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The Day Kitty Friend Moved Away

This story is about a day in my life that changed me forever. You see, Kitty Friend was my neighbor’s cat, not just any old cat but a cuddly, playful, loving little kitten. He would drop in uninvited, wander into the bedroom, jump up into the bed, sashay over to my side and settle down on my stomach. Then, he would gently nudge the book I was invariably reading and demand attention. I would scratch him, he would purr. After a few minutes of this, he would want to play with me. His favorite game was to play mouse with my hand under the covers. My hand would be the helpless mouse attempting to escape from beneath the watchful eyes of the stern Kitty Friend, and he would allow me a little wiggle room before attacking mercilessly. I would read my book with one hand and be an obliging mouse with the other, and this wouldkeep us occupied for a whole afternoon.

One day it happened. Our neighbor just upped and left. Without a word. My only clue was when Nick returned to the bedroom that morning with the morning newspaper and muttered something under his breath about how noisy the moving truck was. That should have tipped me off that something was amiss, but instead I consoled him with an absent shake of my head, repeated "so noisy" and continued reading. That afternoon, I was doing my usual "why launder, clean or do my homework when there is an exciting novel waiting to be read"-stint when I felt Kitty Friend’s absence. Reading a novel didn’t bring me the blissful feeling it normally did. I put the book down, jumped out of bed and ran over to the window overlooking my neighbor’s house. He was nowhere to be seen, and curiously enough the deck chairs that had been permanent fixtures were gone. I got nervous, suspicious, started biting my lips and pacing up and down as I am wont to do. Where did they go? A vacation, perhaps. I brightened momentarily, but then realized that they would have left the deck chairs outside. I jumped into my sweats and went over to their house. I peered through their windows. They were gone, the house was empty. I couldn’t believe it. No good-bye, no note, nothing. I sat down on the doorstep and contemplated my feet. I missed Kitty Friend, and the thought of never being able to see him jump onto the bed and walk purposefully toward me, or never to be able to pet him or play mouse with him, were unbearable.

That night, I felt it even stronger. It was as if someone had died. I turned to Nick who was snoring gently. We had to have sex. He was shocked. So unlike me, he was probably thinking. Let’s talk about Nick for a moment. Nick had been my live-in boyfriend then for about four years. I had grown used to him. Much like my favorite Papasan and my Jasmine plants. I had become dependent on having him around, the way he scratched his jaw when he was puzzled, his half-subdued burp after dinner, his big frame draped by loose shirts and baggy pants and his slow, gentle soul. After Kitty Friend left, I began to smother him with affection. Initially he liked it, we had sex all the time. Then he began to tire of it, even got irritated by it. And finally, like Kitty Friend, he left. Just upped and left. No note, no good-bye. I didn’t even cry. I didn’t even miss him. Oddly. But what was I going to do with all my misplaced emotions for Kitty Friend.

Enter Jane, my trusted friend. I know what you’re thinking, and no, I don’t become a lesbian, although I have experimented before, but that’s another story. Jane is a no-nonsense woman and much too sensible for me. Heaven knows why she stuck it out with me. As you may have concluded yourself, I am probably the antithesis of sensibility. Maybe she got a kick out seeing how lousy my grade was in the sensibility report card, and rejoiced in her superior one. Anyway, she was a dear friend. Whenever she came over, she’d always wander around the house, put things away, tidy up the place and water the plants. I’d be trying to talk to her, and she’d be busy doing housework. At times, I’d plead with her that would she please stop cleaning and pay full attention to me. Then she would go into a shudder and say how the mess got to her her very fabric of being. Jane allowed herself a little drama sometimes.

So, I told Jane what happened. Her simple solution: why didn’t I get my own cat! Brilliant. That was it: the magic pill and the solution to all my problems, well, not all of them. Now, before you rush to judgment on the obviousness of the solution, I should say in my defense that we hadn’t gotten a cat before because Nick had a slight allergy to them, and I had gotten used to not being able to have a cat. Now that Nick was gone, a cat could come.

So, off I went to the neighborhood pet store. When I entered the store, I realized that I hadn’t been to a pet store in a really long time. Everything seemed so strange to me. Perhaps pet stores themselves hadn’t changed but I had. Anyway I couldn’t explain it. What I felt above everything else was a sense of horror. Everywhere I looked I saw cute little animals cooped up in tiny cages with no space to move around. Kittens, puppies, birds, fish all scrunched together looking so unhappy (alright I can’t really tell when a fish is unhappy). I asked the boy behind the counter how long these animals stay in these cages before they’re sold, and he gave me a "wonder if she’s daft" look. Kids can be so direct. He shrugged, and said "it depends". Then his face brightened. "Fishes go really fast", he said. "People keep killing them. But these cats, they’ve been here for a couple of months." I was aghast. Poor helpless kittens. "Do you let them out at all, in the nights maybe, when you close shop?" I asked. He resumed his gum chewing, and had a far-away look as if this conversation was really boring. "Nahh, too much work getting them back in." I couldn’t take it anymore. I was livid and had to leave. Fists clenched, red in my face, fretting and fuming, I made it back to my house.

I needed to do something to let off steam. I went to the garden choked with weeds, a few roses struggling to get above them. I started pulling the weeds out. When I was done a few hours later, there were no plants in the garden: weeds and roses. I went inside and started boiling some water. The sun was going down and I thought some tea might soothe me. I paced up and down my living room, thinking evil thoughts, that boy’s face in front of me, choking on the chewing gum, my hands around his neck.

Somehow without making a conscious choice to do so, I found myself in front of the pet store again. Standing in front of the door (with a "Closed" sign on it) with a hair dryer in my hand. Yes, a hair dryer, the modern woman’s baseball bat, of KMart vintage, a clunky thing and a fine weapon. It had a mind of its own too, it seemed, for suddenly I found it propelling itself out of my hand racing toward the glass door. The glass shattered, an alarm started wailing. I calmly reached inside, through the broken glass and opened the door. I walked down the store aisle opening one cage door after another. Birds were flying, puppies were scampering and kittens were meowing. I felt a strange sense of purpose in the world, as if I had found my true calling. I stopped at the fish tank. What is one to do with fish. I couldn’t carry them to the nearest lake, could I? I never really liked fish anyway, I reasoned. It was time to go before I was caught red-handed. I hurried to the door, then stopped. What would be the point of it all if I left like a common vandal. No sir, I wanted to take responsibility for it. I wanted the whole world to know that I, Jessica Mary Lawson, a 27 yr. old student of sociology at Clark University did it for a damn good reason.

So, off to prison I went. Then onto a world of activism: animal rights, environmental, women’s rights, diversity, politics and so on. That however, my friends, is another story. Looking back I often wonder how I can ever thank Kitty Friend for the contribution he made to my life, that had he never left, how different my life would have been.