The Legend of the Nevermore Alleycat

“Quoth the Raven: Meow me more.”

Baltimore has always had ravens.

Baltimore has always had stray cats.

Eventually, somebody was going to make a terrible decision.

According to Canton Cat lore, it happened beneath a full moon behind an unidentified Canton dumpster sometime after midnight, when a murder of ravens descended on a stash of Old Bay-covered chicken wings being guarded by three local strays.

Negotiations failed immediately.

There was hissing.

There was cawing.

There was one extremely questionable puddle glowing purple near the harbor that everyone has agreed not to ask the Department of the Environment about.

Then lightning struck.

When the smoke cleared, the cats were gone.

The ravens were gone.

Standing on top of the dumpster was something Baltimore had never seen before:

Half cat.

Half raven.

Entirely unemployed.

We call him Nevermeow.

Some claim Edgar Allan Poe predicted his arrival nearly two centuries ago. Scholars insist The Raven is about grief, loss and a mysterious bird tormenting a heartbroken narrator.

Those scholars clearly missed the deleted stanza:

“Quoth the Raven: Meow me more.”

Poe allegedly encountered Nevermeow wandering the streets near midnight, stealing fish from unattended carts and staring judgmentally at pedestrians. He immediately began taking notes.

Unfortunately, historians buried this account because academia lacks courage.

The creature disappeared for generations until the Baltimore Ravens arrived in 1996, apparently awakening whatever dark football magic had been sleeping beneath the city.

Now Nevermeow roams Baltimore after sunset.

By day, he sleeps somewhere nobody can afford to rent.

By night, he patrols rooftops, alleys and dumpsters from Canton to Fells Point.

His diet consists primarily of stolen chicken, loose French fries, unattended crab cakes and whatever tourists leave sitting outside for more than nine seconds.

But Nevermeow isn’t merely a scavenger.

He has a job.

Sort of.

Baltimore’s rats fear him.

Thugs avoid him.

Porch pirates have reportedly reconsidered their career choices after hearing wings flapping above them followed by an increasingly aggressive:

“MRAAAAAAW.”

His hunting technique combines the greatest abilities of both species.

He can stalk silently like a cat.

He can attack from above like a raven.

He can open trash bags with surgical precision.

And he can knock your drink off a table simply because he believes you have become too comfortable.

The Baltimore Ravens have repeatedly denied that Nevermeow is an unofficial mascot, despite witnesses claiming he occasionally circles M&T Bank Stadium after victories looking for dropped nachos.

The Canton strays, meanwhile, consider him family.

We leave food out for him.

Not because we’re afraid of him.

We simply respect the fact that he has wings, talons, cat claws and absolutely nothing to lose.

So if you’re walking through Baltimore late at night and hear wings beating somewhere above the rooftops, don’t panic.

Unless you’re a rat.

Or stealing somebody’s catalytic converter.

Then you should probably start running.

Because somewhere in the darkness, two green eyes are watching.

A black wing unfolds.

A tail flicks.

And Baltimore’s strangest guardian begins another shift.

Nevermeow: protector of dumpsters, enemy of rats, terror of criminals, and proud owner of exactly zero permits.

Somewhere, Edgar Allan Poe is smiling.

Or demanding royalties.