WHEN I WILL BECOME A CAT…
Victor slowly made his way up to his floor and paused for a moment. The leg he had broken five years ago still hadn’t fully healed and continued to ache.
He opened his front door, stepped into the dim hallway of his flat, closed it, and stood there for a bit without turning on the light.
How long it’s been. It used to be so bright when he’d cross the threshold! Victor couldn’t help but smile. He used to love unlocking the door with his own key, trying to enter quietly so he could sneak up on his beloved Lucy and give her a kiss, but even if she was busy in the kitchen, she always sensed his arrival.
“Why didn’t you call again?” was always written on her freckled face. Victor would shrug, lean in, and kiss Lucy on the nose, where freckles gathered the most. “Take off your coat and wash your hands,” she’d say in a stern voice, but her eyes would be laughing.
Victor let out a deep groan as he returned from the warm embrace of his memories to his dreary present. He took off his coat, slipped off his shoes, and then neatly placed them down. He changed clothes, washed his hands, following a routine long-established. He walked into the kitchen and sat down on a stool. It was time for dinner, though he wasn’t hungry and there was nothing prepared anyway.
In the past, he could quickly open the fridge and grab a piece of cheese or some sausage, or maybe a pie. And dodge Lucy’s protests: “Victor! Why are you acting like a little boy? Just wait a bit!” She’d attempt to swat him with a kitchen towel. Victor would dodge playfully, and both would laugh.
He surveyed the dark kitchen without turning on the light. Everything he needed to see was visible in the dimness. He opened the refrigerator. A few eggs, some bread. There was butter and a frozen chicken in the freezer.
Victor was capable of cooking; he’d learned before marrying Lucy while living in a dorm. But he didn’t want to turn on the lights and see the kitchen’s furniture they had painstakingly selected together.
He closed the fridge. Without eating anything, he moved to the living room and sank heavily onto the sofa. Sleep? Too early. He could lie down, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep and would just toss and turn until midnight.
Watch television? What was there to watch… Victor sat there, involuntarily slipping back into memories. The wedding. Their first New Year together. A day before New Year’s, he brought home a small pine tree. “Where are the decorations?” Lucy had asked. “Decorations…”
He didn’t have any. Having just finished college and started working, he realized that as an engineer, he wouldn’t be able to afford an apartment on his salary, so he saved up, bought a place, and renovated it himself. But decoration shopping had never been a priority.
Lucy chuckled and brought out nuts and foil from the kitchen. Diligently wrapping the nuts in foil, she attached a clip, soon decorating the pine with them. “Grandma used to do this in the village,” she explained. They did buy actual decorations later on, but a few of those original nuts are still in the cabinet.
Victor’s gaze shifted to the vase that was barely discernible in the darkness, and suddenly he flinched at the abrupt ringing of a phone.
He froze, thinking he was imagining things! But Lucy’s phone kept ringing, even slightly bouncing against the heavy crystal bowl. It couldn’t be possible. No phone could keep a charge for five years! Yet the ringing continued.
Victor stood abruptly, wincing at the pain in his leg, and moved towards the cabinet. He picked up the phone and, putting it to his ear, croaked, “Hello? Who is it?” The ringing stopped. He didn’t hear a voice, but also, there wasn’t silence. There was a sound of breathing. “Lucy?” Victor hesitantly asked, feeling like he was losing his mind.
And then he heard music, followed by words from an old song: “…Maybe in the next life, when I become a cat…” Victor pulled the phone away and stared at it. The line repeated and repeated, yet he couldn’t bring himself to turn off the phone that shouldn’t have been able to turn on.
And then – a second unexpected moment in the evening – he heard a cry. If the television had been on, he might not have noticed the mewing. The cry was real, but very faint, coming from outside.
A kitten was crying.
The phone went silent the moment the plea for help was heard. Victor looked at the silent device, gently set it back in the vase, and headed to the corridor. Finally, he turned on the light and squinted.
He waited a minute for his eyes to adjust and listened. No more noises from behind the door. All of it couldn’t have been his imagination, right? The call. The cry. Not just a cry, but a desperate plea.
Victor flung the door open. A tiny kitten lay on the doormat. Ginger. Ginger like Lucy’s freckles. Like the fiery curls of his wife, who was hit crossing the street five years ago.
He bent down and picked up the little one. The kitten opened its tiny mouth and let out a weak meow. It had so little strength left.
Victor stood motionless. The kitten meowed again – “Help!” “Oh, what a fool I am! Just standing here!” Victor shut the door and rushed into the kitchen. He turned on the light, placed the kitten on the table, pulled out a towel, and gently placed the tiny creature on it.
What should he do? He’d never had kittens before, especially ones so frail! “Thirsty,” he realized. He poured some water into a dish and placed it next to the kitten, but it couldn’t stand on its own. Victor gently spoon-fed it water. He spilled quite a bit, but some of it made it into the kitten’s mouth.
What’s next? He grabbed his phone. Thank goodness for the internet! In half an hour, he knew what to do.
“You stay put, I’ll be right back,” he told the kitten, gently placing it, towel and all, into a basin where they used to make minced meat. Victor dashed to the nearby shop that was still open for milk and pet food. Returning, he consulted online advice again and began feeding and caring for the little one. In the process, he discovered that a tiny female cat had come to him for help.
A kitty! “Maybe in the next life, when I become a cat…,” Victor remembered. He looked at the kitten, who was beginning to look better after his clumsy care, and took the little one to the sofa.
“Tomorrow, we’ll head to the vet, follow whatever the doctors say to get you back to health. I’ll give you a good bath. But for now, sleep, Lucy…”
