Midnight

A customer found him on Petfinder. She walked into the bodega, showed the owner her phone, and asked what he wanted. He said he needed a black one.

She paid $125, picked up the cat, and dropped him off the next day. A gift from a regular. That was three years ago. Midnight works at a bodega in Shore Acres, Staten Island. During the day, he sprawls across a basket near the register or sits behind the counter. He has a spot upstairs in a double box where he sleeps between shifts. The arrangement is simple: the store is his during business hours, the box is his after close.

Except Midnight rewrote the arrangement.

Every night after closing, the owner would walk to his car. Midnight would appear out of nowhere and follow him across the lot. The owner started letting him in. Midnight would ride home, walk through the front door, and immediately start meowing. Loud. Relentless. The kind of volume that makes you question every decision you have ever made. The owner would open the door. Midnight would walk back out.

Every time. Same routine. He did not want to be an indoor cat. He just wanted to make sure the owner got home.

Most of the customers here are older folks from the neighborhood. They know him by name. Some come in just to see him and leave without buying anything.

Midnight still has the basket, the counter, and the walk to the car that he attempts every night.