Remembering Rags

In the early 80's, when I lived in Indianapolis, I was driving home around 3 a.m. after having closed the bar. I was bartending at night and working at the Fleenor's (an auto retail store, like Auto Zone) headquarters in the accounting department during the day. I was really looking forward to that 5 hours of sleep before I needed to get up as I crossed through a parking lot that I took as a shortcut home. The parking lot was dimly lit, but it was enough for me to see a brown paper sack in the middle of the lot.
This was during the time of the 'paper bag bomber' in Indianapolis. I think that was what the papers called him. He'd put some sort of small homemade bomb in sacks in parking lots. I can't remember how many people were killed or injured, but everyone was weary of any sacks they saw in parking lots. So, as I spotted this sack, I slowed down and was making sure I didn't come close to it as I saw it move. At first, I wasn't sure. I was tired and probably had a couple of drinks. I stopped at a distance and again, I saw it move. Just barely. Part of me told me to check it out (the brain dead part of me) and part of me told me to call the police. 3 a.m., had a couple of drinks in me and chances are at 99.9% that I had drugs in my system. I put the car in park and got out. The bag was definitely moving and then I heard a very slight 'meuuuwwww'.
I walked closer and saw that the bag was soaked in grease and had some, what appeared at a distance to be, burned spots on it. The closer I got, I was sure I heard the weak cries of a cat.
What the hell. I pulled out a knife (puhleeze, like y'all don't always carry a knife on you...I still have at least two in my bag. One on my key chain and another in it's back pocket...hey, I've got my reasons). The bag had been twisted shut and wrapped with a thin wire. I made a small slit...no explosion, so I kept going. Inside was a small, black kitten that appeared to be soaked with something. He fit in the palm of my hand and was shaking. I picked him up and rode home with him in my lap.
When I got home, I called one of my best friends that lived in the apt. complex. Yeah, it was near 4 a.m. and that's just the kind of friend I am. Anyway, my friend was a very tall, muscular hunk of a gay man. My calling him for help in the middle of the night wasn't anything abnormal, and he never failed to come running when I needed him. I had one cat, Tito, already and he kept trying to get close to this little thing crying and quivering. My friend held the kitten while I tried to wash off the greasy substance on him. After an hour of cleaning, we discovered this to be a white and orange tabby that had apparently been covered in oil and (the weak of stomach should put their hands over their eyes here) set on fire. One of his ears had been burned badly and his fur was burned off in places. We fell asleep holding that kitten in a towel that night, hoping it would still be with us in the morning.
The next day we got him to the vet, who got him on antibiotics, gave me some ointment for the burns and wormed him. Between myself and two of my neighbors, the kitten was rarely left alone.
We put a box on the front desk at work and everyone I worked with put in suggestions for a name for my new kitten. My favorite was 'rags to riches', so I named him Rags. Rags was a very 'people shy' kitten and even more so as he got older. By the time he was about a year old, he wouldn't even come near me. When I moved to Texas in 1984, I had to capture him in a pillow case to get him in my car. I moved to Texas with what I could fit into my Subaru, including my two cats, my large dog, Primo, and a litter box. Left little room for anything else...another story.
In Texas I had rented, sight unseen over the phone from Indiana, an efficiency apartment. So there was little place for Rags to hide from me, but he still kept his distance.
Fast forward six months to when I met Mark. On our first date, Mark came to my apartment. As we sat down, Rags jumped up to the arm of Marks chair and climbed into his lap. It was the first time he'd ever approached anyone, let alone allow someone to pet him. HUGE plus in Marks favor. And, of course, as most of you know, Mark and I were married less than two weeks later.
In the years after that, Rags became a very affectionate cat. For 10 years he slept cuddled with me every single night. He lived to be nearly 16 years old. I'm so glad I took a chance on that paper sack.