One of his eyes was
pale. He had a bad
snaggle tooth, and he
was one big cat.
The trailer park tards
called him “Garbage
Cat” because he lived
out of the dumpsters.
The neighbor lady
started putting cat food out
on her porch. Sometimes I’d
watch Alex head there with
two small, black cats.
What struck me most
was the way he’d let
the little ones eat first,
and the way he’d growl
low and mean if you tried
to get too close. Then the
lady told me that the
manager was poisoning
strays. She and I both already
had cats, so I used her trap
and took Alex and his two
pals to a no-kill shelter where
he tested positive for the cat-
version of AIDS. Luckily, there
was a big, exclusive room there
for cats with that. It was furnished
with a couch, litter boxes, and toys.
Volunteers came to pet the cats and
clean. Alex became a celebrity there.
He lived well for over ten years,
and when he finally grew too thin
and tired, and didn’t want to eat,
I walked into his room, held him,
and said, “Goodbye for now.”
— Fyodor Bukowski, author of Mail-Order Annie (A Story of Passion and Compassion) : Mail-Order Annie