You Know Things Are Going Badly When The Cat Has Better Priorities Than You Do.
“You see, Becky’s mad at me.”
My cat, Feline, is curled up on the bedroom windowsill, snoring and devouring a squirrel in dreamland.
“You see,” I try again, “She’s so protective of her boyfriend nowadays, and after the incident with the socks she expressedly forbade me near him. But John’s my friend too, and anyway, how was I to know he was allergic to starch?”
He awakes with a start and stretches, giving me a look halfway between disgruntled and murderous.
I lower my voice again. “And, really, I needed to warn him not to mention horses around Missy this week; after the breakup with Suzie she’s been sensitive.”
Feline blinks lazily and studies his tail expectantly, as if it might do something to surprise him.
“Not that Suzie’s doing much better. She’s taken to carrying a teddy bear around and talking in the third person. She asked me what to name it, and I said Ursine.”
The cat bats his own tail and is quite startled by the result.
“But anyway, Becky. She won’t even talk to me to get homework help, so she’s turned in nothing in math for the last three days. I have half a mind to accidentally leave my notes in her locker. What do you think?”
Feline meows, possibly on cue but more likely due to the butterfly meandering by the window. The abused tail twitches, then loses interest.
“Of course, she hasn’t talked to Vanessa for weeks, I don’t even know what’s going on there, they said I shouldn’t meddle. But I had to comfort Vessy in the bathroom after a bad fight, and when Mrs. Hudgens happened to come in, we had to pretend she had allergies.”
Feline rolls onto his back, claws bared in case I had suddenly become stupid enough to fall for that trap. When it became clear I have no intention of touching his stomach, he rolls over again as if he had been planning on doing that the entire time.
“Vanessa and Missy would make a good couple. I wonder if they’re out to each other.”
Feline chooses not to comment.
“Your cat doesn’t care, you know that right?” calls my sister from the doorway.
“I know. Neither do I, I suppose.”