Still, she couldn’t bring herself to dump the cat again. Part of it had to do with the logistical difficulties. She just didn’t feel up to the task of getting the cat back into its cage, which would require picking him up and holding him. She’d gotten used to picking him up long enough to fling him into the bathroom or the closet, but couldn’t imagine actually managing to stuff it back into the tiny carrier. If McKay refused to drive her, which was likely, she’d have to take a bus, possibly with a transfer, back out to Northeast D.C. And then she’d have to face the kid in the cutoff shorts and explain that living with the cat was impossible.
It was all too much for her current state of unhappiness, running pretty much at a constant level seven, by her best estimate. She felt like she had a continual head cold, without the runny nose. The problems of her to-do list, her income, where she was going in life, seemed like someone else’s problems. She knew she should be attending to these things, but as long as her severance held out, drinking coffee and commiserating with John, reading about the Battle of Britain, and playing pool with McKay seemed infinitely preferable. Besides, it was impossible to work from home, when your home smelled like the bathrooms at Camden Yards.
One night when the cat was shut in the hall closet, the location furthest from her bedroom, she woke up to the familiar thud, thud, thud as the cat heaved itself against the closet door. Then suddenly there came a desperate, strangled yowl and a horrible crash.
She rushed to the hall closet and pulled open the door. The cat, clearly unharmed, came flying out and dashed to its hiding place under her bed. Her heart still pounding in her chest, she peered inside the closet. The hanging rod and the shelf above it were now on the ground, on top of the coats and shoe boxes they’d once held.
Her leather coat was on the ground. She picked it up, fingers trembling. It was perhaps her most treasured item of clothing, which made it her most treasured item, period. She’d gotten it one weekend in Greenwich Village, after seeing The Matrix with Rudy. It was perfectly cut, its leather buttery soft. The entire left side of the coat, from breast to knee, had been shredded, in the cat’s fall. The wine-colored lining peeped through, in places where the cat’s claws had gone in the deepest, as if the coat were bleeding.
“THE CAT HAS TO GO,” SHE SAID TO JOHN, A FEW HOURS later, “or I do.”
He was pouring her coffee. She put her head on the counter. “My most prized possession in the whole world,” she moaned. “Destroyed.”
“We’ll find you another coat,” he said.
“You don’t understand. That wasn’t just some coat. That was my Matrix coat. I could never afford something like that now. Fucking cat!”
“The poor thing,” John said. “He’s just traumatized because Rudy abandoned him. I mean, imagine it, one minute you’re, you know, on the pillow, the next, you’re in a cage at the pound. Sure, he’s going to be angry.”
She looked down at her shoes. She thought perhaps she’d forgotten to put her contacts in, everything was so fuzzy, but she was pretty sure she was wearing one loafer and one ballet flat. “My shoes don’t match,” she said.
John peered over the edge of the bar. “So go home and change them.”
She picked her head up off the counter. It was heavy with fatigue. When was the last time she’d slept for more than four hours? “Okay,” she said, through the cotton of her head. “Where do I live?”
John managed to convey a look that reached out and ruffled her hair, without actually reaching out to ruffle her hair, which would have only annoyed her. She liked the kind of friends they were. But another part of her feared that if something didn’t happen soon they’d end up at the point of no return, neutral chums between whom there wasn’t anything more than a faint echo of a romantic spark. Or, worse: Something would happen soon. The thought gave her a grip of fear in her stomach. What, then?
Pru stayed at the café later than usual, reading the Post. Finally, at ten, she decided she should brave the situation at home. The thought occurred that she might just grab her laptop and come back to the café to work. She was weighing the pros and cons of such a bold move when the door opened and another girl came in.
The girl headed straight for the counter, calling out flirtatiously, “Owen! I have a bone to pick with you!” John looked up and smiled at the girl. He put his arms over his head, as if to defend himself, and the girl raised her fists. She took the seat Pru had just vacated and began scolding him, while he continued to pretend to cower.
“Mea culpa!” Pru heard him say.
Pru made herself keep walking out the door and away from the café. What was that all about? She didn’t think the girl had been John’s estranged wife, the elusive Lila. People in the middle of a divorce weren’t exactly playful with each other, but there was definitely something between these two. She wished she could return and see what was happening now. The café had been nearly empty. Anything could be going on in there now, anything at all.
The cat was in the middle of the floor when she got home. He
