Take Care of That Cat—and That’s That! A Parable. Workmen were busy building a wall in an urban neighborhood. An intricate design with stunning tile. Imported—very expensive. The masons were up to the task—highly skilled. A canteen truck pulled to the curb, honking its horn loudly so the workers would turn to see its gleaming presence. Tony laid down his trowel. Wiping his face, he sauntered over to get his usual coffee and Danish. A cat, nosing around as cats do, crawled into a space in the block work behind the tiles, probably looking for a snack, too. Or at least something interesting to sniff. Tony didn’t notice the cat. The lunch wagon drove off. The men went back to work. Tony’s experienced hands seemed to fly, setting tile after tile. He liked this job. These tiles were worthy of his skill, made by the best craftsmen abroad. He came back to start another row. Tony heard a sound. He cocked his ear this way and that trying to figure out where it was coming from. Then it stopped. He grabbed another tile and trowel of mix. There it was again. Inside the wall. “Hey,” he called to Jellani. “Come check this out.” “Sounds like an animal in there.” “No way,” said Tony. Soon other workers drifted over to see what was going on. As they speculated and argued, a kid piped up. “There’s a cat in there. I seen him go up when you guys were on break.” How to get the cat out. They used their cleverest tricks to coax the cat out. No Luck. “Get Kathy over here,” someone suggested. So Kathy, taking off her hard hat, tried to reach her slender arm up into the cracks but couldn’t bend at the right place. “I don’t think there’s enough room for it to get back out,” she worried. By now most of the crew were standing around making jokes and giving advice. Passersby, too. Finally the boss came over. “Whose cat is it?” asked the boss, hoping the owner could be found to get him out. “Nobody’s,” said the kid. “He’s homeless.” "Just forget him," said one—probably a cat-hater. “If he’s too dumb to come out—serves him right.” “O sure,” quipped another. “If he starves to death in there, the smell will be just great—and think of the wildlife that will come to pick at the parts. Good thinking!” “We could knock out a couple of rows of tile,” someone suggested. “Yeah,” said a bystander. “I’d take the poor thing.” “Are you nuts?” the boss asked. “You know how much those tiles go for? And how long it would take to get more from Italy or where-ever-the-hell they come from? Besides, the next batch wouldn’t match color. That’s out. We’re not gonna wreck the job for some goddam stray cat!” By now it was closing in on quitting time. Nobody seemed to have an answer. The Kevin edged over. “Leave it to me, boss. I got an idea. I’ll take care of it.” Kevin—a guy who can figure out a way to do most anything. Very resourceful. “Give me till morning.” “Good,” said the boss. “I don’t give a damn. Take care of that cat—and that’s that!” He fancied himself a poet because he could rhyme like that sometimes. Early next day Kevin and a couple of his buddies came back. Kevin had borrowed some tools from a plumber friend. One of them you used to look down drain lines to see if there was a blockage. He poked it up to where the cat was. “Tony, hold it for me.” Watching a TV monitor, Kevin reached up with a flexible rod. He grabbed the cat by the head, squeezed the rod hard and crushed its skull. In a few minutes pieces of cat were in a bucket. Kevin shoved a hose up and flushed the hiding place clean. As the crew gathered, hands in pockets against the morning cold, Jellani asked about the cat. “We got him out,” Kevin said matter-of-factly. “Good!” said the boss. “I’ll remember that. Now,” he growled at the others, “what’re you all staring at? Let’s get this job finished.”