Read by Nicky Diss - Listen to full podcast
They both understand that the things they say to the cat are meant for each other.
Darling, sweetheart, love you. Things they'd never dream of saying to each other for real.
Thinking back, Kara can't quite remember how they came to have the cat. A cat doesn't exactly fit their image, their arty hipster London lifestyle; especially not an ordinary little shorthair moggy off the streets, tabby with white paws. The litter tray, they have to admit, kind of cramps the style of their trendy high-rise apartment.
But the cat had followed them home one evening last November after a late-night gig, and somehow they'd ended up keeping her. They were amused by the thought, maybe, the incongruity of it. Like, so random.
Yes, that was probably it. Because everything's like that with them, wrapped in nine layers of irony and whimsy — they'd even called the cat 'Cat', because hey, it's a cat, right?
But when you see your thirty-fifth birthday on the horizon, approaching with alarming speed? That whole too-cool-for-school thing can start to get a bit old.
Kara buries her nose in the cat's soft fur, breathing in its comforting familiar smell.
"Oh, my sweet love," she says. "You make me so happy. I'm so glad you're mine."
She imagines saying that to Tim. Imagines him saying anything tender to her. Though hadn't he tried once — that time in Ibiza, with a rom-com sunset over the beach and too much wine, he'd actually come out with the ‘L’ word — and she'd, yes, she'd laughed. Maybe that was where it all started to go wrong. He certainly hadn't tried again.
"You get to a point," Kara explains to the cat, with a sigh, "where it's just too late to change."
#
Monogamy's so outdated, Kara's always said, playing it cool, not wanting to be one of those clingy types. She's had a couple of flings — one guy, one girl — in their early days together, so it's only fair he gets his turn. Bring her here, if you like, she said, I don't mind, maybe we'll make it a threesome, hey?
Thinking, it's been five years, shouldn't it be me and you now?
Maybe she could bear it if it was anyone but Lucy: she's everything Kara is, only that little bit better; no wonder he fancies her. And now the apartment's ready for an intimate little party: beer and joints and music, and Lucy at the door.
Maybe she'll be allergic to cats or something. Kara arranges her face in a smile, and wonders if it looks as fake as it feels.
"Nice to see you," she makes herself say in sugary tones, though inside her stomach clenches, every cell of her body ready to fight; get away from my man.
In the kitchen doorway the cat lurks, eyeing Lucy suspiciously. Arches its back, fur standing up along its spine and hisses.
Can I get you a drink? Kara's about to ask her unwelcome guest, when the cat hurtles past her, launches itself towards Lucy. In mid-air it grows, the size of a small dog, then a Rottweiler, then as big as...
Lucy shrieks, jumps back, scratches raked red down her arm.
"No!" Kara manages at last. "Sorry!" She's grabbing handfuls of fur, hustling the giant cat into the kitchen. They crouch behind the counter, listening as Tim sees Lucy out.
Really sorry, never done that before. No, not really, she's always been a bit of a big cat, looked a perfectly normal size to me, must be the shock. See you around, yeah? No? Oh.
The door closes, Tim comes back into the kitchen. He blinks, stares at the cat. He's stoned, but not that stoned; that is a seriously large cat.
"How'd she get so big?" he asks, looking accusingly at Kara as though it's her fault. She shrugs. "Don't look at me."
The huge cat goes to him, curls itself around his feet and settles down.
"You're a funny cat," he says, sitting down at the table. "Shouldn't have done it though. Lucy's nice, you shouldn't have hurt her."
The cat rubs its head against his knee, gazes up at him. He rubs the soft fur between the cat's ears, the way she likes, and she cuddles close, purrs contentedly.
"Oh, all right, my darling," he says. "Never mind, my love. She won't be coming back."
#
The cat diminishes to its previous size as the days go by, while they don't talk about it, don't talk about anything except the usual trivialities and cat platitudes.
"Maybe I've outgrown you," Kara says at last, because she can't go on saying nothing any longer. The cat prowls the balcony rail like a gymnast on the beam. Thirteen storeys up, each paw delicately placed. It's the first warm Saturday of summer, windows thrown wide and barbecue smells drifting in from below.
"Yeah?" Tim says, studying the sky, squinting at a plane up there heading in towards Heathrow. Kara doesn't need to squint to see the look he thinks he's hiding so well ̶ but he won't say it, won't show it, and she won't beg him.
Then the cat just leans away from the balcony, towards the sky, and tumbles. A flurry of tabby fur and she's gone.
They're frozen in time for a moment. Kara feels like her heart stops, she can't get a sound out, looks at Tim and sees all his pretences dissolved. Then time starts again, they both rush to the rail, leaning out to look over the edge.
The cat is drifting gently towards the ground, paws splayed. They look at each other.
"I read somewhere," Kara says, her voice coming out a bit shaky, "if it's above the eleventh floor they can, like, parachute or something."
