Theresa Weir: The Girl with the Cat Tattoo

The noon rush was over, and Jerry was the only other person left in the room. “Looks like you got a friend,” he said, hunched over his soup, arms on the table. “Are you sure you aren’t taking a shower in pheromones? That cat’s in love with you, dude.”

As soon as Jerry spoke the words, the cat calmed down and settled on his haunches.

It was odd, Joe had to admit.

“If I’d know he was going to turn into such a pain in the ass, I wouldn’t have invited him here,” Jerry said.

“That’s okay.” Joe searched for a piece of chicken and dropped it in a bowl just as he had the day before.

“Is the owner some kind of slacker who doesn’t take care of his pets?”

“Quite the opposite. I think Max is spoiled to the extreme. And the owner is a woman, not a guy.”

“Cat lady?”

“No. Well, maybe a cat lady in training.”

“Young?”

“Maybe late twenties.”

“Ah.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just, ah. Be kinda tough to get involved with anybody right now, if you know what I mean.” With no audience or witnesses, Jerry had dropped the homeless alcoholic act and was the old Jerry that Joe had worked with for the past several years.

“Why not?”

“Your job.” Jerry looked around the empty room. “This job.”

Joe sighed and tested the temperature of the chicken with one finger. “You’re right.” The job took a toll on relationships.

“Wouldn’t be fair.”

“Wouldn’t be right.”

“So what are you going to do with the cat?”

“Take him back home, I guess.”

“What’s she like? The owner?”

Joe thought about her. He didn’t even know her name, and he had no idea of her real hair color. But he recalled her pale skin, her blue eyes. “She was dressed weird… Now that I think of it, she was dressed almost like some storybook character with red braids and fake freckles on her nose. And she had cat stuff all over the place.”

“Okay, that does not sound like somebody you should get mixed up with.”

“I’m not going to get mixed up with her. I wouldn’t have expected to see her again if this guy hadn’t come back.” He bent and placed the bowl on the floor. “Here, kitty-kitty-kitty.”

Jerry pointed his spoon at Joe. “You know who the cat lady sounds like?”

“She’s not a cat lady.”

“Pippi Longstocking.” At Joe’s blank look, he continued. “From the books. She’s this obnoxious brat who has no parents and does whatever she wants.”

Max swiped at Joe with one paw, and Joe jumped back. “Guess he didn’t like my generic cat call,” Joe said.

“Maybe you’re supposed to bow and say: ‘Dinner is served, your grace’.”

“Did Pippi Longstocking have a cat?” Joe asked.

“How the hell should I know? Wait. I think she did have a cat. No, a monkey. She had a monkey. And a horse.”

Melody answered the door to find the man from yesterday standing on her front step, Max in his arms. Relief washed over her, and she took the cat from him. “I just got home from work and found him gone again.”

“You might want to check for an escape tunnel.”

“Did you eat the cupcake?”

“Er…”

“That’s okay.”

“Not that I didn’t want to.” He followed her inside. “It was just such a work of art that I hated to destroy it.”

“I’ll bet you threw it away.”

“It’s in a place of honor. Really.”

“Where?”

“The dashboard of my car, but soon, very soon, it will be in my house on a bookshelf.”

“You do know it won’t keep.”

“If the weather stays dry, maybe it’ll dehydrate and harden.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Where do you work?”

“Library.”

“They let you dress like that at a library?”

Today she was wearing her Alice in Wonderland costume. “I’m a children’s librarian.”

“Ah, okay. That makes sense. Kind of.”

“It’s for story hour.”

He looked relieved. “But all kidding aside, how is Max escaping?”

“Tiny doggy door. I’m going to have to seal it. I hate to do that, because he loves his outside time.” It pained her to think of depriving him of such happiness, but it had to be done.

Max jumped to the floor.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Joe.”

“I’m Melody.”

He nodded as if to say the name suited her, while Max rubbed against Joe’s legs, purring madly. Did he miss male companionship?

“Do you like football?” she asked.

Joe looked up in surprise. “Yeah, you?”

“No, but Max… Well, I think Max likes football. Do you drink beer?”

“Not a lot. I mean, I’m not an alcoholic, if that’s what you’re asking.” He was eying her with perplexity now. A little afraid.

“I think Max likes beer. Not drinking beer, but sitting on a person’s lap when he drinks beer.”

“Okay.” More perplexity. “Do you have any beer?”

“I don’t know. I’ll check.” She ran to the kitchen, dress and apron swirling. Yes, a couple of bottles in the back of the refrigerator. “It says I should have drunk these a year and a half ago!” she shouted, then turned to find the man right behind her.

“Doesn’t really matter, since this is just a test.” He slipped the bottle from her grasp. She dug an opener shaped like a cat from the silverware drawer, and handed it to Joe. He popped the top and headed back to the living room, planting himself in the corner of the couch. He put his feet on the footstool and took a timid sip of the stale beer. Max silently jumped on his lap and curled up.

Melody watched as Joe petted Max in a way Max didn’t like to be petted. But Max didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to like it. “Good grief. I don’t even know what to say. I really think Max is looking for male companionship.”

“No males around here?”

“Not for a while.”

“I see,” he said in a way that meant he understood she was no longer in a relationship. She didn’t like to tell people about David, especially strangers. It always made it seem that she was looking for sympathy, or it caused a long, awkward silence, followed by escape. “My husband died.” She waited for the awkward stuff. “Max was actually his cat.”

“I’m sorry.” Joe scratched Max behind the ear, and Max pushed into his hand and purred even louder. “I don’t know anything about cats, but he does seem to have formed an odd attachment to me.”

That hurt.

“But hey, I’ll bet it’s because I fed him chicken.”

She liked the way Joe didn’t ignore her dark revelation but commented, sympathized, and moved on. “I didn’t even know he ate chicken.”

Max didn’t even seem like her cat anymore. One minute he was peeing on a stranger’s clothes, the next he was snuggled up to somebody he’d never seen before yesterday. Did Max need a kitty shrink?

Joe seemed to be mulling something over in his head. “You don’t know me, but I could drop by sometimes. After I get off work.”

Melody remembered how she’d thought of him after he’d left. Even today at the library her brain had wandered back that direction.

“To hang out with Max,” Joe said, making it clear it was all about the cat.

“Kind of like a Big Brother?”

“Exactly.” He gave Max a head massage and fluff. “How does that sound, buddy? You and me? Hanging out?”

Max dove off the couch, slid under the red chair with the skirt, grabbed a catnip mouse, curled up with it in the center of the room, and clawed it madly with both back feet.

Joe stopped by the next night. And the next.

Very quickly the pretense of the visits being for Max was forgotten.