True love

The cat:
Here I am, sitting on the stoep, waiting for my soul-mate, the love of my life, to come home. It’s the same thing, every week day. I sit here and wait: all alone, with no one in the world, till, he gets home. I wish I had a purpose in life. A great undying dream, like so many out there, waiting to be fulfilled, but I don’t. From the moment I was born, I waited for him. For as long as I can remember, I have needed him, and him alone. So every afternoon/late evening, I sit here. I sit here and wait for him to return to me. If he is but just 2 minutes late, I begin to panic. What possibly could have happened? Was he attacked on his way home? Will he ever come home? I sit, and I imagine his warm hands upon my neck, caressing me with lust and longing. Every night, he embraces me so. I am the most seductive creature he has ever had the privilege of laying his eyes on.  With my consent, he smoothes his muscular hands over my body, I purr as I open up to him whole heartedly; embracing every inch of him as he too, embraces every inch of me. This isn’t just lust. This isn’t just love. This is real. This is the reason I am! The reason he is! The reason we are.

Soon enough, I hear his car approach. I am trained in the art of the sound of Engine-Roar; I know when he is near. I brace myself; even though it has been this way for years, I still get nervous every time. He excites me. He brings my senses to life. I ready myself at the door. The sound of his house key entering the keyhole sends shivers down my spine – the metaphor of it all is downright – orgasmic! He opens up, and I throw myself at him. Just like every day before this, and every day to come, he embraces me whole heartedly. Once again, I am reminded that this is my purpose. This is my reason. He lowers me down to my feet so that he can come inside and my whole world is turned upside down with joy. I pull myself together. I don’t want him to see how needy I am. I want him to think that it is he, who needs me. So I put my nose up in the air and stroll over to the couch, knowing all too well, that he is watching me, wondering if I love him as much as he loves me. Love is a funny game. We have to keep each other on our toes if we want to keep this game interesting.

Being the romantic he is he decides to make us dinner. I sit in our open plan living room/ kitchen, watching him prep and cook. What a handsome man. I can just sit here and drool all day. So caring and sweet. I analyse every movement, appreciate every muscle, as he swoops down to pick up a heavy cast-iron pot or a chunk of beef. What a delicious sight. Just then, he lost it. I don’t know why.  I don’t know what triggers it. But it happens. Maybe he’s jealous? Maybe he doesn’t like the way I stare? Maybe he doesn’t want to be loved? He opens the cupboard door and throws the contents on the floor. I just know I’m going to get it; I hop up and run for the door, but it’s locked. I’m trapped between the man I love and the monster in the kitchen. What will he do to me? He storms over to me, marching with all the energy of an army of thousands. But he stops in front of me. He doesn’t lift a finger. But I am scared, I know, I feel it in my bones, the pain and suffering that awaits me – by his hand. Only, he opens the door, I run out, screaming like my life depends on it.

I’ve run as far as I can go before the adrenalin has run out. Tired, broken, I stop in the middle of a field somewhere and assess my surroundings. What is wrong with me? He would never hurt me, would he? Have I over reacted? Will he ever forgive me? How dare I return and look him in the eye, accuse him of being a monster? It hasn’t been 5 minutes, but already, I want to go back. Is this what an abusive relationship feels like? Who says he’s abusive? Technically, he hasn’t hurt me yet. I just love him so, so much. I have to go back. I have to apologise. He is, after all, all that I have in this world...

The human:

I could hear my tummy rumble as I sat in traffic waiting to get home. As winter approached, I seemed to get hungrier earlier and I’m sure my cat, Faith, felt the same. Poor thing; every night she’d wait for me to get home, eager for a meal of course. I rescued her from a shelter some years  ago; she was just a few weeks old. She was my little fur-baby, that’s what she was.

As I pull my car into the driveway, I can see Faith bolt towards the kitchen window. She would undoubtedly jump through the kitchen window and then wait at the kitchen door, like that’s where she’d been all day long. I sometimes wonder what goes on in that silly little head of hers. How I’d love to be a fly on the wall and see what exactly she gets up to while I’m away. I start to unlock the door, a tricky process; holding my lunch tin, laptop bag and office files all while trying to get the door open as fast as humanly possible, because Faith is on the other side screaming her lungs out – as if she hasn’t been fed in weeks. I tell you, if this cat were a human, she’d be fit for Broadway!  As I swing the door open, I try to make my way to a counter safely. It’s not easy when you have a cat zig-zagging through your feet, fighting for your immediate attention. As soon as I’ve safely placed my laptop bag on the counter, I pick Faith up and hug the crap out of her. This usually encourages her to pull out the claws and get away as fast as possible. A strange thing, a cat is, always demanding affection, but rejecting it all at the same time.

Anyhoo. I decide I need to prepare dinner. The sooner I get it done, the sooner I can relax! I take out some beef mince and plonk it in the microwave to defrost. I then reach down for a frying pan out the bottom cupboard. I’d bought hamburger buns during my lunch time, so home-made burgers it was. Once the mince was all thawed out, I searched for my trusty old plastic container to mix my hamburger patty mix. I couldn’t find it. I cussed a few times under my breath – the damn maid kept packing it in a new location, and I was tiring of her games. I finally spotted it on the top shelf of the top cupboard. How in the hell, did she get it there? I was barely tall enough to reach for it. I extended my entire body, reaching as far upward as I could go, only just managing to grip the edge of the plastic container with the tip of my fingers, when suddenly, that simple, singular action, had a catastrophic effect; it was a plastic avalanche. Every single item buried away in that cupboard came shooting out, like that possessed girl in The Exorcist excreted profanities. Tupperware dishes that I hadn’t seen in years decided to extricate themselves from the confined space of the kitchen cupboard that had no doubt, been harbouring them against their will for all these years. It was only after the plastic massacre, that I realized that in the background, the most god-awful sound had polluted the air. I turned around, absolutely fear stricken, to face the source. It was Faith. She was on all fours, her back curled toward the ceiling with every single black hair on her body, facing up to the sky. Her mouth was open, with her teeth exposed and the sound that escaped could only be described as the kind of sound I pictured Satan himself, singing to his antichrist child as a lullaby. I ran toward the sliding door to free the poor animal. I don’t know if I did it so that she could get out, or because it was I that wanted her out, but it had to be done, the devil had to go.

It was hours later. Dinner had long since been devoured and my feet were kicked up on the coffee table, when Faith came strolling in through the door. I called her over, I wanted to apologise; the poor thing must have thought that world war III had broken out. But she was still skittish toward me. She darted over to her food bowl and nibbled on a few pellets before finally coming over to me. As I stroked her furry body and whispered sweet nothings into her little ear, I could feel her body start to relax against my chest and when she started to purr, I knew, all had been forgiven.

Author’s note: This story was based on an actual life experience, experienced by me. The first half of this story was from my cat’s perspective, the second, from mine. Read again, with this knowledge.