WHEN I BECOME A CAT…
Victor struggled up the stairs to his flat, pausing for a moment. His leg, broken five years ago, still ached.
He opened the door, entered the dim hallway, and closed the door behind him, standing for a moment in the shadows.
Those days felt so long ago. Long ago, he’d cross the threshold to find the home already bright.
Victor smiled involuntarily. He used to love unlocking the door with his key, trying to sneak in and surprise Lucy with a kiss. Yet, even if she was bustling in the kitchen, she always sensed his approach.
“Why didn’t you call again?” her freckled face would wordlessly ask every time.
Victor would shrug, lean in, and kiss Lucy on her freckled nose.
“Wash up,” she’d reply strictly, though her eyes would laugh.
He groaned quietly, wrenching himself from warm memories back to dreary reality. He slipped off his coat, kicked off his shoes, and then bent down to place them neatly.
Changing into something comfortable and washing his hands, he completed the well-established routine. He entered the kitchen and sat on a stool. Dinner was next on the list, but he wasn’t hungry, and nothing was ready.
In the past, he’d just open the fridge and sneak a piece of cheese or a slice of sausage. Or a pie. And dodge Lucy’s mock scolding as she’d say, “Victor! Acting like a boy as usual! Just wait a bit!”
She’d try to swat him with a tea towel, and he’d playfully dodge. They’d both end up laughing…
Victor glanced around the dark kitchen, reluctant to turn on the light. He could already see everything he needed. A peek inside the fridge revealed some eggs and bread. There was butter and frozen chicken in the freezer.
Victor could cook—he’d learned back during his university days when he lived in a dormitory. Yet, he didn’t want to turn on the light. He didn’t want to see the kitchen furniture they’d painstakingly chosen together.
He shut the fridge door, leaving everything untouched, and retreated to the living room, dropping heavily onto the sofa. Sleep? Too early. He could lay down, but he knew he wouldn’t drift off and would toss and turn until midnight.
Watch TV? There was nothing good anyway…
Sitting on the sofa, his mind inevitably drifted back to memories. The wedding. Their first Christmas. He had brought home a small pine tree the day before.
“Where are the decorations?” Lucy had asked.
“Decorations…” He didn’t have any. After graduating and starting work, he realized an engineer’s salary wouldn’t buy him a place, so he switched jobs. He saved up, bought the apartment, and renovated it. Decorations? Never got around to those.
Lucy had laughed.
“Wait a moment.”
She’d brought out walnuts and foil from the kitchen, wrapping the nuts and attaching them with paperclips until the tree was adorned.
“Gran did this at the farm,” she explained.
They eventually bought decorations, but a few of those first nuts still lay in the cabinet.
Victor glanced at the little vase, barely discernible in the dark, then jumped at the sudden ring of a phone.
It couldn’t be real, he thought. But the phone wouldn’t stop, even gently shaking against the thick crystal that held it.
It shouldn’t be happening. No phone holds charge for five years! Still, the ringing persisted.
Victor grimaced at the jolt in his leg and moved toward the cabinet. He picked up the phone and rasped, “Hello? Who’s this?”
The call ended. There was no voice on the line, but neither was there silence. Just someone’s breath.
“Lucy?” Victor whispered, feeling on the brink of madness.
Suddenly, he heard a song, the words of an old tune: “…Perhaps in another life, when I become a cat…”
Victor pulled the phone away, staring at it. The line repeated again and again, yet he couldn’t bring himself to switch off a device that surely couldn’t just power on!
And then – a second shock that evening – he heard a cry. If the TV were on, he’d have ignored it as mere meowing. But the sound was real, faint, coming from outside his door.
A kitten’s cry.
The phone fell silent at the same moment the plea for help echoed.
Victor glanced at the now-quiet phone, gently laying it back in the vase, and walked to the corridor. He finally turned on the light, squinting against the sudden brightness.
He waited, letting his eyes adjust, listening intently. No more sounds from beyond the door.
Could he have imagined all this? The call. The cry. And not just any cry—a desperate plea.
He swung the door open.
Before him, on the doormat, lay a tiny kitten.
Ginger. Its fur, like Lucy’s freckles. Like his wife’s fiery curls, when she was taken from him on a crosswalk, five years prior.
Victor bent down, lifting the small creature, which opened its mouth, letting out a hoarse meow. It had barely any strength left.
Victor stood frozen. Another weak meow – help!
“Oh, fool that I am! Standing here!”
He shut the door and hurried to the kitchen. The light flicked on; he set the kitten on the table. Grabbing a towel, he placed the frail little thing on top.
What now? He’d never had kittens, never mind one so weak!
Thirsty, he realized. He poured water into a saucer, but the kitten couldn’t rise. Carefully, Victor tried feeding it with a teaspoon, spillage notwithstanding; some did manage to reach its mouth.
What’s next? With trembling hands, he picked up his phone. Thank goodness for the internet!
Half an hour later, he knew what actions to take.
“You wait here, I’ll be right back,” he told the kitten, gently placing it, wrapped in a towel, into a bowl previously used for stuffing.
Victor dashed to the nearest shop, still open, for milk and kitten food. Returning, he consulted online advice again, preparing to feed and care for the little find. That’s when he realized it was a female kitten needing his help.
A kitten!
“Perhaps in another life, when I become a cat…”, Victor recalled.
He glanced at the kitten, which, even after his clumsy care, looked slightly healthier, and carried her to the sofa.
“Tomorrow then. We’ll go to the vet, do whatever the doctors say to make you better. You’ll get a bath. But for now, sleep, Lucy…”
