No Dr. Doolittle, I'm Afraid

I'm not an animal person. I like them. I just don't feel comfortable around them. When I see a cute kitten or puppy I'm like anyone else. I think "how sweet" and "oh, she's adorable" and I might pet it, but it doesn't make me want one. Having one means taking care of something that I don't know anything about. It scares me.

My friend, Kelly, has two cats. One is Pigeon who Kelly has had since her Chicago days. The other is Cowboy, a cat Kelly got from a co-worker's cat's litter. Pigeon is this skinny, mangy looking cat with fur that sticks out all over her body in all directions. She is very sweet and loves to be petted, but spends most of her time under Kelly's bed because she is afraid of most things. Cowboy, on the other hand, is a slick, handsome male that could be on the cover of Cat GQ if they had such a thing. He has attitude, and if he wore clothes his pants would be hanging down his backside showing his underwear. He likes to torment Pigeon until she runs under the bed and then he wanders out and gives you a look like, "What? She's so moody. I was just trying to tell her I loved her."

This past weekend I was put in charge of caring for Pigeon and Cowboy. This happens about twice, maybe three, times a year. When my children are with me they brush the cats and play fetch with Cowboy. They fill up the food dishes and pour water in the bowl. They do not, and I will repeat this, they do not clean out the litter boxes, and they do not pick up the hairballs and cat vomit. I do this. With pleasure, of course.

This past Monday I went to Kelly's alone as the girls were in school. I unlocked and opened the door and quickly entered, pulling the screen behind me. Usually, both cats are waiting by the door as if they sense me on the other side, and I am terrified that Cowboy will run outside, down the stairs, and be off to seek his fortune. I am terrified of having to explain this to Kelly, thus my covert entrance.

This day, however, there were no cats at the door. I had a moment of panic that they had already escaped, or worse, died on my duty, but I pulled myself together and thought aloud, "they are probably still asleep as it is quite early." I moved into the living area and out slinked Cowboy from the bedroom. He was moving slowly, his tail straight in the air, a model on the runway. Pigeon was not behind him, but this didn't concern me all that much because she always comes running when she hears the pouring of the food into her dish. I greeted Cowboy, picked up the food container, and bent over to fill up the dishes. As I did this I heard a faint hissing sound from behind me.

"What was that?" I asked Cowboy, turning my head to look behind me.

"What was what?" said Cowboy, rubbing up against my leg. "Oh, you've come to feed me. Quite nice." He began munching out of the bowl.

I stared at him. I bent back over the bowl and heard more hissing, only louder this time. I stood up and whirled around.

"Hisssssss. I can seeeeeee you. Hissssssss. What do you thinkkkkk you are doing here?"

"What the hell is that noise?" I shouted. I then noticed that the cupboard door under the kitchen sink was slightly ajar. "Oh, my god, what the hell is in there?" I looked at Cowboy.

"What noise?" He had left the food and was standing watching me. "Are you hearing noises?"

"Do you not hear that noise?" I asked him, staring intently at the ajar cupboard.

"Hissssss. Hissssss."

"Pigeon! Pigeon, are you in there?" I looked at Cowboy. "Is Pigeon in there? Did you do something to her and she ran in there?"

"Me?" Cowboy rubbed against my leg again. "Why, I can't imagine why you would think such a thing. I haven't any idea where that fickle female is."

I stared at the crack in the door. Kelly's cupboards are made of dark wood and the interior is even darker. I conjured up a huge rat in among the pots and pans and cleaning equipment, its beady eyes watching me, its tongue licking its chops as it waited for the precise moment to pounce. I didn't hesitate as I heard more hissing. I kicked the door shut and leaped back, my heart pounding.

"Okay, Cara, get a grip. It isn't a rat," I told myself aloud.

I walked into Kelly's bedroom and began calling Pigeon. "Pigeon? Pigey...pigey, here pigey."

Nothing.

"Come on Pigeon. Breakfast time."

Cowboy stood in the doorway watching me. "Seriously," he said. "What's with all the drama?"

"I swear to god," I told him. "If you have done something to that cat."

"Cara," he said. "Cara, Cara, Cara. You really have lost it, haven't you."

"That's it!" I glared at him. "I can't do this anymore."

I stomped out of the bedroom and there was Pigeon, calmly eating food out of her dish.

She looked at me. "Meow."

I looked at the closed cupboard. I looked at the cats. I picked up my keys and left, clomping down the stairs, back to my car, away from the thing under the sink, away from the cats, muttering under my breath about how much I love our turtle.