The Cat Who Saved Grandma Yolanda

I was a corporate drone who stayed up every night grinding code and sure enough, I dropped dead at my desk.

When I opened my eyes again, I was a stray black cat, cornered by a group of punks who were beating the hell out of me.

It was Yolanda who grabbed a broom and fought like her life depended on it to bring me home.

She was a woman who'd had it hard her whole life up before dawn, pinching every penny and somehow she'd raised a son who was pure evil.

To pay off two million dollars in gambling debts, that monster teamed up with a vicious caretaker to steal the deed to her house and use it as collateral. He even planned to sell his own mother to some creep as a bride for one million dollars.

I was so furious I unsheathed my claws on the spot and raked his face into a bloody mess.

If fate gave me a second chance at life, and put someone as good as Yolanda in my path, there was no way I was going to stand by and do nothing.

So what if I'm a cat? Even as a cat, I'll make sure every last one of these monsters ends up behind bars.

A sharp, searing pain tore through my chest. The computer screen in front of me blurred and swam.

I didn't even have time to call for help before I crashed face-first onto my keyboard.

Seventy-two hours of straight overtime. I was a thirty-two-year-old game developer, and just like that I was dead.

When I came back to consciousness, cold rain was hammering down on my face without mercy.

I tried to stand, but something was completely wrong with the way my limbs connected to the ground.

I looked down. I had four fuzzy black legs. And a tail that was swinging around like it had a mind of its own.

I had turned into a black cat.

Before I could even begin to process the shock of being reborn, a burst of cruel laughter rang out above me.

"That black cat looks like bad luck. Let's just kill it."

Three punks with bleached rainbow hair were closing in on me, rusty iron rods swinging in their hands, backing me into a dead-end alley one step at a time.

My instincts screamed at me to run but a white-hot bolt of pain shot through my back leg. It was already broken. Had been before they even showed up.

The iron rod came whistling down through the air.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Then, out of nowhere, a battered old broom swung in from the side and cracked hard across one of the punks' arms.

"Back off! You little thugs what kind of tough guys beat up a helpless little creature?!"

I opened my eyes.

Standing in front of me was a hunched old woman with white-streaked hair.

She was wearing a faded blue jacket, worn soft from too many washes, and she had both hands locked around that broom like she was ready to go to war. She planted herself between me and the punks like a mother hen shielding her chick.

The punks were rattled by how fearless she was. They cursed under their breath and took off.

The old woman dropped the broom and crouched down, her face full of worry. She scooped me up with her rough, warm hands and held me against her chest.

"Poor little thing. Don't be scared. I've got you."

She smelled faintly of soap.

In that moment, something shifted in my chest a heart that had gone cold after years in the corporate grind suddenly felt warm again.

The old woman's name was Yolanda. She was sixty-five years old.

Her home was in a run-down old residential complex. The apartment was small and worn, but she kept it spotless.

She dried me off carefully with a clean towel, then used a few small pieces of wood to splint my broken back leg.

"You're as black as a little lump of coal. I'll call you Cole."

She brought out a bowl of warm goat's milk and a piece of plain boiled chicken breast no salt.

I ate like I hadn't eaten in years. I nearly cried into the bowl.

When I was alive, I lived on takeout every single day. Now that I was a cat, I was finally getting a real home-cooked meal.

The next afternoon, two uninvited guests showed up.

A man in a knockoff designer suit, and a woman wearing enough makeup to paint a wall.

The man was Yolanda's son Ethan. The woman was the so-called "professional caretaker" he'd hired really just his girlfriend named Ava.

"Mom, what's that smell in here? Did you seriously bring a mangy cat home? That's disgusting."

The second Ava walked through the door, she was pinching her nose and curling her lip. She gave my little cat bed a kick with her foot.

I bared my teeth at her and let out a low growl from the back of my throat.

Yolanda quickly scooped me up and smiled apologetically. "Cole is very clean, I promise. Ethan, you haven't been back in three months let me run to the market and grab some pork belly. I'll make you vegetable stew you love, okay?"

Ethan waved her off like she was bothering him. "Yeah, yeah, fine. Go ahead. I could use some time to rest anyway."

I watched Yolanda head out the door with her shopping basket, a happy little spring in her step. And a deep, uneasy feeling settled in my gut.

These two had shifty eyes and rotten smiles. They weren't here for anything good.

Sure enough, the second Yolanda was out the door, Ethan's whole face changed.

He shoved open the bedroom door and started tearing through everything like a burglar yanking open drawers, rifling through cabinets.

"Hurry up and find it! Where did that old woman hide the property deed?"

Ava was rummaging through the closet alongside him, complaining as she searched. "Ethan, you lost another eight hundred thousand at the casino last night. With the interest from before, that's a two-million-dollar hole you're in! The loan sharks said if you don't pay up in three days, they're cutting off your hands!"

I crouched on top of the wardrobe, every hair on my body standing on end.

