the cat 1

one night we were sitting out on the porch swing, a pastime we have embraced now that the night sounds include cricket song instead of deafening car stereo and the nightlife includes tree frogs instead of drunken brawlers, when a sound came from the darkness in the general direction of the driveway. i said to joe, “was that a cat?” and answering meow saved him from the need to tell me that my auditory hallucinations should generally be kept private.

out from under the red truck she sauntered, a fat gray and white lady rubbing our ankles and, frankly, kissing up for all she was worth. but it worked. after some kissing up of my own, i convinced joe to let me feed her some old taco meat from the fridge. charlie was so taken with her that he immediately started to follow her around, even imitating the way she rubbed between joe’s ankles. he heard me call her, “kittykittykitty,” and even tried to pronounce it himself, though it came out, “k'tigutigutigu.” i couldn’t deny the boy his hearts desire. at least, that’s my story and i’m sticking to it.

when we got out of bed the next morning, there was a gray face peering in the glass at the bottom of the front door, and plaintive meowing could be heard faintly through the windows. we had been adopted. so i dug out the old pet bowls and the next time i went to town, i picked up some cat food and a cat brush. it did occur to me that i might be spoiling this creature that we had so cavalierly dubbed “catface.” but over time it became evident that she couldn’t really get much more spoiled than she was.

our new mistress spends most of her time lying around on the lawn mower seat, or the lawn chairs when it gets too hot. whenever i go outside, she demands to be fed. for a while we thought she might be pregnant, so lethargic and round she was, but on second thought, we’re pretty certain she’s just fat and lazy.