A White Castle Christmas

Except for the golden eyes, White Castle was very white. His eyes were remarkable at spotting vermin and may have been part of the reason he left for days at a time, besides the general catting that an unaltered male cat might engage in, of course. Now it was Christmastime. This time, he had been gone two weeks. Trying to face the fact that White Castle was not coming back, I thought of the changes I made in my life because of the windows he had opened in my mind. In fact, White Castle had shown me the truth about things the previous fall. My whole life had changed: new job, more time with friends and family, less hassle about material things. Maybe a friend could have pointed things out to me, but the experience with White Castle did so in a poignant way that will stay with me for the rest of my life.

I believe fall was White Castle’s favorite time of year. He spent a great deal of time in play. I wondered where the cat was whenever I went outside to perform nearly any chore. Running through a freshly raked batch of leaves thrilled him—attacking his own movement. So, I called him. He usually roamed outside, even though he was allowed in the house at his discretion. Still not around, it was no real crisis. Therefore, I went about my business.

I looked in the garage for a rake. Strange, quiet, sounds came from somewhere in the garage. Scraping sounds—persistent, relentless scraping—came from close by the car. Suddenly, I was all too aware of what caused the noise. The cat had been missing for two days. I reached for my keys, opened the trunk. For a moment, we both stood, frozen. I thought I saw relief in the cat’s face as he gazed at me. Instead, he turned and continued digging in the back corner of the trunk. Shocked to see him continuing this practice when he was free, I called, “White Castle.” He did not relent. I approached him and picked him out of the trunk. He rested in my arms as I took him into the house, fed, and watered him. Finally, he sat on my lap, purred, and everything was okay.

I sat there with him, wondering how he could still be scratching to get out of the trunk, after I opened the door. Then, I realized I was doing the same thing.

The job I had was going downhill. I was working excessive hours. Furthermore, I found myself compromising my principles on other levels. Travis, my boss, was telling me lies that I inadvertently passed on to customers, and I felt soon there would be no more space to turn. Confronting Travis only brought sarcasm. Nevertheless, misleading the customer was wrong, and not just because we were going to get caught. I thought, I got myself into this and I have to get myself out. How could I tell the customers the truth? Then, I felt like there was no turning back.

White Castle made me realize I was digging, too. I could not solve all the problems in the business and it was not my place to do so. Telling the truth to the customers was not my responsibility in this instance, I finally figured. I could make a statement by quitting.
I needed to quit. There it was. Just as I picked White Castle up out of his hole, through this experience, he picked me up out of mine. I made a mistake going along with this after I knew the truth, but I could stop now. There would be another job for me if I looked.

That Christmas came, and I received smoked salmon as a gift from my brother for the cat and me. He had quickly gained back the weight he seemed to lose while locked in the trunk. I contacted all of my friends and relatives that year and made an effort to visit everyone I could. The importance of the visits seemed heightened since the cat’s experience in the trunk. I tried to reach each person and tried to connect. I did seasonal work for Christmas, helping wrap presents and stocking at the mall. I found a job through contacts I made during my holiday visits.

This Christmas, the cat is gone. I think of White Castle and his catting ways and wonder how he stayed as long as he did. He would run in the field and play, and catch little moles. The strange thing was, after the trunk incident, he continued his life the way he had always lived. Except something tells me, he learned a valuable lesson about digging when you did not need to dig. I think he learned about friends picking you up out of holes, too. I know I did.

©2004-2008 by Jane Kelley. All rights reserved .

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