An elderly man befriends a stray cat that holds a mystery of his own.

  Oscar Bellman slowly stepped out of his small brick house onto the concrete stoop that lay in front of the door. While a little shaky from his last stroke, he was still able to spoon the cat food from the can into a bowl. After he managed to straighten himself back up, he leaned on the side of the house and watched as the cat ate it’s meal. This was a routine that Oscar seemed to enjoy.

  The dark gray cat came every night, right around dusk, and stayed until almost dawn. The old man would sit out with him until it was almost midnight before he would retire and go to bed. Sometimes Oscar would talk to the cat and tell him all of his ailments for the day. The cat never objected, so the little gray headed man had found a companion that he could lean on. Afterwards, the cat would sit--huddled up--on the stoop and stare in the direction of one of Oscar’s neighbor’s houses until he was ready to leave.

  One morning, Oscar came out of his house, fully robed in plaid and a pair of house slippers, to get the daily paper. One of his neighbors, Ms. Velma Stoff, met him at the end of his stoop.

 “Well, good morning Mr. Bellman. I sure am surprised to see you up so early in the day!”

  “Morning."  Oscar replied, rolling his eyes, “What do you mean by surprised?”

 “Well, it’s just that, I’ve seen you out in the middle of the night. Not that I’m nosy or anything. But I’ve seen you out there with a cat.”

 “What of it?” he grumbled.

Velma reached down and picked up the paper just as Oscar had bent over.

 “May I have my paper please?” the old man said, gritting his false teeth.

 “Why sure, Oscar. Listen. I was just wondering what you do all night long with that cat.”

 “Ms. Stoff! You obviously know more than you should about me, so why don’t you tell me what I do all night?” Oscar reached out and grabbed the paper out of Velma’s plump hand. The woman huffed a bit and then readjusted her oversized flowery hat.

 “Well it looks like you talk to that cat, Mr. Bellman.”

 “It does, does it?”

 “Have you been taking your medication?”

Oscar grunted disgustingly and then turned to walk back into the house.

 “Why, Mr. Bellman, if you’re not feeling well I can give you the name of a doctor I know in the city!”

The slamming of Oscar’s front door could be heard for blocks.

 “Stupid woman."  he grumbled, “How would she have liked it if I had mentioned all of the man friends that I’ve seen go in and out of her house?”

  He settled down in his easy chair and read the paper, falling asleep off and on throughout the day. Sundays were a lot like this for Oscar. Napping was the major part of any day but doing it in the easy chair was strictly for Sundays. By mid-afternoon, he managed to gather the strength to fix himself a little meal in the kitchen. Cooking was never his real talent so the microwave was in constant use.

  “Well I’ll be a...” he said as he looked into the scorched bowl of potato soup, “I never knew soup could look like that. Oh well, waste not want not!”

  After he had finished eating, Oscar waited for dusk to come. He was truly looking forward to the cat coming. He had so much to tell it, especially about old Ms. Stoff. That old busybody! By dusk, the cat returned and there stood Oscar with the cat food waiting.

 “Hey old buddy! How are you tonight?”

  Oscar scraped the food out and then gradually sat down beside it, trying not to tip himself over in the process. He gently petted the animal as it greedily engulfed the food that it had been given. Oscar started his daily dialogue with the cat. 

 “You know, my back has been acting up today something fierce! I’ve had twinges in both my knees and I think my arthritis is loving this nasty Kentucky air. Worst of all, I can’t sleep worth a crap! I bet you don’t have those problems, do you cat?”

The cat kept eating until the bowl was completely clean.

 “You know that old woman over there, Ms. Stoff? Ms. Velma Stoff. Well she’s a real hoot! She was asking questions about you today.” The cat started to lick his paws and clean his face as Oscar talked. “That old bitty thinks I’m crazy! She even asked me if I was taking my medicine. I don’t really care though. She’s got men running in and out of her house all night long.”

  Oscar eyed a gentleman walking up to the front porch of Ms. Stoff’s house. The cat meowed and started purring as the man was let in by the plump little woman. It made itself comfortable next to Oscar who kept talking all through the night. It was well after midnight before he left the cat to itself on the stoop.

  At dawn, the cat raised itself from the stoop and stretched as far as it could stretch. Then it hopped down and started it’s trek back to where it had come from. Down three blocks, was the smell of the fish market. The cat meowed as it passed the front door, but kept going. The sun, barely above the trees in the distance, put off a beautiful spray of color. The breeze blew gently through the cat’s fur as he trotted down the street until he met where he would turn.

  Most mornings, this trip was made with very little effort but today the noise of a pedestrian could be heard in the distance. The cat stopped in mid-step to see what was making that stomping sound behind him. It turned back around and then shook itself before starting to walk again. Picking up the pace, the cat was soon at a dead run with the stomping coming up from behind just as fast.

   By the time it had reached it’s destination, the pedestrian was so close that she had to stop abruptly to keep from stepping on the gray feline. The cat hopped to the top of the marble head stone that sat at the top of a grave.

 “So you just couldn’t help yourself, could you Harold?”

The cat sat stiffly on the head stone and eyed the woman as she started to screech.

  “You just couldn’t handle the fact that now I’m happy! That’s right Harold, now I’m happy!”

An old man with a rake in his hand walked over to see what the commotion was all about.

 “Why Ms. Stoff. Can I help you, hun?”

 Embarrassed, she reached for the hanky out of her big white purse.

 “No sir. I was just talking to this cat.”

  “Oh, that cat’s been coming here for years ma’am.”

 “I see.” “He’s an old buddy of mine.”

 “I think I’ll leave now."  Velma replied as she tromped out of the cemetery and onto the main street.

 “You didn’t tell me your wife was onto you."  the man with the rake said with a wink.

 The cat sat up proudly, almost smiling, on top of the headstone that read Harold P. Stoff, 1932-1995, May He Rest In Peace.