Lucky

Before Lucky, there was Obama.

Obama worked at a bodega in Williamsburg. Then someone took him.

The owner filed a police report. The neighborhood posted flyers. Block by block, stapled to telephone poles and taped inside laundromat windows. Obama never came back. A month passed. The store was open, but the cat was gone, and everyone noticed the empty spot by the register.

Then Lucky walked in.

A black stray arrived without a collar or any history the workers could trace. He came through the open door, walked past the chip aisle, sat down near the counter, and did not leave.

The owner did not go looking for a replacement. He did not put out an ad or call a rescue. Lucky just showed up.

Two years later, Lucky is still there. The regulars who remember Obama know the story. The ones who came after just know the black cat by the register.

But the nickname stuck.

People still call him the new guy.

They started calling him Lucky when he arrived, and the name stayed.

Lucky keeps the counter, the shelf, and the regulars who reach down because they already know him.

Customers still call him the new guy. He has been there two years.