Conversations with the Cat

Zeus

It was days later.

Or, really, it might have been hours. His belly was convinced it was longer. He’d tried in vain to find a mouse, even a mole. He honestly wouldn’t mind a moth for a small snack, either. But the place he lived remained as fastidious and mouse-free as it had ever been.

Fortunately, as the sun dipped in the sky, the door creaked open.

At last.

Someone had remembered the cat existed. Surely, it would be the red-haired woman with the jingly bracelets on her arms. That woman was a favorite person of his. She seemed to have one purpose in the world.

Serve him.

He liked it when humans had that purpose.

But that woman didn’t wander in. It was the bird woman. The woman who wanted to nibble on the man he lived with.

Well, hello, lady.

The cat rubbed against her leg both in greeting and a clear command—FEED ME NOW.

“So good to see you, too.” She bent down to stroke his head. “I’ve missed you so much. I’ll be taking care of you for the next few days. But I promised Patrick I would be a very good girl. So if you see me rifling through his things, you have permission to scratch and claw me.”

She was taking too long. He needed food, and he needed it stat. He’d have to try her other leg. Perhaps rubbing that one would activate the can opener.

“Oh, you’re too sweet. Do you want me to pick you up?”

The woman scooped him in her arms, and he pushed his head against the bare skin of her chest. Ah, that was nice. No wonder his master seemed fascinated with that area of the woman.

“I’ll give you your tuna, and I’ll tell you all about the exciting things I’m working on.”

She set him down, and he paced across the tile, waiting, waiting, waiting, as she entered the feeding zone. The sound of metal opening metal rang out like a joyous song. Food was coming at last.

He turned in ceremonious circles, round and round, unable to contain his sheer excitement.

She set the dish on the floor, and he nearly wept with feline ecstasy—tuna and kibble. He purred as he ate. Meanwhile, the woman perched on the counter, kicking her feet, chattering on and on, perhaps to him.

“So that’s what I want to do with Pure Beauty. Because beauty products for cats is such a brilliant idea, right, Zeus? We can call it Purr Beauty then.” She stopped and winked at him, then hummed. “But then, there’s the other issue. What about Eric?” she asked, and her tone shifted. It was the sound of frustration, like how he felt when there was no longer a warm body on the bed in the morning. “I have to tell him about what happened with Eric. But I don’t want to go there, because this doesn’t seem remotely the same. The way I feel for Patrick is completely different. It’s like night and day.” She sighed and went quiet for a spell. “But I know it’ll have to come up. I need to be upfront about what’s held me back. Don’t you think?”

After he finished his feast, the woman stayed with him a little longer. He rewarded her excellent can-opening skills by deigning to sit in her lap as she tapped away on her little silver machine, chatting on the phone with someone she called Felicia and someone else she referred to as Lisa.

When she arrived another time, she carried a bag with her. “Look, Zeus. It’s a suit. Isn’t it to die for?” The woman ran a hand down the covering, almost as if she were worshipping the item. He rubbed against the bag, too. He was unable to resist clothing in bags. Or bags in general for that matter. “Seeing Patrick in this suit might possibly make me ovulate. I swear, I can’t be held responsible for my actions. Wait. Wait. Of course I’m responsible. I have to be good. Must be good. Even though that body in that suit might very well be the ever-loving death of my restraint.”

She walked into the other room, and he trotted after her instantly, since she seemed to have forgotten his needs.

A meow here and there and he’d successfully lured her back to the kitchen where she opened a can and fed him, then rattled on and on.

“I wonder what tie he’ll wear. If he’ll need help straightening it. If he’ll need help taking it off.”

He had his own issues to noodle on as he devoured the feast—was trout tastier than salmon? Was mackerel better than yellowtail? Those were interesting questions he contemplated as he dined.

She hopped off the counter, stared at the shiny fridge, and shook a finger at herself. “Stop it. Just stop it. You know the risks. Too high. Besides, he just wants to be friends. It doesn’t matter if you want to straighten his tie or undo it.”

Her stomach rumbled, and the cat really thought she ought to spend more time focusing on hunting her prey. The woman opened the box that held human food, grabbed a small bottle, and kissed his furry head before she left.

Sometime after, the man returned, and the cat circled his ankles in excitement.

“Hey, buddy, did Mia take good care of you? Did she treat you well? Did she tell you all her secrets?”

His answer was a deep and satisfied purr.

He was the cat. That meant he knew all their secrets, but he would never tell.