A Cat Named Small...

Cat Lovers Community Muhammad Tahir · May 11 at 8:47 PM · He's been inside for 22 years. No visitors since 2014. He hadn't asked for a single thing since he arrived. In 2021, a stray cat had kittens in the exercise yard. The warden ordered them removed. For the first time in two decades, this man made a request. He asked to keep one. Just one. This photo was taken by a corrections officer last month. He asked that it not be shared. We're sharing it anyway. In a state correctional facility in a rural part of western Virginia, a man has been serving a long sentence since 2002. He arrived when he was twenty-three years old. He is forty-five now. He has spent his entire adult life behind concrete and steel. His family visited regularly for the first six years. Then less. Then rarely. His mother came alone for a few years after that. She passed in 2014. No one has signed his visitor log since. He is described by staff as quiet. Compliant. Unremarkable. In 22 years, he has had no disciplinary infractions. He works in the facility laundry. He reads. He keeps to himself. A corrections officer who has worked his block for eleven years said: "He's the kind of man you forget is there. He never asks for anything. He never complains. He just does his time." In the spring of 2021, a stray cat found a gap in the perimeter fencing and got into the facility's outdoor exercise yard. She was a small calico — thin, rough-coated, clearly feral. Within weeks, she had a litter of four kittens behind a storage unit near the yard's east wall. The kittens became an open secret among inmates on the east block. Men who hadn't spoken to each other in years would stand near the storage unit during yard time and watch them. Nobody touched them. Nobody tried to grab them. They just watched. Four small things growing up in the middle of a place designed to hold everything still. When the facility administration found out, the warden ordered the cats removed. Standard protocol. Animals in a correctional facility are a liability — disease, bites, fights over possession. The man in cell 114 submitted a written request. One page. Handwritten. It was the first formal request he had submitted in 22 years. He asked to keep one of the kittens. He didn't explain why. He didn't appeal to emotion. He wrote three sentences: "I am requesting to keep one of the cats found in the yard. I will be responsible for feeding and care. I have not made a previous request during my time here and I am making this one." The warden approved it. One cat. One inmate. A trial programme that didn't officially exist. The man chose the smallest one. A grey and white kitten, female, roughly eight weeks old. She fit in one of his hands. He carried her back to his cell in the front of his shirt. He named her Small. That was three years ago. Small lives in cell 114. She sleeps on his bunk, on a bed he made from a folded grey prison-issue blanket. He buys her food from the commissary with his laundry wages — $0.52 an hour. It takes him roughly four hours of work to afford one pouch of cat food. He buys two a week. He gives her portions of his own meals to make up the rest. She has never been outside the cell block. She has never seen grass. She has never chased a bird. Her entire world is a six-by-nine concrete room, a metal bed frame, a small barred window, and him. And yet. A corrections officer who works the night shift described what he sees every evening: "Around 9 PM, after lights-down, I walk the block doing checks. Every cell is dark. Every cell is quiet. Except 114. He sits on the edge of the bunk with his feet on the floor and she sits in his lap and he talks to her. I can't hear what he says. His voice is low. But he talks to her every night. He talks to her like she's the only person in the world who hasn't given up on him." "And maybe she is." Another officer — a woman who has worked in corrections for sixteen years — was the one who took the photograph. She took it without him knowing, through the observation slot in the cell door. She said she needed to take it because she needed proof that what she was seeing was real. "In this job, you see the worst of people. That's the deal. You accept it. You clock in and you see men who have done terrible things, and you do your job and you go home. But that photograph — his hand on that cat — that's the other thing. The thing nobody talks about. Even here. Even in a place like this. There is something gentle left. He has been in a concrete room for 22 years. He has no one. Nothing. And he spends four hours of labour to feed a cat. And he talks to her every night in the dark like she matters. Because to him, she does. She's not a cat to him. She is the only living thing that has voluntarily been near him in over a decade. She chose to sleep next to him. Nobody has chosen to be near him since his mother died." Small is three years old now. She is healthy. She is calm and well-socialized — she allows officers to touch her during cell inspections without hissing or hiding. She greets the man every time he returns from his shift. She sits on his chest when he reads. She kneads the grey blanket before she lies down every night. He has never missed a feeding. Not once in three years. An officer confirmed: "Rain, sickness, lockdown — he feeds that cat before he does anything else. Every single day." The facility has since approved two additional cats in the east block as part of an informal wellbeing programme. The warden doesn't call it a programme. He calls it "what works." The photograph shows what it shows. A small grey and white cat sleeping on a folded grey blanket on a thin prison mattress. A beam of light through a barred window falling across her body. A man's hand resting on her back. The hand has tattoos across every knuckle. The fingers are rough and scarred. The touch is gentle. That hand has been behind bars for 22 years. That hand asked for one thing in two decades. That hand spends four hours in a prison laundry to earn enough to feed a six-pound cat one meal. That hand is the gentlest thing in the photograph. And the cat is asleep. Completely asleep. Not wary. Not curled tight. Stretched out, belly slightly exposed, breathing slowly, in the safest position an animal can be in. She feels safe. In a prison. In a concrete cell. With a man the world put away and forgot about. She sleeps like nothing can touch her. Because he made sure nothing can.