Two million in gambling debts?!

Ethan was sweating buckets. He finally dug out a little red booklet from an old cookie tin under the bed.

"Found it!" His eyes lit up.

"So what?" Ava rolled her eyes. "This dump is worth maybe a million and a half, tops. That's still five hundred thousand short. And besides, you need the old woman to sign off on the transfer. You really think she's going to agree to sell the only thing she has left?"

Ethan let out a cold laugh, a vicious gleam flashing in his eyes.

"I already had someone forge a power of attorney. We'll use it as collateral directly. As for the rest of the gap..."

He paused, lowering his voice. "Winston's been looking for a woman to take care of him, hasn't he?"

Ava sucked in a sharp breath. "That Winston who owns the logistics company? He's a psycho. He put his last two wives in the hospital."

"So?" Ethan spat without a care. "He's willing to pay a million for a diamond ring. My mom's healthy enough. She can survive a few years of his abuse. By the time he beats her to death, our debt's cleared and we'll have cash left over to go win it back in Las Vegas!"

My mind went completely blank.

Was he even human?!

Yolanda had worked three jobs a day when she was young just to put him through college. She'd ruined her health doing it.

And now he wanted to sell his own mother to a violent, twisted old man just to pay off his gambling debts.

I couldn't hold back anymore. I launched myself off the top of the wardrobe like a bolt of lightning.

"MRROOWW!"

I raked my claws hard across Ethan's face, leaving three deep gashes in an instant.

"AHHH! What the hell?! Where did this crazy cat come from?!"

Ethan screamed and drove his foot into my stomach.

I went flying and slammed into the wall. It felt like every organ in my body had been knocked loose.

Ava grabbed a clothes rack nearby and swung it at me with pure hatred. "I'll kill this little beast!"

Just at that critical moment, the front door clicked open.

Yolanda walked in carrying heavy grocery bags.

Ethan moved fast, shoving the property deed into his inner pocket. Ava quickly tossed the clothes rack behind her back.

"What's going on in here? Ethan, why is your face bleeding?"

Yolanda dropped her groceries in a panic and rushed over.

"Mom! This crazy cat you picked up just went berserk and attacked me!" Ethan covered his face, playing the victim before anyone else could speak. "A thing like this is nothing but trouble. Get rid of it now!"

Yolanda turned to look at me.

I was slumped in the corner. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth, and the splint on my broken leg had come apart. I was shaking all over from the pain.

Her eyes filled with tears. She rushed over and pulled me tightly into her arms.

"Cole would never bite someone for no reason. Did you two hit him?"

The moment Ethan heard that, he exploded.

"Oh, that's great! You'd rather believe a stray cat than your own son?! Fine! You can spend the rest of your life with your precious cat!"

He stormed out in a rage, yanking Ava along with him and slamming the door behind them.

I bit down on Yolanda's pant leg as hard as I could, trying to drag her toward the ransacked area under the bed.

I needed her to know. Your property deed is gone. Your son is going to sell you off.

But no matter how hard I tried, all that came out were weak little meows.

Yolanda thought I was frightened. She stroked my back gently.

"It's okay, little Cole. Grandma's got you."

I buried my face in her palm, a wave of helplessness washing over me.

I was a cat. I couldn't even open my mouth to warn the person who had saved me.

But I swore to myself I was not going to let those two get away with it.

Three days later, Ethan came back with armfuls of expensive health supplements and a smile plastered across his face.

Yolanda, soft-hearted as ever, melted the moment she saw her son making peace. She got busy putting together a full spread on the dinner table.

At dinner, Ethan kept that wide smile going.

"Mom, I'm sorry about how I acted before. Don't hold it against me. Actually, I came today because I have some great news to share."

I sat stiff on the chair, every muscle in my body coiled tight.

Here it comes. This monster is about to make his move.

"Mom, you've had a hard life, and it breaks my heart. I found someone for you a good match. His name is Winston. He runs a logistics company."

Yolanda's fork froze in midair. She stared at him, speechless.

"Ethan, what the hell are you talking about? Mom is sixty-five years old who's she supposed to be getting married off to?"

Ethan set down his fork, a cold smile plastered on his face. "Mom, Winston is loaded. He's got a huge mansion. You'd be living the easy life. Besides, he already gave me the engagement ring worth a full million dollars."

Yolanda's face went pale in an instant, her lips trembling violently.

"You you took his valuable gift ? You're selling your own mother!"

"Mom! Don't make it sound so ugly!" Ethan slammed his hand on the table, dropping all pretense. "I'm doing this for you!"

"I won't go! I'd rather die than go!" Yolanda shot to her feet, tears streaming down her face.

Ethan let out a cold laugh and pulled a document from his bag, slapping it down on the table.

"You don't have a choice. I've already transferred the house into my name. If you don't marry Winston like a good woman, I'll sell it tomorrow and leave you out on the street."

