In our home, we’ve always harbored a fondness for cats. As a child, I had a particularly special dog, but it has been cats that have journeyed with me throughout my life. It was my elder sister who initiated the tradition, tirelessly bringing home lost or abandoned kittens when she was but a wee lass. Invariably, one of these feline waifs would endear itself to our parents’ hearts and find a permanent abode with us. Years later, I discovered that my paternal grandfather also had a penchant for cats, which, in one way or another, meant they were always a part of our lives. Perhaps that’s why I resonate so well with them. When selecting one, I am discerning; not just any cat can join my clan. They mustn’t be of any commercial breed, must exhibit a spark of intelligence, and should never be older than seven months when they join our family—especially if they’re strays. Older cats always retain the lessons imparted by their mothers and never fully trust you. A younger kitten, however, swiftly adopts you as its colony, and sometimes even as its mother.

With years spent in the company of these furry companions, it’s easy to spot an intelligent cat. That’s how I came to recognize Panther. But before I delve into his tale, it’s essential to know that I live in Carasa, a village in Cantabria nestled beside a stunning estuary where street cats are common, thanks to people feeding them to keep at bay the rats that dwell among the rocks on the shore. My house, perched on the outskirts of the village, upholds the custom of feeding the cats that wander near. We don’t allow them indoors nor do we consider them family members, but we feed them year-round. This is how we met Panther. We named him so because he was pitch black, and ‘Panther’ just sounds cool.

The truth is, Panther was born in the neighborhood, as I recall seeing him as a kitten when his mother brought him to feed. However, it wasn’t until he matured into adulthood that he began visiting regularly. He wasn’t a troublemaker; he allowed the alpha male to eat without confrontation and also any little kittens. A serene cat, yet one who never allowed me to touch him, always maintaining a cautious step away from me.

One morning, I rose as usual to commence my virtual English class, one of my jobs, and like every day, I set water to boil for my cup of PG Tips tea. I fed Déjà Vu, our also black-colored family cat, and then, with a small bowl in hand, I scooped up a portion of cat food and stepped out into the garden to feed Panther, the sole stray who awaited me at that early hour. There he was, waiting, but it was clear something was amiss. He moved with some difficulty and sported a torn ear. My initial thought was that he had skirmished with another cat, but it was deep winter, and no felines were in heat. Neither were there city tourists in the nearby houses rented out as rural homes, who usually bring their terribly ill-mannered dogs that attack anything that moves, including farm animals. But the houses were empty. Approaching Panther, he didn’t shy away. I gently stroked him and left his food, which he ate without issue, then I retreated to my home office to log in and teach my class.

The following day started with the same routine, until I saw Panther. His hind leg was badly torn. Despite the grim wound and his limp, he approached me, waiting for his food. Before serving him, I extended my hand for him to sniff. He didn’t back away and allowed me to pet him again. I left him to eat, but it was evident something unusual was happening. Mid-morning, I went upstairs to have coffee with my wife. As she is a lighter sleeper than I am, I asked if she had heard anything during the night, wondering if Panther had fought with some animal, but she hadn’t heard a thing.

The following day was a repeat, but Panther’s injuries were worse. The wound on his leg was bleeding, exposing muscles beneath his skin, and his entire left side was marred by a gash that started at his shoulder and nearly reached his hind leg. I gave him his food, but he struggled to eat. I spoke to him gently while he ate and stroked him when he allowed, but he only glanced at me once. After finishing, he slowly retreated to a corner and lay down to sleep. I went to the garage, which served as our storeroom, found a box, lined it with old towels, and placed it beside him. Hours later, he was curled up inside, sleeping.

That night, I kept waking up at every sound, but heard nothing resembling a cat fight. Yet, in the morning, as I prepared his food, I saw that Panther was in a much worse state. A wound crossed his right eye, and I was sure he had lost it, but on closer inspection, I saw he still had it, though the wound was bleeding and the one from the first day was oozing pus. He could barely move, let alone eat. I only had classes in the afternoon, so I decided to bring him inside to try and treat him. He resisted at first, but the lure of Déjà Vu’s canned food was too tempting. I took him, along with his box, to my basement office, providing food and a litter box, but he did nothing but sleep all day. In the late afternoon, I woke him and carefully cleaned his worst wounds. Aside from some hisses warning me to be gentle, he let me finish. After my work was done, I went upstairs, but I could hear him meowing, a sound that continued throughout the night. Everyone in the house slept terribly.

The next day, I descended to find Panther restlessly pacing around the office. He had knocked over a few items but seemed to have more energy. I set down his food just as my phone chimed with a message informing me that all my English classes had been cancelled. Puzzled, I called back, knowing my students were pleased with my teaching method. They cited internal issues within the company and promised to notify me if classes resumed.

That day, I spent hours dispatching resumes, though hope was scarce, having struggled to secure and retain those English classes. I took the opportunity to better tend to Panther’s wounds, which he now allowed, though his tail kept swishing from side to side, so I was cautious not to hurt him, wary of a potential scratch.

That night, Panther’s cries grew worse, and I heard more than a few sounds of crashes coming from the office. The next day, I discovered one of the noises was my laptop, now unresponsive, and one of the monitors lay on the floor, cracked from top to bottom. I was beginning to regret bringing him inside. I was jobless, and now without a laptop and a monitor. Nevertheless, I continued to care for him, and he seemed to be moving better and eating well. But for us, things took a turn for the worse as my wife’s Chi Kung classes in Solares were cancelled, and her private clients said they would return later. My eldest son, who was supposed to go to Madrid, fell victim to a scam on Bla Bla Car, losing two hundred euros. Things were definitely going from bad to worse.

That night, I couldn’t bear Panther’s harrowing screams mixed with thuds in the office and his hisses and meows. So, I opened the door, and he shot out, stopping at the entrance of the house, staring towards the line of trees marking a eucalyptus plantation and a small untouched native forest. He gazed in that direction for a while, then sat as if waiting for something. I had to find out what was happening, so I decided to stay awake. On the second floor, there was a window overlooking the front of the house, where I could see the gate, the path leading to the house, and the trees about a hundred meters away. I placed a chair and waited to see if I could discern what was happening.

I woke with a start. I had fallen asleep unwittingly, but something had roused me. I looked outside, but everything remained the same, except Panther was intently staring at the trees. At night, everything seemed like a dark blur in the distance to me, but I thought I saw movement of something approaching. I turned off the hallway light to let my eyes adjust to the darkness and saw what appeared to be animals running from the forest. To my astonishment, I saw two deer, several rabbits accompanied by a family of foxes, and various smaller animals I couldn’t identify, all running in the same direction away from the dark line of trees. The strange assembly sped past the front of our house and disappeared towards the water. Panther kept his gaze fixed on the trees, so I did the same, feeling a strange sensation begin to engulf me. Every hair on my skin stood on end when, in the darkness of the trees, I saw a part of it become even darker, as if separating from the forest’s blackness and starting to approach. Panther stood up, his fur bristling, but made no sound and waited.

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