(Scene: At Jason and Chelsea’s apartment in North Carolina)
“You dog, you. What are you doing here?”
“Hah. Got your cat-tention, did I?”
“I hate the fact that you’re in my home. Don’t touch my food bowl.”
“There’s food? Where?”
“No food for you! I’m going to eat it. Don’t touch my water fountain, either. Or my litter box.”
“I go outside. I am trained, you agoraphobic.”
“Agora-what?”
“Fear of wide-open spaces.”
“Who are you, anyway?”
“I’m Cooper. They call me Minicooper, four on the floor. I’m lifting my leg, see? Got four of ‘em.”
“Canines are less-evolved. Why would they name you after a car? Did my Grandma Linda bring you? What bad taste she has.”
“Linda and Steve brought me. They got a crate for the back of their van so we can travel together when we go away. They said it’s not safe for me to leap around the van, maybe because I tap dance on the power window buttons.”
“So, now they are officially demented. Why would they want you when they already have me?”
“Linda and Steve don’t have you. I heard them talking. You live down here with their son Jason and daughter-in-law Chelsea. You’re their cat. What’s your name?”
“Time.”
“Time for what? For a walk? I love walks. I could do my business.”
“My name is Time.”
“Thyme? Like the spice? Linda puts it on turkey. Love the smell of cooking bird.”
“Time, you dense dog. As in the time it took for the car to bring your carcass down here locked in that crate.”
“Beats being left at home or at the vet’s office. Halfway here, we went for a walk in Hillsborough in the park behind Weaver Street Market. I marked all my territory. And what kind of a name is Time?”
“Don’t mark territory here. This is my jurisdiction. And I’m named after the cat in Timecat by Lloyd Alexander. Chelsea read the book. Grandma Linda read me French for Cats. I’m going to be bilingual. I’m learning to berate dogs in French.”
“Linda reads what she writes to Steve and me. I listen. Plus, they were going over Steve’s lab work, and when they covered cholesterol, Steve said HDL stands for Having to Deal with Linda. I don’t know why they were laughing.”
“Grandma Linda is A-OK. She stays with me when Jason and Chelsea are out of town. She gave me that teal-colored pet bed. Don’t touch my bed.”
“What about that red pad on the floor?”
“She gave me that, too. Don’t touch it. My home, my territory.”
“Where am I supposed to sleep?”
“Anywhere away from my bed, pad, food, water, owners, grandparents, or toys.”
“Sheesh. Touchy, aren’t we?”
“And don’t chase me, either. I don’t run.”
“Bet I can catch you.”
“Not on your life. I’ll climb the curtains and drop down on you with an 18-pound thud when you least expect it.”
“Hey. I weigh 18 pounds. We have that in common.”
“And we have a common language. You speak cat.”
“Hel-LO-OOOO…I’m a dog. You’re the one who’s speaking dog.”
“Wait…I’m a cat and I don’t speak dog. I speak cat.”
“If I don’t speak cat, and you don’t speak dog, how can we understand each other?”
“Wait. Repeat after me: The quick tiger-striped cat ran roughshod over the lazy, black-and-white dog.”
“The quick tiger-striped cat ran roughshod over the lazy, black-and-white dog.”
“Gotcha…Wait…Your mouth wasn’t moving.”
“Maybe you can’t see that I was talking because of my facial hair. I haven’t been to the groomer in a while since I nipped her the last time.”
“Wait…maybe we’re telepathic…”
The cat and dog gasped and stared at each other.
*
Linda scooped up the dog. “Great visit,” she said. “There, Cooper, we’ve clipped on your leash. Time to go.”
Cooper’s last view of the apartment interior was of Time staring at him.
So many questions, thought Cooper. So little time.
A French term, thought Time. That’s it. Maybe we need a temporary détente to explore this.
About the Author: Linda Lemery llemery@gmail.com wishes Evince readers Happy St. Patrick’s Day. She welcomes reader comments.
