There is nothing more exciting than adding a new family member into the mix. The only bad thing is that they’ll likely die without your help. What are you going to do? You know that they’re not going to survive, not where they are right now. But what can you do? I remember that feeling very well. I felt that very same powerlessness on the weekend of the fourth of July, about seven years ago. Finding that cat will always be an amazing event, despite how we got to keep him.

The day had started out fairly normal. I could even say that it was nice. I was still living in the small blue house on Rural street, and my younger cousin, Araceli, had been over for a visit. My granny was there to watch us. Me and my cousin went outside, the wickedly dry heat of summer a surprise after spending so much time inside with the air conditioner blowing nice, cold air. We had gone outside to find something fun to do, instead of just sitting there telling boring stories about things that had happened at school or friends we wouldn’t see until September. And that was when I saw that shadowy-orange blob under my granny’s dark teal car. I don’t even know how I had even seen it in the first place. I hadn’t been wearing my glasses at the time, and my vision was utter crap. So, being the curious kids we were, Araceli and I rushed toward the blob curled there. I don’t know what I was really expecting. Definitely not some fluffy orange cat in the dead of summer. His dull green eyes were startled, like he thought we were going to hit him. Me and my cousin just stare at him for a moment. What kind of person would leave him out here? 

So, of course, with enough coaxing, we got him inside. My mom came home on her lunch break, surprised to find the strange, long-haired cat we had brought into the living room. We had explained to her that we had found him under the car in the intense, burning warmth of July. She had been so shocked. How had he ended up here, even? He was probably one of the stray cats that wandered over here looking for food. That was how we had found Mr. Moco, whose name meant Mr. Booger in Spanish. He was an outside cat who just came here to hang out at random times throughout the week. Or. . . Maybe some psychopaths had just let him out when it was hottest outside, with no regard to the fact that he was a fluffy cat. Fluffy cats are never good in hot weather. Everyone knew that. The heat would just collect and boil them alive. We spent the rest of the day with the new cat, stroking his fur and just soaking up his quiet, sweet presence like rays of sunlight just before sleep. There was no way that we could let this cute cat go. Wherever he was before was just so bad. Whether it was because he didn’t have any form of shelter, or just that the people who owned him before were just complete idiots. Or they just didn’t care about the safety of their cat.

We drove Araceli home when we had to give the adorable, fluffy ginger cat back to his owners. They lived just down the street from us as it turned out. I had seen them a few times before, whether on my way to school or when I was walking to Jose’s house. Jose was my friend who lived at the end of our street. We would play in his basement nearly every week, and I just adored his cat. It kind of reminded me of this one, the more that I think about it. I waited in the car, trying to ignore the churning in my stomach. There was something that felt so wrong about this. These people just didn’t care about him. What kind of psychopaths would buy a long-haired cat just to let it out in the dead of summer? Why should this amazing creature have to go back with these people, if they were okay with possibly letting him die of heatstroke?

I don’t even remember telling my friend, Jose,  about the cat. I had a night to sleep on it, still waking up with the feeling that everything was just so wrong with this. Maybe he had seen how sad I was, because he had come up to me while I was walking down the street, his hands behind his back. He had smiled that smile he always used when we joked around with each other. He brought his hands in front of me, and in his bony arms, he held that very same fluffy orange cat in his arms. I shrieked in surprise, nearly bursting into tears at the sight of him. This had to be real. This had to be real, or else I would probably punch a wall when I woke up. There might actually be a god if he was really back with us. He would probably just die of heatstroke next summer if he had to stay with those people. When I brought him home again, my mom didn’t seem very surprised this time, almost as if she knew this would happen. My dad made sure that I knew that the only way we would keep him was if we named him Battle Cat from He-Man.

And that’s the story of Battle Cat, the orange cat me and my cousin found under the car in July nearly seven years ago. We are so lucky to have such an amazing cat, and I’m grateful that we found him that day. Of course, I’m not happy about the circumstances, but I’m amazed that he’s a part of our family now, and has been since 2017. That experience taught me that sometimes, if it’s for the sake of another life, whether human or animal, a bit of stealing is okay if the means justify the end.