Chris and myself, SeaWorld, 2011

Editors Note:  Ever since I have started Zee & Zoey’s blog, I have encouraged friends and family members to guest host. My Mom, Dan, Madalina (my friend and graphic designer of all things Zee/Zoey related), and my step-daughter, Crystal, have all posted. Now, it gives me great pleasure to present a post from my oldest son, Chris. The post came as a surprise birthday gift to me  last week and was completely unsolicited. I read it with great interest and soon realized that the cat blogging world is not always filled with cutesy little stories of fluffy kittens scampering off to their next adventure. Cat stories range from happy, to sad, to heroic, to inspirational, to humorus and everything in-between. And then sometimes a cat writes its own story with its own destiny in mind as you will soon find out. Chris did not know at the time of this part of his life, that I would become an author and have a blog about cats, so the images in this post are photo depictions only and do not represent the actual cat or its actual surroundings.
The Legend of Sersons the Third – by Chris Barnes

105 NW 7th Ter. was much like any other house in our area. Close to the University of Florida, houses likes these have been home to students for generations. Beer pong & keggers were the inhabitants of a home like this; not things like litter boxes and scratching posts.

I lived in the mother in law suite upstairs, with three sorority girls downstairs. We all got along well, them with their busy social calendars and me with my blissful independence. Our landlord dictated that pets were not allowed and neither I nor the girls seemed to care as we were all too busy for the commitment that a pet would bring.

Our front porch was covered so we put a ratty old couch on it. The perfect place for studying or cozying up with a good book, this became a popular spot during the cool fall. One day I came downstairs to see a little black tabby sitting in the middle of the ratty couch. As strays weren’t entirely uncommon in our neighborhood, I paid it little mind. But then came day 2; coming downstairs, I saw the tabby again. And again on day 3. And day 4. Without an invitation, this little black cat had decided that this couch was its home.

“I’m not feeding you,” I said. “And there’s no way I’m buying any kitty litter!” How naive I was to think that I had any say in the matter.

The girls downstairs noticed the kitty as well and one by one, as we came outside to study on the couch, we began to have our own interactions with her. She was sweet, loving, but not overly needy. And as a stray, she was spry, athletic and playful. It was soon decided that the stray wasn’t going anywhere. Of course, it wasn’t our choice at all. This cat had found our couch and chose it as her own; we we’re the mere furniture around it.

The kitty’s name became a subject of great debate, one usually discussed after many bottles of wine or liquor. One of the girls downstairs became fond of calling the kitty by seven names all at once. “Why hello, Xerxes Hamilton Alexandra Salt and Pepper Trojan Beatrix Sersons the Third,” she would proclaim after downing a shot of crown. The name was different every time, except it always ended with “Sersons the Third”. Although it was pronounced “Sersons the thirrrrrrrdddd.” In due time, all prefixes were dropped and our little black tabby officially became Sersons the Third.

To celebrate this decision, a collar was bought with an inscribed tab included. It read as follows:

SERSONS III
NW 7TH TER

No complete address. No phone number. To me, this was genius. This was not our cat, but the street’s cat. She was free and belonged to no one but herself. If for whatever reason she wandered off too far, all we ask is that she get returned to her rightful home: NW 7th Ter.

The “Third” aspect of Serson’s name was always a point of extreme hilarity in my eyes. The mind reels: were there multiple Serson’s all living side by side or has some bizarre owner taken to naming every one of his cats Sersons? One would die and suddenly a new Sersons would be brought home? The idea of finding this collar and reading it aloud always brought me delight, as if someone walking down the street would start to question the possibilities. “Sersons…the third???”

Even after the collar was added, Sersons III remained as spry as ever. My upstairs apartment was a studio and I kept my front window open to allow Sersons to come and go as she pleased. I always stood behind my promise of not getting a litter box, although I did yield on the issue of feedings. Sersons seemed pleased with my decision and anyway, our entire backyard was one big little box for her. Sometimes I would go days without seeing her. Other times, she would be waiting at my doorstep when I got home. That was the beauty of Sersons, all interactions were on her terms. With my window open, she had the freedom to pop in and say hello whenever she wished. Living alone, it was a great surprise when I heard the curtains rustle as saw her petite frame bust through. It showed that, even if alone, someone out there was thinking of me.

The open window did have its drawbacks, of course. First of all, it gave Sersons the ability to be in my home without me there. She was always kind enough to leave me gifts for when I returned. It became quite common to find a discarded dead lizard as I entered the doorway. The girls downstairs got an even nicer gift, as Sersons granted them with a large dead bird. “Only a lizard for me, eh?” I said to her, “I see who your favorite is.”

Another time I found a different tabby jump through my window; a foreigner who had been watching Sersons from afar and planned to steal a meal. After that, I’d be awoken in the morning by cat fights in my kitchen. At this point I started to question my open-window policy, although in the end Sersons defended her food bowl and convinced me to ignore any cat battles.

Having Sersons was a great experience because of the duality between domestication and wildness. Sersons, ever loving when rubbing against your legs or sitting by your computer, was still a wild animal who was in total control. As long as I left a bowl of food waiting, I could get all the love I pleased without any of the pet-owning pressures. But at any moment she may run up a tree or jump onto the roof.

In the end, Sersons wildness came back to haunt us all. Sersons was hit by a car outside of our house. I and three other neighbors tended to her in her final hours and after her death, although sad, we celebrated her spirit. Almost the entire block had been touched by her in some way and we all found that to be a truly amazing feat.

I haven’t had a cat since Sersons. However, in the past month, I have seen on occasion a little black tabby stray in our front yard.

“I saw Sersons IV this morning,” I say to my roommate who simply smiles and nods in approval.