No, this is not about a movie sequel but a near miraculous tale and heartwarming rival to “Lassie Come Home.”
Batman is my black cat, rescued as an adolescent on a rainy night, his meows fit to make Genghis Khan weep. He followed me to my Guadalajara home, people-loving and intelligent cat that he is, perhaps thinking my black chihuahua resembled his mother.
The name, I never liked — it was chosen by a friend — but Batman grew into it, becoming amazingly athletic. His favorite napping spot was on top of the refrigerator. He leapt so high pursuing balls that the friend mentioned a basketball player nicknamed “The Cat.”
Batman’s athletic tendencies were in evidence the night he escaped from my third-story apartment across the rooftops. Although he is the world’s snugglemeister, on that January midnight he was perhaps jealous of a visitor who he thought would never leave. I watched helplessly as he sauntered off, silhouetted in moonlight, scaling tall walls with ease. The louder I called, the faster he receded.
Two months passed, months filled with cat food left on the terrace (eaten by huge black ants and pigeons) and signs posted in the neighborhood (“Perdido: Gato Negro — Recompensa”). There were calls reporting sightings and surprisingly little interest in the “recompensa.”
“Cats are less able to find their way home than dogs,” said a doctor acquaintance. One midnight when walking my dogs, I conversed with a well-fed, all-black cat — Batman? He gazed at me from behind a gate before bounding across the street. He doesn’t want to come home, I decided.
I hadn’t quite given up on Batman the night of March 24. Otherwise, why did I stop talking to a friend at a cafe on a quiet street to investigate a black creature I had seen scurry up a tree? Was it a squirrel? A lizard? But neither are active at night.
From ten feet up, a black cat regarded me. I coaxed him to the sidewalk. A skinny cat. Was it Batman? Meowing non-stop and cowering at each passing car, he followed me, and intermittently let me carry him, the five blocks home. My doubts about identity evaporated as I saw his determination and later, the telltale white hairs under his chin.
The skinny cat began to eat. And eat. He meowed for a week straight and cuddled prodigiously. My other pets, including a large dog, were not thrilled about the miraculous return of Top Cat. But he is happy. I am happy. Batman — Alpha Cat and Cuddle King — lives!
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