There is a neighborhood cat that comes to our back porch and meows at us through the glass door. His tag says his name is Trotsky and below it there is an address- but for some reason he keeps returning to our porch. I've only fed him a few times- usually drunk- poking a can of tuna towards him with my toe, squinting at him in the yellow glow of the streetlight as he scarfs it up. This cat, like all cats, makes me nervous. This morning, I was having a cigarette on our back porch when Trotsky returned. At first he skirted my feet, rubbing his chin on my boot, cautious. I tried to ignore him, concentrating on the crisp city skyline and the lightness of my brain from the cigarette. He continued his meowing, watching me as he crept closer. I kept my arms folded tightly across my chest, lest he interpret my body language as anything but unfriendly. He simply ignored this and jumped into my lap. I scrunched my face at him in disgust, but allowed him to sit there. Some minutes passed, and my anxiety about his presence slowly turned to guilt. He looked strangely singular huddled there on my lap. I rolled my eyes at myself and let my arm rest on his back. He looked at me then, straight in the eye, and he cried. It seemed like an oddly intimate thing for him to do. I just back stared at him; I didn't know what his cry meant, or what he wanted. I was still afraid he might bite.
But then he bent his head and put it to my belly, just resting it there. And in this moment, with his head pushed into my body, I reached for the top of his head. He quieted his meowing, closed his eyes and sat perfectly still, savoring my touch. We sat for a while then, my hand resting on his purring body, his head tucked into my jacket, and the city sat in perfect stillness.
As we sat there together, it occurred to me that maybe that's what we all need in these quiet moments of desperation. To overcome our caution and give way to trust, to allow ourselves to cry, to savor the touch of another; to simply have our heads held when we're alone, afraid, and not quite sure where home is.
