My Life as a Black Cat

There's a fluffy, long-haired black cat that roams around the grounds of my college. It's not a stray; it has a home nearby and a loving owner, but likes to sneak a free feed from the students here. For some reason, it seems to like hanging around me. It follows me into the student lounge and meows for attention. I let it sit with me, and we have a friendly exchange: me rambling about nothing and everything, and the cat making the occasional mew.

I had a classmate named Johan. An overseas student who commenced earlier this year, he had a calm, quiet manner mixed with an air of wisdom and great strength. For this reason, I liked hanging around him. I would follow him into the student lounge and clamor for attention. He would let me sit with him, and we would have a friendly exchange, both of us rambling about nothing and everything.

It seemed I'd become his black cat.

On the last day of the school year, I stumbled into the campus horribly dazed from lack of sleep. (End-of-year assessments had taken their exhausting toll.) I managed to haul myself to the student lounge and sprawled headlong onto a couch, then fell asleep shortly afterwards.

I awoke to the sensation of my hair being tugged, and discovered the fluffy black cat playing with my forelocks. There was a faint scent of cinnamon in the air. When I sat up, I saw Johan sitting on the chair across from me, with a mug of his usual spiced tea in his hand. How long he'd been there, I had no idea. We had a group project to finish that morning, so he'd obviously been waiting for me to wake up. I started to spring to my feet.

"Good morning," he said languidly, as if in no hurry at all. He motioned to the table in front of me, where another mug of tea sat invitingly. "You can have your tea first. It will help you wake up."

"Oh, th-... thanks..." I sputtered, clearly not quite awake and also surprised by this sudden kindness. I rubbed my eyes and took the mug. The steam wafting from it carried a delicious aroma, easing me gently out of my trance.

We talked for a while, as we usually did, about whatever trivial or significant things popped into our heads. The soothing drink soon warmed me to full alertness. We bid the black cat goodbye and made our way to a computer lab to finish our project.

At the end of class that day, my classmates and I exchanged our customary end-of-year farewells and fond wishes. My friend Inder waved goodbye as he hitched up his backpack, and called out, "See you next year!"

To our astonishment, Johan responded, "No, you won't."

Inder and I did a simultaneous double-take. "What?!"

"You won't," Johan said gently. "I'm going home to Norway. This was my first and last year at this school."

The others and I were dumbstruck. This was the first time we'd heard about Johan leaving so soon. We were somewhat frozen in place as he went around and shook our hands, and gave each of us a sincere, "It was great knowing you."

"It was great knowing you too," we echoed in turn, and watched him leave. It took us several seconds to come to our senses, and even then, all we could do was exchange baffled looks.

So many unsaid words tore at me: Thanks, Johan, for being a great friend. Thanks for being there. Thanks for putting up with my inane chatter. Take care. Have fun. Have a safe trip. Stay in touch. I'll sure miss ya. Thanks. For everything. Words I could've said, but didn't. Part of me wondered: Should I chase after him? Shouldn't he be sent off with a proper goodbye?

For some reason, my feet stayed anchored to the ground, and the rest of me turned to my computer workstation, to make backup copies of my files. The niggling little voice that told me to say a proper farewell gradually faded, and I kept it silent for the next few days.

Until I ran into Johan again.

It was the most surprising of encounters. A few days into the summer break, a meeting was called with the university board, to discuss students' concerns on some key issues. Johan, having finished his term at this school, didn't need to be there-- but he went anyway, campaigning for improved facilities and equipment. He was hailed as a hero.

As we parted ways yet again, I tried to think of some short but heartfelt speech to send him on his way. The words formed in my head, but never emerged. I didn't even say "Goodbye"-- I said "See ya," as if there were still some hope of meeting him again.

The college cat would constantly, faithfully await my return, whether I was away from college for the day, the weekend, or summer vacation. Similarly, perhaps I was clinging to my cat side. Perhaps I wanted to believe that when I walked through the campus gates next semester, I'd see Johan in his usual place, ready for the usual chat over nothing and everything.

Maybe I was in denial, not wanting to accept that I was seeing my friend for the last time. Or maybe the reason's far more simple, and not as deep.

Maybe I just don't like goodbyes.