When I lived in Los Angeles, I adopted two rescue cats from a no-kill shelter. Jack Burns was an older cat, about eight years old, and had lived with an elderly couple that had died within a year of each other. Their children put Jack Burns in the shelter, and he had been there a year. As soon as I walked into the room of cats, he stopped and stared at me. The other cats seemed unaware of my presence, but he kept his eyes trained on me, and I felt a connection with him right away.
The other cat I adopted was a white kitten I named Louise, who had been found on an off-ramp to the Hollywood Freeway, and had only been in the shelter a few days. She was batting a dead cockroach across the floor, having a great time, and I imagined the toys I could give her.
The people at the shelter loaded both cats into cardboard carriers, and as soon as we got to my apartment, Jack Burns raced around checking to make sure all the comforts of civilization were there.
He ran into the bathroom and took a sip out of the toilet (I kept the lid down, after that). Then he ran into the bedroom, jumped up on the bed, and kneaded the pillows. Finally, he ran back to me and butted his head against me over and over, as if to say, Thank you! Thank you!
Both cats slept with me on my bed, and one night I remember waking to a terrifying, wild scream, coming from outside. Jack Burns, Louise and I all bolted upright in the bed, and then they jumped to the window sill and the three of us looked across the alley to the roof of the building next door, where several massive raccoons were having some kind of intense ritual together, screaming and bristling at each other.
I assume it was mating season, and there was also, coincidentally, a full moon, so the scene was well lit. Jack Burns and Louise pressed their faces against the window screen, watching the drama. Jack Burns made a low rumbling sound in his throat, but I think they knew the raccoons were out of their league, and not to challenge them too strenuously.
We watched for a long time, then the raccoons quieted and slipped off the roof, probably heading back to Los Feliz Boulevard. Raccoons and coyotes often came down from Griffith Park and crossed the boulevard in search for cat and dog food people had left outside, or open garbage cans.
Once it was quiet again, Jack Burns and Louise found their places on the bed; Louis on the pillow next to my head, and Jack Burns curled by my feet. I think the three of us were equally fascinated by the raccoons, and glad to be safe inside.