DannyBoyinExile

The other day I came back from chow, and saw a crowd of people around a table in the dayroom. As it happened to be the table I normally sit at, I walked up, and all of these tattooed, scarred-up convicts are fawning over… a cat. A TINY cat, too – which made her all the more adorable.
We are no strangers to cats here, as there are a handful of them who live around the unit, including some of the factories here, and inmates pet, feed, and play with them on a daily basis. But this was the first cat I saw who actually made it back onto the wing. (Not voluntarily, I’m sure – she just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, and was promptly catnapped.)
Of course, we unanimously decided that she’d be OUR cat, that the whole wing would pitch in to feed and take care of. I even thought of the perfect name for her: “Contraband” – because that’s exactly what she was!
Some days we’d bring her to the dayroom for a little recreation time, but more often we’d take turns playing with her in our cells, and simply pass her on to each other.
I’ve never been a cat person, but I must admit that she grew on me. I’d lay in the bed with her on my chest, rubbing her chest and sides, and she would stretch out and purr until she fell asleep. Clearly she was part dog, the way she’d wag her little tail back and forth! It’s cool to be trusted completely, by an animal that is so small and defenseless.
At times I’d lay her along my side, so she wouldn’t be as noticeable to any guard who happened to walk by (we didn’t call her contraband for no reason!). But as soon as I looked down to check on her, and she saw my face, she’d immediately begin crawling back up – with her claws on my bare skin, if necessary! – because she wanted to lay ON me, not next to me.
I didn’t have to worry about potty-training her, because after I fed and played with her for a while – I’d send her back to the guy she belonged to (the dude that brought her home in the first place) and let HIM deal with it! =-)
I pride myself on keeping plenty of food in my locker, for emergencies – but this spoiled brat ate every packet of tuna, mackerel, and sardines in my possession! Nearly everybody on the wing spent some time petting her, or at least pitched in something to feed her. She really was OUR cat – even if I was her favorite… haha When I handed her through the bars, to have her carried to someone else, she’d immediately begin crying and trying to hold onto me, like a child would.
Then today, disaster tragedy struck. She was in a guy’s cell, and the female guard working on my wing saw her and did a double-take. “oh my God! Is that a CAT? How did you get that in here?”
He admitted that he saw her outside and brought her home, on his way in from work. The best thing he could think of to say was, “I’m trying to find a good home for her, with someone who will take care of her.” As luck would have it (bad luck, that is), she said, “I know another officer who WANTS a kitten! Let me go ask her…”
Sure enough, she came back and picked Contraband up, and she was catnapped again – for the second time in two weeks. I don’t know that she’ll ever find a home where she’ll receive as much love and attention as she got here, but I wish her the best.
In Africa, they say that it takes a whole village to raise a child. I don’t know if that’s true, but a child is much better off when the whole community will come together to make sure that it is well taken care of – even if the child is just a cat. So says DannyBoy.