"That's totally an urban myth," Tim says. "Isn't it?"
The lift's broken again; they rush down the stairs. Outside the cat is sunning itself calmly on the courtyard stones. It sits up and looks at them unblinking as they approach.
Kara cradles the cat in her arms, holding it tenderly against her body, she can feel the little heartbeat. Tim kneels down too, puts an arm around her, around them both.
"Oh, my precious cat," he says. "If anything ever happened to you..." He leans his head on Kara's shoulder. "Don't ever leave me."
“She won't,” Kara says.
#
They keep the windows closed, no more high-wire hunting allowed. The cat sits on the window sill, staring wistfully out.
"I don't think she likes being an indoor cat," Tim says. "Maybe we should move, get a house, with a garden and whatever. So she can go out."
"What, like, suburbia?" Kara asks, the mocking tone a delicate balancing act — don't quite dare let my guard down yet, but let's not stop talking about this yet. She's careful not to look up from her iPad.
"Yeah, I know, but think about it. Might be nice to have a proper home. A bit more room, in case..."
There's a pause, while the word 'family' hangs unspoken in the air.
"In case the cat gets big again," he says instead.
Kara suppresses a smile — she's not going to be the first to say it — flicks her fingers idly over the screen.
"Will you put that thing down?" the cat says.
The tablet slips out of Kara's hand, hits the floor with a thud.
They both turn to stare at the cat. The cat just stretches, extends a foreleg for examination before giving it a perfunctory lick. The usual cat stuff.
There's a brief silence.
"What ... are you, anyway?" Tim asks. "You're not an ordinary cat. How come you can talk? How'd you get so big that time?"
"Oh, questions," the cat says. "This isn't about me. Though speaking for myself, I'm looking forward to this suburban idyll business, those flowery gardens are crawling with rats. And those juicy little songbirds, you'll put bread scraps out to lure them, I assume?"
"That doesn't sound very nice," Kara objects; animal-lover, vegetarian since twelve. The cat raises a tabby-stripe eyebrow.
"I'm a cat. It's what we do. You're the ones that need to change."
"What do you mean?" Tim asks.
"I mean, why don't you leave all that hipster-cool posing to me?" the cat says. It turns away and stretches — languorous, taking its time — then inclines its head back towards them with effortless elegance. "Cats do it so much better."
Its luminous green eyes flick over both of them.
"Oh, and while you're at it, leave the catting about to me too, hey? I'm not moralizing, but honestly you're better off sticking with monogamy, for simplicity's sake. You can't handle anything more complicated."
Kara winces slightly, then pulls herself together.
"If we do all that stuff," she says, "will you leave the talking to us? Because it's kind of weird, you talking. You're a cat." She glances at Tim. "I mean, it's one thing in Hackney, anything goes, but in the suburbs we're going to have to be a bit more proper."
"It's a deal," the cat says.
#
They watch anxiously from their new front door as the cat strolls outside for the first time. It leaps up onto the garden wall — who would have thought it could be so athletic? —and disappears through the clematis-entwined trellis fence into the neighbouring garden.
"Do you think she'll be all right?" Kara asks. The outdoors here seems enormous, a vast cherry-blossom-strewn cut-grass-scented wilderness to a city-born girl. Or indeed to an urban cat. "I mean, she won't get lost? She'll come back, won't she?"
"I think so," Tim says. "Hope so." He pauses. "I love that cat." His hand reaches for hers, their fingers intertwine.
"Me too," Kara says.
Then she starts suddenly, looks frantically in the direction of the vanished cat.
"We didn't ... shouldn't we have got her, you know, spayed or whatever it's called?
"Oh. Yeah, we probably should. If she'd agree to it, that is." He looks at her hesitantly. "Do you think she would?"
"Don't know," Kara says. She starts to hide her smile, then decides not to bother. "Actually, maybe she'd actually quite like kittens. Maybe she'd want to consider the possibility, at least. What do you think?"
"I guess kittens would be kind of cute," Tim says. "I could get used to the idea. I mean, we've got plenty of space now..."
"Mmm. We have." Kara gives another glance in the direction the cat went. "I guess she'll be exploring a while. We've got the place to ourselves..."
"It's me and you," Tim says. "Always. You know that, right?"
"I know," Kara says.
And together they go into the house.
(c) Sarah Byrne, 2017
Sarah L. Byrne is a writer and scientific editor in London. Her short speculative fiction has appeared in various publications including Daily Science Fiction and Nature. She can be found online at www.sarahbyrne.org
Nicky Diss is co-founder of Open Book Theatre (openbooktheatrecompany.com) who perform free theatrical adaptations of classic literature in London's libraries She is also co-founder and Artistic Director of Thick as Thieves Theatre Company (thickasthievestheatre.com) who tour four-handed Shakespeare productions to regional theatres and rural touring schemes.
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