Theresa Weir: The Girl with the Cat Tattoo

After the reading at Gimme Shelter, she and Joe went to the grocery store and picked up shrimp to grill. And once they were home, they let Max roam around in the backyard where he sniffed dandelions and ate grass until he threw up.

Inside, they ate at the table with flowers in the center, flowers Melody had picked from the yard. Joe sat where David used to sit, and the wine glass he lifted to his lips had once touched David’s.

“You okay?” Joe asked.

Was he married? Was that his secret? “Sometimes I think I should move. Sometimes I think it’s not good for me to be here.”

“Move from the house, or the town?”

“The house. But maybe even the town. Maybe a fresh start would be a good thing. Leave everything behind and start over.”

Joe looked hurt that she would think of leaving. “Isn’t your family here?”

“Yes. But that’s not always a good thing. They worry…” Maybe she was fishing. Looking for some kind of declaration from him. It didn’t come.

She heard scratching and looked down to see Max digging at Joe’s backpack. “Max, stop that.” He ignored her. She repeated his name, this time louder. With a twitch of his tail, he stopped his digging.

Joe and Melody sat at the table eating the shrimp they’d cooked outside. So far, nobody had offered Max any of it, and he loved shrimp. There had been some discussion about his delicate stomach and the grass he’d eaten, but ignoring him so completely was rude, especially after what he’d put up with at the shelter. He really deserved to be the star here.

Joe’s backpack was still in the corner of the dining room, on the floor, and even though Max had been scolded once already, he couldn’t quit thinking about exposing the contents of the bag-and exposing Joe. The zipper was zipped, but not all of the way. The gap was big enough for a paw, and then a nose, and then Max’s entire head.

“Max!”

Melody’s voice was muffled because of the canvas backpack. Max squirmed, making the opening bigger. A chair scraped across the hardwood floor. Max dug frantically. He could smell the oil and metal of the gun. His claw snagged the leather holster, and he grasped a corner in his teeth and pulled, backing up as he went. The case caught on the zipper, and Max popped out with nothing.

Look, he has a gun. Guns are bad. Joe is bad.

But Melody was looking at Max, not the backpack. And suddenly Joe was there, zipping the bag closed, picking it up, taking it to the living room where he deposited it on top of a bookshelf.

Not cool.

When Joe returned, he gave Max an odd look. Almost like he was trying to figure him out. Almost like he wondered if there was more to Max than he’d originally thought.

Normally Max would have been thrilled to have someone finally see him for who he was, see him for more than your average cat. Max had spent his life trying to get people to appreciate his uniqueness, but this wasn’t the time or the place for that level of awareness.

No, let Joe think he was as dumb as that yellow cat next door who talked to people’s feet. Just thinking about it made Max’s eyes cross. But who was he to judge? A lot of cats didn’t think deeply about anything, and they were probably happier for it.

Dinner ended. Dishes were done and food was put in the refrigerator.

The night routine was one that had become familiar, with the door shutting and Max being left in the living room to fend for himself. He waited by the door, and when morning came he shot inside. But today he didn’t hide or run under the bed or into the closet. This time he marched straight to the pile of Joe’s clothes, squatted, and peed. It was a lot of pee, because he’d been saving up all night.

“Max!” Melody stood near the foot of the bed, bare legs poking out from under her nightshirt with the cats on it.

Max kept peeing until he was finished, then, with a flick of his tail and a shake of a paw, he stepped off the pile of clothes. He fully expected somebody to throw something at him. Instead, both humans stared at him in shock and worry.

“Did you ever take him to the vet?” Joe asked. He was lying in bed, head propped in one hand.

“No, he seemed to be better, so I forgot about it.”

“I think we’d better do that today.”

We. Like they were a team. That was only slightly less disturbing than a vet visit.

Max ran from the room, heading straight for the doggy door he’d forgotten was sealed until he smacked his head against it. With that escape route out of the question, he thundered down the basement steps and hid behind the clothes dryer, where Melody found him a few minutes later.

“You must be sick if you’re hiding down here in this awful place.” She tried to coax him out, but he refused to budge. Let her come and get him. Which, unfortunately, she did.

She pulled out the machine and dove for him before he could make a run for it. Then she crushed him to her racing heart and brushed the cobwebs from his face and whiskers. He felt her terror, and for a moment he couldn’t place it or understand it.

She kissed his head and rocked him against her. “You can’t be sick. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

And then her terror made sense. She was afraid of losing him. And he suddenly felt bad about peeing on Joe’s clothes. He wanted to tell her he was fine. Instead, he squirmed away and ran upstairs. Once in the kitchen, he began meowing for food the way he did every morning, this time to demonstrate that he did indeed feel completely normal.

“Something is wrong,” Melody said.

Joe poured fresh food in Max’s bowl. “I say we get him to a vet right away. Could be a kidney infection.”

Together Joe and Melody took Max to the vet. Joe drove his car, a little black job he called a Civic, while Melody held Max on her lap in the carrier. Neither one talked, but Max could feel Melody’s tension and nervousness. He tried not to say anything or make the situation worse, but he couldn’t help but yowl several times. He was too upset to be embarrassed.

Max knew the exact number of turns from his house to the vet’s parking lot. He could smell the coffee shop on the way, and the Laundromat just up the block. And when they pulled to a stop, he could even sense the terrified animals inside, and that made him yowl even louder and longer.

“Oh, he’s a noisy one,” the woman behind the counter said.

The smell! The smell struck terror in his heart. An odd odor that he associated with hands and needles and animals in pain.

They took him to a room and closed the door. It wasn’t as bad inside the smaller space, but it was still enough to drive a cat mad. He could sense the animals that had been there before him. Some young, some old, some that never went home again.

Home.

That was all he wanted. Home. His home, his bed, his food, his catnip, his strip of sunshine.

The doctor had a nice voice, and that calmed Max some. An exam, then the doctor left, and a young girl took Max away from Melody. Max screamed when the door closed and he could no longer see his mistress. They did things with needles. He didn’t know if the needles bothered him. He didn’t think so. It was more the not knowing what was going to happen. It was more about not being in control of the situation.

After more poking and prodding and holding Max down, the doctor carried Max back to the small room and handed him to Melody. Never had Max felt so relieved. He pressed his head to her chest and closed his eyes, trying to block out the room and the doctor.

“I can’t find anything wrong with him,” the doctor said. “We did a urine tap, and that was negative. We drew some blood and will send it to the lab. I’ll call you in a few days, but I don’t expect to find anything. Sometimes cats just do weird things. Has anything changed in your life? Most cats don’t like change, and that can cause uncharacteristic behavior. If he’s urinating in odd places, you might have to retrain him to use the litter box.” That was followed by barbaric and hideous retraining instructions that Max hoped Melody would ignore.