LJ IDOL - WEEK 5 - Kayfabe

[onecheapdate]

LJ IDOL - Week 5
Prompt: Kayfabe


“Stupid cat,” I hiss under my breath as I upright the plant in the hallway and use my hands to try and scoop as much of the dirt as I can back into the pot.

Halfway through the task, you lazily stride towards me and then weave your way under and around my arms, picking up soil on your feet, which you then track back down the hallway. I clench my teeth as you disappear from sight, turning the corner into the living room, tiny brown paw prints marking your way.

“I really hate you!” I call out, but I’m sure you’re completely unfazed.

I never wanted a cat. I didn’t want any pets at all. The responsibilities of animal ownership were not appealing to me whatsoever. I was working late hours and wanting to travel in my free time. I didn’t want to have to worry about being home at a certain time to feed a pet. I didn’t want to set aside some of my already limited disposable income as a potential vet bill nest egg. I didn’t want my clothes to be covered in cat hair every morning or to be lugging bags of litter up three flights of stairs to the apartment. But, Sam wanted a cat and I wanted Sam to be happy.

Our relationship was on the rocks and a pet was our bandaid baby. Having previously rebuffed his repetitive suggestions of getting a cat, I eventually gave in after a particularly nasty argument, desperate to do whatever I could to placate him. Despite my better judgement, I agreed to open our home to a fur child thinking it might make us more of a family and Sam more attached. I pretended to be invested in the charade of visiting shelters and then buying all the pet ownership essentials. I told myself that I would take a backseat; that the cat would essentially be Sam’s and most of the responsibilities would fall on his lap. And his excitement was contagious. I even found myself doubting my convictions. Maybe it would be nice to have a little furry friend to greet me when I returned home from work or to cuddle with on the couch while I read or to keep my feet warm in bed on particularly cold nights. I didn’t do a complete 180 on the situation, but I was definitely feeling more optimistic. Cats were independent and self-sufficient and Sam seemed more than happy to be in charge of care. This would be a piece of cake.

But I had been wrong. I was wrong about how seamlessly a cat would fit into our lives. I was wrong to think that none of the responsibility would trickle down to me. Most of all, I was wrong that getting a cat would fix our relationship and make Sam more invested in our little unit.

I had been right not to want a pet.

Eventually, things between Sam and I escalated. I could no longer ignore the constant arguments and the detachment and then the infidelity. When I finally worked up the gumption to kick Sam out of the apartment, effective immediately, I packed up all his things and left them on the lawn. But, I wasn’t so inhumane as to leave a cat out in the grass. And, maybe more so, if I’m being honest, a part of me wanted to spitefully keep the cat from him. Long after Sam had seemed to lose interest in me and our future, he still showered the cat with attention and affection. I was bitter. Bitter enough, apparently, to take full ownership of an animal that, thus far, I’d tolerated at best.

And right now in particular, as I crawled on my hands and knees down the hall, scrubbing away tiny, dirty, cat prints at 11 o’clock at night, I realized that that tolerance was wearing extremely thin.

***

I settle onto the couch with a quilt, a good book and a warm mug of tea. It’s chamomile and my novelty mug says ‘Tea-Rex’ on it with a picture of a cartoon dinosaur. I take a sip then place it on the coffee table and open my book. I’m ready for a morning of relaxation and losing myself in a good fantasy novel.

Except just a few moments later, my zen concentration is interrupted by the subtle scratch of ceramic against wood. I glance up from my page. You’re laying there on the table, eyes closed. I glare at you suspiciously for a moment before returning to my book. A minute of silence passes, and then the scratching sound again. This time, when I look up, your big, round, green eyes are staring right back at me and one guilty, outstretched paw is gently nudging my mug towards the end of the coffee table.

“Don’t you da-” is all I manage to get out before you give a final shove, sending the mug and all of it’s liquid contents tumbling to the floor. I cover my face with my book and scream obscenities into the pages as you saunter off, flicking your tail and seeming quite pleased.

We spend the rest of the day ignoring each other. You’re curled up somewhere warm and I’m doing chores, most of which somehow involve your care. I vacuum up all the cat hair from the furniture and clean your litter box. I wash and dry your food bowls. I collect your toys from under the refrigerator. I’m just about to start doing my own laundry when the doorbell rings. It’s unexpected, but not particularly alarming.

I’m sweaty and disheveled from the afternoon of cleaning, stained t-shirt and hair piled into a haphazard bun. I’m assuming it’s the UPS guy or maybe the landlord, but when I pull open the door, Sam is standing on the other side looking every bit as put together and handsome as I look an absolute mess. My immediate reaction is to slam the door just as quickly as I opened it, and I just barely stop myself from doing it. Instead, I force myself to lean against the door frame in the most casual pose possible and push a few flyaways back from my forehead.

“What are you doing here?” I ask coolly.

“Oh, uh, I’m here for the cat,” Sam answers, shifting to the side and glancing behind me, down the hallway. “You didn’t, like, give him away or… kill him? Did you?”

I scoff and move to block his view.

“I mean, I know you never really wanted him and things between us didn’t end on the best terms, but I didn’t want you two to be stuck with each other. If you still have his carrier I can just-”

“No,” I say, cutting him off. I can feel my throat starting to tighten and the edges of my mouth keep twitching downward. The reaction catches me off guard.

“No?” Sam seems as surprised as I feel.

“No,” I repeat, clenching my fists at my sides to steel my emotions. “We’ve actually been quite happy together since you’ve been gone. Turns out you were the problem.”

I don’t understand the words coming out of my mouth. I don’t know why I’m saying them. It would be so easy to go back into the apartment, shove the cat into its carrier and hand it off to Sam. It would be good riddance to them both. Closure. But, instead, I find myself closing the door in Sam’s face. I’m trembling and my eyes are welling with tears. I turn and there you are, sitting at the end of the hallway, watching.

“You heard his voice, didn’t you?” I snap. “I bet you’d like to go with him. The two of you. Best buddies. Well, that’s too bad. You have to stay with mean, ol’ me.”

You sit there staring at me with your tail swishing back and forth behind you. My chest aches and the tears finally spill over and roll down my cheeks. I sink to the floor with my head in my hands.

Am I really being this petty? Am I really saddling myself with this cat because I’m too spiteful to give Sam something he wants? No, I quickly realize. I panicked because I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to give up the cat.

As if on cue, I feel something soft and warm brush up against my arm. I look up and through a watery curtain of tears. There you are, rubbing up against me and and poking me with your wet nose, your tail gently thumping against my shoulder. I sigh and regain a bit of my composure as I gently scratch you behind the ears.

That night, I sleep in a bed that has felt far too lonely as of late, but this time your curled up against my side, purring away. It’s strangely comforting and relaxing and I silently admit that I could get used to this. I wonder if this is what it’s like to be a cat person. I’m sure tomorrow you’ll go back to attacking my feet every time I try to get comfortable and I’ll go back to cursing at you when you invade my privacy in the bathroom. Our truce will end and we’ll go back to hating each other. Or, at least pretending we do.