He gives me a funny look, but he answers me without question. That’s a good friend. “No cats. I’m allergic.”
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve heard today.”
“The saddest thing I’ve heard today is your attempted cat metaphor, but please, continue.”
Ignoring his remark, I start weaving my very clever—and cryptic—tale. “Let’s pretend you aren’t allergic. And that you love cats. All cats. Tabbies, Himalayans, even those bald ones. You just love cats. But you don’t own one. It’s too much of a commitment, you know, because you hate to leave it at your apartment when you’re not home, and you’re terrified of being a bad cat dad. You with me so far?”
He blinks at me comically. “Oh, I’m with you, cat dad-issues and all. Keep going…”
“So, you don’t have a cat of your own, but let’s say you start cat-sitting. For a friend. A really good friend. And it’s great, at first. You and the cat get along so well. It’s like you’re in sync. You just get each other, which is wild because, this cat? He’s kind of high strung. But so are you.”
“Hypothetically,” Theo interjects.
“Right, of course. Hypothetical Theo is also high-intensity. And you’d think that maybe you and the cat would be too much together? Like, every night would be a crazy catnip fest, and sometimes it is. But sometimes the two you just curl up like little cinnamon rolls and snuggle.”
“Does this cat also make biscuits?” Theo asks. “Because that little kneading thing cats do with their paws? That’s pretty freaking cute.”
I nod, because he’s right and because I love that he’s playing along. “This cat basically runs a biscuit empire. That’s how good he is at making biscuits.”
“Good to know,” Theo quips, taking a drink. “But what’s the problem? You—I mean, Hypothetical Me—seems happy catsitting.”
“I am! I mean, you. You are. But it’s getting complicated, which sucks because the whole point of catsitting was to avoid complications and now there’s a huge pile of complications.”
“Okay,” Theo says easily. “What kind of complications? We can unravel them like yarn. Because, you know, cats.”
“There are a lot of strings,” I warn him. “Like, you’re just supposed to be catsitting, not cat-having. It was never supposed to be permanent. Because you don’t want that. And even if you did, you can’t have it anyway. You’re leaving soon. You’ll be traveling the world and having grand adventures. That’s not good cat dad behavior.”
Theo mulls my words over and frowns. “Then I should just catsit.”
“But that’s the problem. You want to catsit all the time. Like, non-stop. Like, hanging out with this cat is your life’s purpose. It brings you joy and comfort and peace. And you do the same for this cat. You and this cat are a dynamic duo. But this cat? It wants a permanent home. And you can’t do that. It’s literally the only thing you can’t give this cat you adore.”
“I see,” he says, strumming his fingers on the countertop. “And I can’t change my mind? I mean, if I adore the cat, why can’t I keep him?”
“You can’t do that. You are not a cat owner. And you can’t pretend to be one. What if you try to adopt this cat and your allergies start acting up? Then you’ll both be heartbroken. Besides, he’s not your cat. And he lives here. And you’re leaving. He can’t just follow you around because it’s fun. And the worst part is, you had a big fight with this cat. A terrible one. He wants to be your cat, but you told him you can’t do that. Ever. And it crushed him. Even though he already knew you were just catsitting him. It was never supposed to be a forever kind of thing.”
Theo’s watch beeps, signaling that his break is over, and that’s okay because I should get to the library anyway. I had no intention of going there, but since it’s the line I told Theo, I feel like I have to honor it.
I drink the last of my raspberry mocha before placing the empty cup in the plastic bin. Theo drains the last of his coffee and offers me a sweet smile.
“I should get back to work,” he says, straightening his apron.
“Yeah, and I should get to the library.” He stares at me for a long second and that’s when I realize I’m standing in front of him in a hot pink sports bra and leggings—nothing wrong with that— and carrying only my keys and my water bottle. I have no backpack, no laptop. Not even a notebook or a pen.
“Well, before you go hit the books,” he says with a laugh, “let me say one thing.”
“Hit me,” I say, taking a calming breath.
“I’m not just allergic to cats. I’m severely allergic to cats. I break out in hives, my throat swells, my eyes get so puffy I can barely see. It’s bad. But if I found a cat who makes me as happy as you’ve been lately? The struggle might just be worth it.”
I take the hug Theo offers, and I wonder if I’m brave enough to take his advice.
28
Viv
Viv: What time do you think you’ll be back?
Maggie: Did you miss us that much?