Let Them Visit!!!...

They're happy together...

Yawning Black Beautyt!!!...

Loving Nacho...

The Secret of Soul Kind Vibes >>> · My cat showed up on the porch one afternoon carrying a gray sock, like he had found something important. He dropped it at my feet, sat down, and stared at me. I stared back. “Nope. Not happening.” Nacho blinked slowly — calm and confident — the kind of look only a chunky orange cat gives when he knows he runs the house without doing anything. I was fifty-six, divorced, and living alone in a quiet neighborhood outside St. Louis. My son had moved to Colorado the year before. He called every Sunday, which was nice… but one call a week doesn’t fill a house on a random Tuesday evening. So, I had Nacho. Nacho was twelve pounds of fur, attitude, and strange habits. He ignored expensive cat food, preferred cardboard over toys, and looked at me like I was embarrassing him whenever I sang in the kitchen. But the sock — that was new. I picked it up carefully. It was clean. Neatly folded, almost. Gray, with a small hole near the heel. “Where did you even get this?” Nacho turned and walked away, tail up, like he was done with the conversation. The next morning, there was another sock. The day after that, a glove. Then a handkerchief. Then one very ugly winter hat. By Friday, my porch looked like a lost-and-found table. I felt embarrassed. I could imagine the neighbors talking: “There goes Marla, the woman with the stealing cat.” So I put everything in a basket and went door to door. No one claimed any of it. Finally, Mrs. Patterson from across the street pointed toward a pale blue house on the corner. “Probably Gus’s,” she said. “He still hangs laundry outside sometimes. Keeps to himself these days.” Gus. I knew him only as a quiet neighbor. He was in his seventies. Tall, thin. Always wearing the same old jacket. His wife had passed away a few years ago, and after that, he became very quiet. I carried the basket to his house and knocked. It took a while before he opened the door. His eyes moved from the basket to me. “My cat has been bringing these home,” I said quickly. “I’m really sorry.” He looked through the items and picked up the ugly hat. “Well,” he said, “at least the cat has bad taste.” I laughed, not sure what else to do. He smiled a little, like he didn’t expect to joke. “I’ll try to stop him,” I said. Gus nodded. “It’s alright.” That should have been the end. But it wasn’t. A few mornings later, Nacho dropped a small towel on the porch — white, with a blue “E” stitched in the corner. He meowed once, like it meant something. I knew it belonged to Gus. When I returned it, his expression changed. “That was Eleanor’s,” he said softly. His wife. I suddenly felt awkward holding it out. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why he keeps doing this.” Gus took the towel and gently touched the stitching. “She used to feed every stray cat around here,” he said. “She always said cats know which homes to check on.” We stood there quietly, pretending this was still just about a cat. Then Nacho showed up. I hadn’t noticed him follow me. He walked right past me, straight into Gus’s house, jumped onto an old green chair near the window, turned in a circle, and settled down like he belonged there. “Nacho!” I called. Gus stared for a moment… then laughed. A real laugh. The kind that fills a quiet room. Nacho closed his eyes, completely relaxed. Gus leaned against the door, still smiling, but his eyes looked softer. “She used to sit there every morning,” he said. “With her coffee… doing crosswords… talking to the yard like it could answer.” I didn’t know what to say. So I told him the truth. “I leave the TV on at night… just so the house doesn’t feel so empty.” He looked at me differently after that. Not just as a neighbor. But as someone who understood. The next Saturday, I brought coffee. Nacho came too — of course. Gus made toast. He burned one side and apologized more than once. We talked about small things at first. The weather. Body aches. Grocery prices. How cats somehow take over a whole house. Then we talked about bigger things. Eleanor. My son moving away. That quiet loneliness that stays, even when life looks fine from the outside. After that, Saturday mornings became a routine. Nacho still brought things home sometimes. A sock. A napkin. Once, even one of Gus’s slippers. But now, I didn’t see it as a problem. I understood it. Every time Nacho dropped something at my door, it felt like he was saying the same thing. Go knock. Someone over there still matters. In a world where people quietly carry their loneliness behind closed doors, sometimes it takes a stubborn orange cat with bad habits to remind us that no one is meant to be alone forever.