"You" Yolanda pointed at him, choked on her own breath, and collapsed straight backward.

I let out a sharp cry and lunged at Ethan, sinking my teeth hard into his wrist.

"Stupid cat! Get off me!" He flung me away without even glancing at his unconscious mother, then said coldly, "Winston's driver will be here tomorrow to pick you up. You'd better have your things packed."

With that, he walked out the door.

I frantically licked Yolanda's cheek, trying to bring her around.

It took a long time before she slowly opened her eyes.

The house was hollow and still. Dead silent.

She didn't cry. She just walked quietly to the bedside and pulled open the drawer where she kept the property deed.

Empty.

She took out an old photo album next filled with pictures of Ethan from childhood to adulthood.

There was one of him riding on his father's shoulders. Another of him holding his college acceptance letter, grinning wide.

Yolanda's thin, bony fingers traced the face of that bright-smiling boy. Then she grabbed the photo and tore it.

Rip.

One. Two. Three.

She tore every single photo to pieces shredding them like she was shredding every ounce of love and hope she'd poured into him over a lifetime.

"Cole," she said, her voice rough as sandpaper, "we don't have a home anymore."

She didn't wait for Winston's driver the next morning.

That same night, she dug out an old canvas bag and packed nothing but a few changes of clothes and my cat food.

The expensive supplements sitting on the table she didn't even look at them.

Outside, the wind was fierce, carrying a fine, cold autumn rain.

Yolanda sixty-five years old walked out into the dark with a worn bag on her back and a black cat in her arms, never once looking back.

Her figure was bent and small, but every step she took was absolutely certain.

We wandered the streets all night.

By the time dawn broke, we found ourselves at the entrance of an alley in the old part of town and that's where we met Linda, who was out running a street sweeper along the road.

Linda was the warm-hearted type. One look at Yolanda's lips, blue from the cold, and she immediately brought us inside her home.

When she heard what had happened, Linda exploded. She cursed up a storm and spat on the ground in disgust.

"What kind of monster does that?! That's lower than dirt! Don't you worry I've got a storage room out back that's just sitting empty. You can fix it up and stay there as long as you need. No rent."

Yolanda was deeply grateful, but she was a proud woman at her core. She insisted on paying monthly rent, no matter what.

The storage room was tiny dark, damp, with nothing but a hard cot inside.

But every night, I curled up at her feet and pressed my warm, furry body against her to keep her from getting cold.

As long as she was there, it was home.

Once they'd settled in, Yolanda started thinking about how to make a living.

Her family had been known for their handmade pizza for generations. She'd grown up watching and learning, and she made an incredible pizza and her hot dogs were just as good.

With the little money she had left, she bought an second-hand oven and some ingredients.

Before long, the tiny storage room was filled with a warm, sweet smell.

I'd sit on the edge of the counter and watch her knead the dough. Any rat or cockroach that dared come within a foot of the food got a swift paw to the face no mercy.

I was her black knight. It was my job.

The first batch of pizzas came out golden and crisp, steaming hot, smelling absolutely amazing.

Yolanda wiped the sweat from her forehead and smiled the first real smile she'd had in days.

The next morning, Yolanda pushed a borrowed old cart to the entrance of the subway station.

The early winter wind cut at her face like a blade.

The morning rush crowd moved fast, everyone hurrying off to their nine-to-fives. Hardly anyone stopped to give a second glance to an old woman's little food stand.

Day after day, business was slow.

The pizza had gone cold and been reheated so many times that Yolanda's eyes had slowly lost their light.

That evening, the sky hung low and gray, threatening rain.

A young girl in a trench coat stumbled up to the stall, looking completely lost.

Her name was Nicole a micro-influencer who made food review content.

She had refused to sleep with her agency's boss, and in retaliation, he'd forced her out of her contract. Not only did she lose her job, but the account she'd spent years building millions of followers was shamelessly stolen by the company.

She stood in the wind, tears streaming down her face.

I sensed her despair immediately. That suffocating feeling of being abandoned by the entire world I knew it all too well from my past life.

I jumped down from the tricycle, walked over to her feet, and gently wrapped my tail around her ankle, purring softly.

Nicole froze for a moment, then crouched down and stroked my head.

"Little black cat," she whispered through her tears, "did you lose your home too?"

Seeing this, Yolanda wrapped a warm slice of pizza in wax paper and held it out to her.

"Girl, no matter how hard things get, you still need to eat. Something sweet will take the edge off the pain. Take it no charge."

Nicole's hands trembled as she took the pizza and bit into it.

The soft, pillowy dough, the creamy richness of the melted cheese, and that rare, simple warmth she hadn't felt in so long it shattered every wall she'd built around herself.

She crouched right there on the side of the road and sobbed, loud and ugly, not caring how she looked.

Yolanda didn't ask a single question. She just quietly patted Nicole's back, the way you would comfort your own child.