The New Guy by Helen Chappell
As I sit here, staring at a blank screen, my new roommate is staring at me. He’s sitting on the desk, tail twitching back and forth, regarding me with imperious green eyes. Obviously, he wants attention. Earlier, he complained long and loud until I picked up all fifteen pounds of him and placed him beside the computer, where he promptly stretched out full length across the keyboard and proceeded to groom himself in a most ungentlemanly way. Yes, I have a new cat. Well, actually, he’s a used cat. Pyewacket is ten years old and came from the Humane Society. He picked me out. I knew I wanted an older cat, because everyone rushes to adopt the kittens. Also, I am older, so I figured we’d be less demanding on each other. When I went back in the cat condos at the Humane Society to look at all the cats, he all but threw himself at the Plexiglas trying to get to me. No one else has been that happy to see me in years, so I went in and was promptly smothered in scrunches and hugs. No one’s been that affectionate to me in years either, so I was a goner.
The card said his name was Pye, and his owners had turned him in because someone had allergies. He is pure black, with a tiny splotch of white between his shoulder blades, and he’s one enormous ball of looooove! He’d been in the Humane Society since May, and I’d been catless since my beloved William died two years ago of old age. I was ready. I was also lonely for companionship, and a cat would explain some of the weird noises an old house makes at night. So, here we are, two veterans of life, carving out a companionship together. It’s taken us both 9