quantum Dream Cat.  Oh shit, you know that kitty is here to teach you something.

So,  Quantum came into my life, accepted her name and knows it.  If she is outside and I call her name silently, inside of my head, she arrives.  Admittedly I was a lazy owner,   taking for granted the fact that I don’t really know anything about this cat except the fact that she is extremely clean, loving and chipless.   She likes wet and dry food, and as she is getting more comfortable with her surroundings, she wants to be held less.  I still let her out for a few hours each night/early morning.  She continues to return.  Sometimes, she just jumps up on my window sill and watches me sleep, waiting for me to wake up and look at her to let her in.  Her voice is quiet most times, unless she is super urgent or agitated.  She doesn’t beg to be let in, she just waits.  Claddagh wants to hump her and I think it’s funny to watch the Animal Planet live from my bedroom.  Something tells me the kittery might be in heat, so I start to keep her in.

In all honesty, I love this situation but I am sort of weirded out.  All of a sudden I feel some spiritual “Level Up”.

Okay.  So. I know. I should have taken her to the vet the moment I took down all the posts and claimed her as mine.  I should have, but I didn’t.  I checked for a spay scar, and didn’t see one, so, that is totally a “my bad.”  I was handling Quantum quite a bit on a daily basis, and the moment her little teets no longer looked like little pieces of dried rice, I went to Google to confirm what I suspected.  Pregnancy.  Fuck.  But, what do you do, right?  So far as I know, there is no Feline Plan B.  Again, what have I gotten myself into?  Immediately I start a Google crash course in pregnant Siamese Cats.