The Bandit Who Stole Our Hearts

About This Author

I'm Donna and I'd like to welcome you to my Inkspot! Here you can browse and read my stories. Most of my writing is about my family and friends, and how they helped me through two spinal cord surgeries twenty-three years ago. Surviving tough times can make you appreciate not only the good times but all the wonderful people in your life every day, as well. It is with this deep sense of love, appreciation and gratitude that I write my stories. I hope that you enjoy them, and if so, you'll drop me a note and let me know! Have a wonderful day!

The Bandit Who Stole Our Hearts

The Bandit Who Stole Our Hearts
By Donna Lowich

I always referred to Bandit as our part-time cat. But, actually, he's a full-time cat; he was ours only part of the time. We’ve known Bandit for as long as we've been in our house. He was here to greet us on the day we moved into the neighborhood. He strolled right in, began checking out our boxes and all the stuff that had already been unpacked. I guess we passed whatever test or initiation ritual that that was a part of, because we saw a lot of Bandit after that, much to the delight of almost three-year-old Jeffrey. This is the story of that beginning:

It was Moving Day, 1984. The day began hot, blisteringly hot, but nothing was going to keep us from our new home. It took hours to move our possessions and furniture one-half hour west from the house we had called home for six years.

Many boxes were stacked in the garage, along with some rolled-up area carpets. Yikes, we would be busy emptying out the garage of the boxes, and then the boxes of their contents, for the foreseeable future. As we took turns bringing the boxes into the house, Jeffrey came running in, breathless and overjoyed. “Guess what, Mommy? Guess what? We have a cat in our garage! Come look! Quick!”

Sure enough, there was a large black cat, with white on all four paws, and the tiniest of white spots on the tip of his nose, roaming through the garage. He was definitely inspecting our belongings, jumping from one stack of boxes to the next, and walking along the rolled up carpets as a gymnast on a balance beam would do. He stopped to check out all the open boxes, and having been satisfied with his preliminary look-see, decided he would go inside and make sure things were satisfactory there, too.

He sat near the door that led into the family room, turned his head and looked at us, with every expectation that we would let him in. He waited patiently while we figured that out. Which we did, eventually. It wouldn’t be the last time that we would do this large cat’s will.

Bandit, we found out from our new neighbors, was this cat’s name. He was a well-known character, known up and down the street as a real shmoozer, always on hand to take that last bit of cat food (or people food, for that matter) off your hands. At a neighborhood Christmas party we found no fewer than four families who admitted that they succumbed to Bandit’s wiles, and were feeding him on a regular basis. But, as far as we could tell, it was our house he preferred to shelter him from inclement weather.

He was a street-smart cat who never lost his ability to love a little boy. This was apparent that first Christmas. It was shortly after Christmas Day. Bandit jumped on the ledge of the large window looking into the living room. That was his way of letting us know he wanted to come inside.

Jeffrey ran to the door, and picked Bandit up as he strode through the doorway. Despite the not-always-so gentleness of a three-year-old, Bandit never got angry or upset. I never saw him hiss or even bare a claw.

Jeffrey kneeled gently by the box and softly sang the same lullabye that I sang to him at night. Before long, the street-wise feline fell sound asleep, Jeffrey right next to him. I didn’t know much about cats back then, but I knew that this was a rare blend of outside-cat toughness and inside-cat gentleness.

He never even growled at Jeff, despite being put into baskets, lullabied to sleep and cradled lovingly, but sometimes uncomfortably in a little boy's arms, a little boy whose normally gentle ways with animals was sometimes lost in his exuberance to play with his brand-new friend. Bandit somehow knew this, and was content to be placed in a shirt-sized gift box on Christmas, which was then moved from place to place, until the proper spot was found for the lullabies and loving pats on the head to begin, which continued until Bandit fell asleep. He was a true gentle giant of a cat.

Once Bandit awakened, Jeff begged me to give him some milk to give to the cat. Finishing the milk, Bandit stretched, and walked casually to the door. He wanted to be outside, even in the winter. We watched Bandit leave our yard and head for the woods.

Jeffrey and Bandit grew up together and became fast friends. In fact, whenever there was a storm coming, we could rely on the fact that Bandit would spend it with us, sometimes allowing us to keep him indoors overnight, during hurricanes and snowstorms--it didn’t matter. It seemed as though he took comfort from being with us--well, Jeffrey, in particular.

Jeffrey, in return, seemed to always enjoy Bandit’s company. He grew to be both confident and gentle with animals, especially cats. This was the direct result of his close friendship with his pal, Bandit.

Bandit is gone now and is sorely missed. He had lived a long life, but it wasn't long enough to suit us. I think he knows how much he meant to us. But I wonder if he could ever know how much he influenced a small boy. From the moment they met, Jeffrey loved cats. Bandit, through his own good nature, also taught him to be kind and gentle with animals.

Thank you, Bandit.

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