#MCM Forever



Not too many people know the real story behind the cat that rubs against their legs when they walk through my front door, or why the literal best part of my day is when I get to curl up on my bed with him.

Travel back with me, if you would. The year is 2003. Think what you were doing in March of that year. Probably in elementary school. I was around 6. I was doing my homework that night like a studious little child and my mother was taking out the trash. Outside there was a light drizzle. She was opening the back door, huge bags in tow, when I heard her yell with surprise. There was a black stray cat in our neighborhood, and it apparently had chosen our back stoop to spend the night. When my mom opened the door, she had leaped across her path and away into the night.

Turning her head to look at where the cat had jumped from, my mom gasped loudly. "Guys, there's kittens!"

In the damp leaves beside our back stoop, there were two brown and white kittens in the drizzle. We called our neighbors (who had some cat experience over), wrapped the kittens in blankets, and gave them some milk. I got to hold one. It fit perfectly in my tiny 6-year-old hands, mewing pitifully. We left them there, because our neighbors said the mother was probably moving the litter and it was best to let her come back for those two.

Morning came. One kitten was left. We built a little shelter for it and waited for the mother to come back. But a whole day and night passed. She never returned. We finally brought the kitten inside to care for it, where I dubbed him Peppermint, after a kitten in a storybook I had read. Weeks passed and my mom continued to wake up in the middle of the night to bottle-feed the 3-week old kitten, all the while emailing my dad while he was in Iraq to report on our new guest. After a month or two, my little brother and I dared to ask if we would get to keep him. After a small pause, my mom smiled. She thought we could.

And so through every move, to relatives' houses, overseas and back, vacations, Pepper (as his name was shortened to become) has been the original 5th Erdelatz. He has the strongest personality of any animal I've ever met and has put up with me and my brother shoving him onto beds, tossing him outside when it snows, crushing him under the weight of our hugs, and so much more.

A few weeks after we moved to Stafford (a little over a year ago), Pepper went outside one Saturday afternoon and didn't come back. My mom told me on Monday that she hadn't seen him for two days and I immediately started pacing the neighborhood calling his name. I cried every day he didn't come back until Thursday at 6:15 am, he appeared at the front door and walked right back in.

Ever since then, I've been terrified of losing him. I wish I could take him to college with me. But I'm so scared I'm going to come home one weekend and...he'll just not be there. He's over 10 years old. How much longer is he going to live? He's gotten lost. He's gotten in fights. He still gets himself into trouble all the time.

He's the best part of my day. When I collapse on my bed after a hard day, he always jumps up, crawls onto my stomach and just curls up into a warm, purring ball. There is nothing more soothing than a purring cat next to you. Nothing.