CHAPTER 3 – CAT AND I/PART 1

My loving, feline companion, Cat, greeted me at the door as soon as I enter my modest, studio apartment. She was over-the-top with affection and probably some hunger due to my unexpected, extended absence. Happy to see her and my cozy home, I scooped her up, kiss her kitty-nose and toss my backpack next to one of the four bookcases overflowing with books dating back to junior high. What my 485 square foot home lacked spatially, it made up for with character. It was one of the “sitting rooms” of a turn of the century, Victorian which had been divided into condos in the mid-eighties. Original 1879, hardwoods peeked up from an assortment of area rugs. Although no longer working, a grand fireplace with ornate cherry wood mantle commanded your attention upon entrance. A pair of windows stretched from just slightly over a foot from the floor to about the same from the ceiling. The twins were still lovely even though peeking from under the thick plastic taped around them, which was my band aid to their broken sashes. I had a futon from college which doubled as sitting and sleeping accommodations, piled with an array of pillows in various shapes and sizes. Pillows have always been something I can never have enough of. Some women use shoe shopping as a favorite form of therapy…for me it’s pillows. I throw myself on the futon with a heavy sigh. I float in a haze of surrealism, while thinking of the world wind past two days. Cat, hops on my stomach and rouses me back to reality. Her name was not chosen for lack of creativity, but a love of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”. I fell in love with the movie and Audrey Hepburn when I was very young, and I still watched the DVD when I need to escape. Most often, of course, with a pint of dark, chocolate ice cream in hand. Cat’s soft, white fur sticks to my sweaty legs each time she brushed against me. I open a can of her favorite, over-priced, organic, easy on her tummy food and hit the play button on the answering machine. My friends make fun of me for being so retro with the machine but, it plays well to my creature of habit nature to come in and push a button. When I saw the red light blinking I was hopeful. An automated voice tells me there are eight messages. I sit with Cat on my lap and l listen to a string of “I’m so sorrys” and “whatever I can dos”. Then I hear the familiar voice of Justin. “Hey Hon, I’m really slammed here, but I will be back in town tomorrow. Let’s have dinner, you pick. Make a reservation for 7:30 and I’ll call you when I land. Love you.” I guess he didn’t pick up on the distress in my voice on the messages had I left him. Tomorrow is the wake. I hope we can connect before the day is over. I wish he were here for me to tell him in person. I wish he had been there on the Cape with us, with me. I’m angered by the lack of concern he has shown by not returning my calls to my cell phone. I specifically asked him to call me on it. I know his is just his way of not actually having to talk to me. Once again, Justin falls short on the emotional support side. The one call I choose to return is my best friend, Larry. He has always been there for me and with me through many happy days and many of the sorrows, too. He was the one who “celebrated” my column being pulled. He came over, instructed me to pretty myself up and took me to Beba’s. Beba’s is the scene to be seen with it’s air of wealth and sophistication situated downstairs from the Four Seasons. We drank Cosmopolitans and said a big cheers and “screw the Herald.” Then laughed until it was light out. The phone rings just once and he answers. “Lar, I’m home.” I instantly began to cry. No longer numb. “Sweetie, what do you need? I’m coming over right now. I can’t believe he’s really gone.”, He says tenderly with his usual take-charge attitude. “I don’t know what I want or need right now. I’m going to take a shower and try to put myself back together.” I replied between tears and sniffles. “And, I can’t get Justin on the phone.” Saying this only released the floodgate further. “What?! Ok, take a shower. I’m on my way.”, I say good-bye and hold Cat so tightly I could feel her heavy purr along with every bone in her tiny body while I sob uncontrollably. What was stifled so well is pouring out like a damaged levy. I feel so weak. I find it physically difficult to raise myself from the couch. As I finally find the strength and pull my thighs, now stuck to the leather cushion of the couch, I feel Cat’s fur and my dried sweat begin to make my calves itch. I make my way to the bathroom and reach down to turn the water to warm. I immediately sit on the floor of the lion claw, cradle myself, and cry. I continue to cry until the water turns cold. The chill revives me enough to quickly wash and step out. I throw on some shorts and a tank. While pulling my hair back in a clip off of my neck, I feel arms around my waist. As I turn with puffy eyes, there stands my constant savior. “Larry, this is so fucking surreal!” He brushes my half wet bangs from my eyes and strokes my cheek, and says, “Go get your biggest Audrey sun glasses and we’ll walk down to the pond.” We walk the few short blocks to the Jamaica Way and cross to the pond. All the while he nestles me closely under his arm, like a mother bird protecting her young. After a long period of silence he asks, “So, where the hell is Justin?”