[mild trigger warning for mentions of transphobia]
got my fur dark as a starless night but my luck is bright
There’s a black cat sitting at her doorstep.
Sarah doesn’t own a cat and is looking forward to crashing after a long work day, so she unlocks the door and slips inside without her unexpected guest.
(Her mother always told her black cats were bad luck).
She pauses just inside the doorway.
(Her mother also always told her as a child that she’d never be a girl and mother was wrong about that, wasn’t she?)
She invites the cat inside.
There’s no collar and the local Lost Pets website doesn’t show any matches, so she does what any sane person would do and picks up food, litterbox supplies, a cat bed, and several toys while she figures out what to do next. The cat is friendly at least, with the amount of purrs and headbutts that Sarah receives, so it’s likely someone’s cat that just wandered too far.
She’ll make an appointment to check for a microchip, she thinks as she falls asleep that night with an unfamiliar (but welcome) weight at her toes.
“There’s no microchip and we haven’t had any inquiries about a missing cat that matches her description, so she may have been dumped, especially since she’s underweight,” the vet explains to Sarah. “We can put a found cat post up on our website, but if you’re comfortable with holding onto her I do think that would be best for now with Halloween coming up.”
“Because she’s bad luck, you mean?” Sarah asks, reaching out to smooth a hand along the cat’s flank and receiving a purr in return.
“A black cat might not be safe roaming the streets with how superstitious this town is, but I wouldn’t say she’s bad luck. In fact,” the vet smiles as she continues, “I’d say she’s good luck, given that you managed to carry her here without a carrier. Let me go get you a cardboard one while you think.”
In the end, there isn’t much to it. (“What do you think about living with me, kitty?” to which she receives purring and a slow blink, which seems like answer enough, doesn’t it?) (She steadfastly refuses to think of kindred spirits, of being kicked out of a home for being yourself, of society treating your kind with scorn and mistrust).
Sarah leaves with newly named Lucky, the bad good luck cat.
It’s nice having a cat to come home to – the little pattering of paws, the leg twining, the purring. And even better tonight, with trick or treaters shouting outside and Halloween movies on TV that she would normally watch by herself.
Tonight, she has a furry companion who is very content to curl up with her on the couch. Lucky hops onto her lap and Sarah lifts and cradles her cat’s warm, enthusiastically purring body against her chest. She feels loved by this ridiculous little creature who is trying to knead the material of her shirt and, well, isn’t that the best luck of all, being loved for who you are?
