The rain was coming down hard when Bob Henderson pulled into his neighbor’s driveway. His 10-year-old daughter, Julie, had spent the night with her friend. Bob was there to pick her up and get home in time for supper.

The rain had him in a sour mood because he had just washed the car earlier that afternoon. He was driving down a dirt road. He could hear the mud splattering in the wheel wells as he eased out of the driveway.

Julie loved being at her friend’s house. She has a cat. He’s soft and huggable. He purrs a lot. He even slept with the girls inside their bedsheet tent. The closest thing to a cat Julie has is her cat calendar.

She must have asked her dad a million times, but his position on cats was clear.

“We don’t need no stupid cat.”

The wipers were tapping back and forth. The rain was steady.

“Listen to that,” her dad said between clenched teeth.

“Listen to what?”

“This mud is making a mess of my clean car.”

The mud sounded a little like the sound she imagined macaroni and cheese would make if you threw it in big wads at the front window of the house.

When they reached the main road, her dad was humming to the radio. Maybe this would be a good time, she thought. The rain was coming down in sheets. She summoned up the courage.

“Can I have a cat?”

“We’re not starting this again, are we?”

“But Daddy, . . .”

And she pleaded her case. She talked about how the cat would not be a problem; how she’d do all the work; how she’d take care of everything, and how a cat would be good for keeping mice out of his garage.

She had done her homework.

Through the smeared windshield she saw a small movement in the middle of the road. It took her a second to make it out. Her dad was going on about how much a cat was gonna cost him. He was calculating vet bills and food bills and . . .

Julie screamed bloody murder, “Look out!”

Bob jerked the steering wheel. The car fishtailed for a second and then came to a skidding halt right in the middle of the road.

“What was that?” Bob said.

“It’s a kitten.”

There between the yellow and white lines, crouched down against the pavement, was a tiny kitten staring at Bob against the beams of the glaring headlights. Even he could tell it was shaking. It looked more like a drowned rat than a kitten.

“We can’t leave it,” Julie pleaded.

Bob gripped the steering wheel and cut his eyes at his daughter. He could feel his resolve slowly melting away. He hated cats, but he wasn’t an ogre.

“Okay,” he said.

And before he could make a move Julie was halfway out her door and into the rain. Bob followed. The kitten never even offered to move as Julie reached down to scoop him up. He helped his daughter back to her door when he stepped ankle deep into a puddle. He could feel his boxers sticking to his butt cheeks.

Back inside the car, water droplets running down his forehead, all he could think to say was, “Don’t make me regret this.”

Back at the house, after he dried off and changed clothes, Bob laid down the rules.

“No cat in the house. I ain’t having a cat making a mess of this place. That’s a yard cat.”

His wife, Susan, stepped in. “We’ll make a box in the laundry room for tonight. I think this little fella has had enough trauma for one night.”

Over the weeks and months, Julie made good on her word. She took care of everything. Bob did pay for the shots and cat chow, but other than that Julie took care of her kitten. She named him Stripes because that was the cat she had always dreamed of.

Bob made good on his demand, too. Stripes was an outside cat. And even though the cat puttered around with Bob while he worked in the yard or tooled around in the garage, he refrained from giving the cat any attention. Bob changed out spark plugs. Stripes sat on the fender and watched. Nothing more.

One day, for reasons he could not explain, Bob started talking to the cat. Not in full sentences, mind you. Just small comments.

At first, he would talk out of disgust. He was working on replacing a lamp cord and Stripes was sitting on his work bench. Bob looked over and just said, “Stupid cat.”

A year later, he was hiding cat treats inside a box on his bench. He didn’t want Julie to know.

One summer, because they were going to Florida fishing, they made arrangements with the next-door neighbor to feed Stripes while they were gone. Julie wanted to take him with them, but her dad drew the line.

“I don’t have time to keep up with a cat while we’re out on the boat.”

Julie wanted to cry.

“He’ll be fine,” he said.

They loaded the car and packed the boat. A Sea Craft center console. It was Bob’s dream boat. He loved fishing the shallow bays along the coast.

Bob pulled over in Dothan for a potty break and to fuel up. Susan said she thought she heard a cat. They all listened. The highway traffic was loud. Nothing.

On to Florida.

When they pulled in at the rental, they began to unload. Susan looked straight at Bob.

“I hear that cat again.”

Julie said, “I hear it, too.”

It was more of a whimpering moan than a meow. Bob looked under the porch. Not there. He walked over to the bushes. Not there.

Susan pointed. “I think it’s coming from the boat.”

Bob climbed up in the boat, and there under the console, behind two bags of fishing gear, he saw the cat. He had never seen a happy cat before, but that was the only way Bob knew how to describe him.

After they got home, it was cat life as usual. Stripes stayed outside. Bob remained firm. But Susan noticed something had changed. She just couldn’t put her finger on it.

One day, after shopping together, she and Julie came home. Julie hopped out of the car and called for Stripes. Usually, he’d come running but this time he was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m sure he’s just off somewhere and will come home soon.” Susan was hopeful as she heard herself reassuring her daughter.

It was a Saturday afternoon. The lawn had been mown, but Bob was nowhere in sight either.

Susan opened the back door, arms loaded with bags. Julie right behind her. The house was completely quiet. No TV. Not a sound.

Julie stepped into the den, put her hand over her mouth, and waved for her mom to come over.

Bob was laid back in the recliner. Eyes closed. Stripes was laying on his chest.

Without opening his eyes, Bob said, “I don’t want to hear it.”

From that day forward, Stripes lived inside.