A black cat's eyes.

Sometimes I feel like I am carried by angels, always falling on my feet, while the world around me crashes in chaos and inconvenience. Once, I crossed the road, strutting like a cool cat. A white Volvo stopped in front of me, the driver mouthed something (probably wishing me a great day) and the hood of his car started smoking. I sped up. The driver got out and touched his hair, distressed. I escaped out of sight into an alleyway, scorching sun rays on one side, and chilly shadows opposite. I rolled from side to side for some time, until I noticed a little girl holding an ice cream. I looked her dead in the eyes; the chocolate scoop fell out of the cone, spilled onto her hands, melted into her pink dress, and onto the pavement, leaving a sticky gloop. She looked down, face cringing, eyes watering, and she screamed uncontrollably. It’s probably the most scared I’ve ever been.

After those incidents I felt like there might be something weird with me. I went to consult Sally, our local shrink. She’s only called that because she steals shrink-wrap from her masters. She likes to roll it around between her paws, feeling them stick slightly. Maybe it reminds her of freshwater fish, flittering around on the rocks, slippery and sloppy. Sally told me that I bring disasters onto other people. The news crushed me. She said it was because of my unusually dark fur, and big amber eyes.

“But that’s what makes me cute!” I said, and she smiled at me: “It does. Very cute and extremely dangerous.”. 

After that, things went pretty fast. She ordered a C.A.T. council to judge my situation. There was Smudge, the tabby street cat; Alfie the ginger heartbreaker, and Molly was the oldest and wisest of them all. Her white fur glistened in the heat like snowflakes in winter. She gave me a life sentence in the kitty underground. It felt like exclusion. No more wandering around people’s gardens. No more protecting their young ones from mice invasions. No more playing in the sprinkles of the local water fountain. No more free tuna nearing its expiration date or fridge cold milk from people who find me adorable. I have to be street smart, have my wits about me. Danger lurks around corners, invisible omens watch, and catch, use, and kick. 

I found an excluded place, at the end of the underground. Haunted they say, so no cats come near. At least I could contemplate my life so far, but there were so many questions I needed answered. It seems that while bringing sadness into the lives of others because of the colour of my fur, just by being present, it is I who has the greatest bad luck of all.