A Black Cat Girlfriend... ;)

Experts break down the Black Cat Girlfriend dating archetype, from what it means to how she compares to the Golden Retriever Boyfriend. >>> I think it’s safe to assume we’ve all heard of golden retriever boyfriends by now. And perhaps you’re also familiar with the GRBF’s dark, moody foil, the black cat boyfriend? Well, meet his female counterpart: the black cat girlfriend. As you might expect, the black cat girlfriend is essentially what she sounds like: “A partner who mirrors the classic personality traits we often associate with black cats, mysterious, independent, and selectively affectionate,” explains relationship coach Amie Leadingham. “A black cat girlfriend is highly selective about where they invest their social energy, values their alone time, tends to be more introverted, and has a slightly aloof yet intimidating quality about them that draws people in.” But don’t let the seemingly standoffish vibes fool you. There’s much more to the black cat girlfriend archetype than her withdrawn, slightly witchy exterior lets on (and that’s part of her magic). Embedded within the black cat’s cool, seemingly detached personality is the potential for true devotion and vulnerability—with the right person, of course. Once you’ve earned their trust, “they become fiercely loyal and affectionate,” says Leadingham. Below, dating experts weigh in on everything you need to know about black cat girlfriends, from what it really means to be one to whether black cat girlfriends and golden retriever boyfriends are actually compatible. What Is Like to Date a Black Cat Girlfriend? “A black cat girlfriend is the walking embodiment of ‘I’m good either way’ energy,” says Sabrina Bendory, a relationship coach for Dating.com and author of the forthcoming book Detached: How to Let Go, Heal, and Become Irresistible. “She’s independent, confident, and just a little mysterious. Think: ‘I have my own life, but you’re welcome to orbit it.’” The female counterpart of (and in many ways the antithesis to) the golden retriever boyfriend—the endlessly doing partner who lives to adore and be adored—the black cat girlfriend is more reserved, self-sufficient, and, crucially, more selective. While the golden retriever boyfriend may be characterized as “just happy to be there,” Bendory explains, black cat girlfriends choose to be there. “And when we do, it’s because we genuinely want you, not because we’re trying to fill a void,” Bendory adds. A golden retriever boyfriend, by comparison, “is stereotypically social, confident, friendly, warm, outgoing and eager to please,” adds relationship coach and psychotherapist Samantha Burns. “Whereas someone who is a black cat may be a bit more cautious and wary of giving their love and attention freely. With a black cat girlfriend you have to initially ‘earn it,’ but once you prove yourself, they are loving and affectionate.” Is Being a Black Cat Girlfriend a Bad Thing? It’s easy to mistake black cat girlfriend energy as cold, avoidant, or even “pick-me”–coded, hence why some might interpret the BCGF label as negative. But the thing that makes the black cat girlfriend so compelling is that she’s not any of those things. Her confidence and independence come from a place of authenticity, not fear or performance. “It’s the opposite of performing for male approval; she’s magnetic because she’s good on her own,” Bendory explains. “She’s not trying to be the ‘cool girl’ in order to get the guy, she just is who she is—and there is nothing sexier than that.” And while many may mistake the black cat’s independent, slow-to-warm approach to relationships for fear-based avoidance, Bendory says the true black cat girlfriend “isn’t afraid to be vulnerable, be present, and actually connect” with the right person. “Being a black cat girlfriend is actually a sign of emotional maturity and strong boundaries,” adds Leadingham. “They know their worth, and they’re not going to give their energy away to just anyone.” Far from the cold, calculating femme fatales black cats are sometimes made out to be, a black cat mentality is actually “one of the most powerful dating mindsets you can have,” says Bendory. “A black cat doesn’t chase, she attracts. If she’s giving you her time, it’s because she wants to, not because she’s trying to prove something.” Moreover, all the experts I spoke to for this story agree that BCGF energy can actually be an incredibly healthy and rewarding thing to bring to a relationship. Are Black Cat Girlfriends and Golden Retriever Boyfriends Compatible? Social media wisdom commonly holds that “every relationship has a golden retriever boyfriend and a black cat girlfriend.” And while we’re told opposites attract, is golden retriever energy really a match for your typical black cat? In short, it can be! “They can be a great match—as long as both are coming from a healthy place. If the black cat is just dissociating and afraid to be vulnerable, that’s not mysterious—that’s avoidance,” says Bendory. “And if the golden retriever is insecure, desperate, and willing to be her loyal servant no matter how she treats him, that’s not devotion—that’s a doormat.” Basically, black cat on golden retriever compatibility all depends on whether both parties are able to “understand and appreciate their differences rather than trying to change each other,” says Leadingham. If they can do that, then black cats and golden retrievers may even be able to learn from each other and establish a kind of ying-yang harmony in a relationship. “I like to say that golden retriever boyfriends have a secure attachment style, which means they are comfortable with closeness and intimacy, they communicate well, they are reliable, and confident in expressing their feelings,“ says Burns. “A black cat girlfriend may be a bit more reserved, skeptical, or slower to warm up initially. But once that connection is created they also model this security, confidence, affection, and loyalty towards their partner.” Ultimately, whether or not a golden retriever is the right partner for you as the prospective black cat girlfriend is up to you to decide. Because, as Burns notes, the most defining feature of the BCGF is that she “is comfortable with her independence and is proactive in getting her needs met. She knows what she wants and doesn’t feel the need to constantly be on or people please.” --- Cosmopolitan.

A Village for Senior Cats!!!...

Cats In The Temple...

"Why DID you wake us???'...

Trying!!!...