WHEN I BECOME A CAT…
Victor struggled up to his flat. He paused for a moment. The leg he had broken five years ago never stopped aching.
He opened the door, entered the dark hallway, closed it behind him, and stood quietly for a bit without turning on the light.
How long ago it was—it seemed so distant now—the times when he’d step over the threshold into a brightly lit home!
Victor found himself smiling at the memories. He used to love sneaking in quietly with his key, hoping to surprise Libby with a kiss, but she always sensed him coming, even if she was busy in the kitchen.
“Why didn’t you call again?” her freckled face always seemed to say.
Victor would shrug, lean down, and plant a kiss on her freckled nose.
“Take your coat off, wash your hands,” she’d say sternly, but her eyes would twinkle with laughter.
Victor groaned quietly, pulled back to the dreary present from his warm recollections. He took off his jacket and kicked off his shoes. Then he bent down to neatly arrange them on the floor.
He changed, washed his hands, following the ritual ingrained from the past. He went to the kitchen and sat on a stool. Dinner time, but he wasn’t hungry, and there was nothing ready to eat.
In the past, he’d swiftly open the fridge, grab a piece of cheese or some ham, or sneak a pastry. Libby would protest:
“Vic, stop acting like a child! Just wait a bit!”
And she would pretend to swat him with a towel. Victor would dodge playfully. Both would laugh…
He glanced around the dim kitchen. He hadn’t turned the light on. He could see everything he needed in the half-light. The fridge held a few eggs, some bread, and in the freezer were butter and a frozen chicken.
Victor knew how to cook. He’d learned back in his university days, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn on the light and see the kitchen they had lovingly furnished together.
He shut the fridge door and, still unfed, headed to the living room, dropping heavily onto the sofa. Sleep? It was too early. He could stretch out, but knew he’d just toss and turn until midnight.
Watch TV? What was there to watch…
As Victor sat there, memories drew him back in again.
Their wedding. Their first New Year. The day before, Victor brought home a small fir tree.
“Where are the ornaments?” his wife asked.
“Ornaments…?”
He didn’t have any. Finished university, started working, learned that on an engineer’s salary, he’d never buy a flat, so he switched jobs, saved up, bought and renovated one. Ornaments hadn’t crossed his mind.
Libby giggled, “Just you wait.”
From the kitchen, she brought nuts and foil, wrapped the nuts, and soon their little fir tree was sparkling.
“Grandma did this in the country,” she explained.
Later, they bought some ornaments, but a few of those original nuts still rested in the cabinet.
Victor glanced at the small vase visible in the darkened room and started at the sudden ring of the phone.
He froze, thinking he must be imagining it! But Libby’s phone continued to ring, the sound bouncing off the crystal it rested against.
This couldn’t be happening. No phone could hold a charge for five years! But the ringing continued.
Victor got up quickly, wincing at the pain in his leg, and went to the cabinet. He took the phone, held it to his ear, and hoarsely asked:
“Hello? Who is this?”
The ringing stopped. He heard no voice, but there was no silence either. Just the sound of someone breathing.
“Libby?” Victor asked tentatively, feeling like he was losing his mind.
Then he heard music, then the words of an old song: “…Perhaps in the next life, when I become a cat…”
Victor lowered the phone from his ear. He gazed at it while the line repeated over and over. He couldn’t find the courage to switch off a phone that somehow couldn’t be on!
Suddenly—another sudden surprise—a cry reached his ears. If his television had been on, he might have missed the faint mewing. It was real, but weak, echoing from down the corridor.
A kitten mewing for help.
The phone went quiet, just as the cry filled the air.
Victor looked at the now silent phone, set it back gently, and headed for the hallway. Finally turning on the light, he blinked against the brightness.
He waited a minute for his eyes to adjust and listened hard. There were no more sounds outside the door.
Could he have imagined it all? The call. The cry. Not just a cry, but an earnest plea.
Victor opened the door.
On the doormat lay a small kitten.
Ginger-colored. Ginger like the freckles dusting Libby’s face. Like the fiery curls of his wife, who had been taken from him at a pedestrian crossing five years prior.
Victor bent and picked up the little creature. It opened its tiny mouth and managed a weak meow. It barely had any strength.
He stood there frozen. The kitten meowed again—help!
“Where’s my head at?” Victor said, shaking himself.
He shut the door and dashed to the kitchen. Turning on the light, he put the kitten on the table. He got a towel and set the little thing on it.
What to do? He’d never had a cat before, much less one so weak.
Needs water, he realized, pouring some into a dish and setting it by the kitten. But the poor thing couldn’t stand. Victor gently spooned some water into its mouth, spilling plenty, but some went down the right way.
What next? Victor grabbed his phone. Thank goodness for the internet!
Half an hour later, he knew what needed doing.
“Stay put, I’ll be back,” he told the kitten, placing it with the towel in a dish where they used to mix pastry.
He dashed to the nearest shop still open, buying milk and kitten food. On returning, he consulted online again, then began tending to the little thing. He discovered that he had a little girl cat on his hands.
A girl cat!
“Perhaps in the next life, when I become a cat…” Victor recalled.
He looked at the kitten, who, after his clumsy care, appeared a bit better, and gently put her on the sofa.
“Tomorrow, we’ll take you to the vet. Follow the doctor’s orders to nurse you back to health. I’ll give you a bath. But for now, sleep, Libby…”
