Poor Creature

He had a sign made of cardboard, soggy on the corners. Fallen on very hard times, please help. God Bless. The handwriting on these signs is never very good. His was though, which lent some credence, or if it didn't do that then it made him stand out from the others. He had a blue duffel bag and a backpack, also blue, stuffed. He sat on a colorful, vaguely-Mexican-looking rug with fringe, which was folded in half. There was a wide-brimmed hat he'd placed on the sidewalk. Inside of it couldn't have been more than eight dollars.

As I walked by him something caught my eye. Another head sticking out of his shirt. A second glance confirmed it was a cat. I don't know all the different kinds but it was grey, some stripes, a tabby cat maybe. I stopped walking and lingered. I made it to seem like I was looking at some poster ad, for a bank I think it was, while watching him. The man lifted his shirt and brought the cat out. It curled up, content, and he pet it's striped, grey fur. I walked by him again and watched this.

Fallen on hard times. OK. Let's say for the moment that I believe you. Should the cat be made to suffer, too? Should it have to bear any weight of your choices or your karma, whatever the universe has planned for you? I stood there, now by an ad for shoes, watching the tail go back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I walked over.

"What's its name?"

"Simon."

"That's a good cat name."

"Thank you," he said, smiling. I nodded, and smiled back, though he wasn't looking at me.

"How much for him?"

"I'm sorry?"

"How much for Simon?" I took out my wallet. The man kept looking down and petting. "I have probably over a hundred dollars—"

"I don't want your money."

"You can have everything in—"

"Thanks." He kept petting that poor creature. I didn't understand.

"You sign says—"

"I don't want your. Money."

I knelt down beside him. "Listen. I get it. I've had pets, and I was also sad to see them go. I have a cat now, Simon won't be alone, he'll have a friend. I'll be able to give him a better life." I could see that the man, whatever his name was, was crying. Not weeping, not sobbing, not a sniffling, slobbering mess. His tears were just escaping. It crossed my mind that perhaps I was the one who upset him.

"I saw you walking and watching and hovering around me. You don't get it. He's happy here with me. You think I would ever dream of letting him go hungry? Simon's not a pet. He's the only thing giving me a better life. You think I'd let that go for a hundred dollars? You think he'd let me?"

Stunned, shocked, I couldn't blink my eyes. Kneeling there clutching my wallet like a fool, watching his tears trickle down into the lines of a broken smile. Watching Simon, eyes closed, purring, without a care in the world, while his tail moved back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.