Alone, In A Room, With A Cat - Short Fiction

ALONE,

IN A ROOM,

WITH A CAT.





A Short Fiction

By

David A. Archer
02/15/1968








It has four walls like most any other room I have ever been in. Except I’ve no idea how it is that I came to be here, in this structure of four walls, a ceiling and floor.

When I first noticed that I was here, it was bare. A newly weds nightmare I’m sure. There wasn’t one stick of furniture. No décor… and there definitely wasn’t a cat.

It took me awhile to figure it out at first. I lived in this bare room for some time… no real way of discerning how long though as there aren’t any windows or even a door.

I thought one once, a door that is…but it didn’t lead anywhere when I opened it. It was just more bare wall behind it.

I thought a window and am pleased to find that I can think whatever I want to be beyond it to some degree. At least that lightens the thick, dull nothing that quickly becomes everything else if I let it occur.

I think I may know what you are thinking at this point; “What do you mean, thought it?” That is simple enough to explain though I don’t know why it happens to be that way. I should say that given the situation, I am kind of glad that it is.

You see, I can think things here so to speak. Will them to manifest and be here as it were, in this silly, bland room that I’ve somehow come to occupy.

I know it sounds crazy, but it isn’t.

I’ll tell you what’s crazy. That cat. Not that it is insane per say, but the fact that it is here and has been.

I certainly didn’t think it here….. and it makes its way around as if it were its own place.

I have noticed that cats are definitely of a different sort though, through the experience here with it how ever long that has been or will be. I’ve no way to tell… about the time thing that is.

I did think a clock once…but the thing doesn’t work. More that it doesn’t function in the manner a person might expect of a clock. Sometimes it’s really fast… almost a blur in its motion. And then sometimes it’s really slow. Sometimes it is just stopped… and then others, the hands of it just wobble like putty.

I thought I saw it going backwards once, but thankfully I realized that only to be my imagination as upon closer observation, the hands of it again resumed their rumba of a previous moment. Complete with musical chimes and all.

After I managed to furnish the place, which was no easy task I assure you given that it takes some concentration to actually attain a satisfactory result in said manifestations. Especially given that I can’t physically move anything around. I have to re-think it again if I want something in a different place.

Besides being a tiresome task, it doesn’t seem to please the cat much either, so I refrain from it as much as possible. Even though I’ve no idea how or why it is here. The cat, that is.

As I was saying, I’ve noticed that cats are a particular breed. More so than I had ever really noticed in all of my experience with them. Not that I have had extensive experience with felines, but I have had a few.. mostly in my youth which met ill fates under cars or froze to death in their supposed independence.

Maybe that’s why I’m so removed from this one… and so mystified at it’s presence. Those cats I had of my own turned out to be so selfish that they ruined a considerable part of my life with their demise, bringing on loads of over emphasized sorrow that only a child can display in those instances when grappling with the concept of death.

THEY ran across the street when the car was coming. Even through much of my own pronounced protest at the action. THEY refused to come home when it got dark and cold. THEY chose to end our relationships in obviously horrific ways.

Yeah, I think that’s what it is. Why I still refrain from an intimacy with this particular kitty.

I’ve watched it though. Let’s face it, there isn’t much else to do here and like I said, I’ve noticed a depth in particularity within the species that I’ve never really noticed before. Of course, repeated games of “stuff the cat in a pillow case” doesn’t allow for much observation time. Especially given that a child isn’t much concerned with observation time anyhow. “Stuff the cat in a pillow case” is just much more alluring.

I know what some of you are thinking… that the dead cats were just trying to make a “get away” so to speak, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Besides, they all liked to play that game… and “hide the cat in the hamper, as well.” That one usually took place just before the afternoon nap. Where of course, the cat would gladly join in, purring its way… our way rather, into a much protested but soon deeply embraced, nap.

This one wasn’t much different. Several times I caught it trying to get warm and cozy as I dozed, most brazenly after ignoring my every nuance pertaining to co-habitation. As if it seemed, I were nothing more than a piece of the furniture, which I might add, I thought into this space.

Yes, the observation of it is one of my only activities if it could be called an activity. I’ve thought plenty of books… or at least attempted to think them. But, as I’ve found they seem to manifest here according to ones level of recollection.

I thought Moby Dick here once…. But Homer got away in the end, after landing a guppy from the local swimming pool and then trading it in for some hookers and an ’82 Trans Am. I do admit that the “get away” was rather exciting and there were allot of pictures too, but needless to say I soon was no longer in the way of thinking other people’s great novels into my small abode here, with that cat.

I thought “War and Peace” once, but ended up with a condensed version of the transcripts from all of the “Family Feuds.” So, needless to say, as I stated before… the want of thinking novels soon waned.

Don’t get me wrong here…. The cover was a beautiful, leather bound hard back, as was the “Moby Dick,” it’s just that the content had manifested somewhat differently than were the actual works. I use them both now to press the leaves and blossoms that I manage to manifest now and then.

Soon I found great success though, in the reading material area. I found it in the genre of good, old fashioned comic books. It seems that even in the random transitional phase between what I can recall and what actually appears makes no difference in regard to comic books. It still turns out to be a great story every time. No matter what oddities transpire in reference to known characters.

I somehow even managed a transsexual “Duper Dog” at one point. But that was only until “he” met with “Pixie The Poodle” and quickly decided that being a “boy dog super hero” wouldn’t be all that bad. I do admit, “Pixie The Poodle” was somewhat of a stunner… but as one might expect, after “Duper Dog” reversed his surgery… “Pixie” turned out to be his arch enemy in disguise.

Man was he steamed!

Yeah, I know… you are going to start wondering why I don’t just dream up some companionship?

That’s another one that just doesn’t happen.

I’ve attempted it. I’ve tried to think up floosies and hookers and models…. You know, the typical guy stuff. I’ve even attempted a few average broads… busty, well built broads. But as you might guess, no such luck. It just doesn’t happen for some reason.

I have however, managed a few blow up dolls in their stead. Not that I was attempting to get blow up dolls…but that’s just what kind of showed up.

Anyhow, what I was saying about the cat…. It’s as if they exist somewhere else entirely. Except of course for their physical bodies.

It isn’t like they are dumb. It isn’t like they aren’t. It’s just that they don’t seem to be all together in the same place as everything else… which isn’t necessarily a bad thing I might add. In fact, a person could see after being here for some time, where it may be something to be envied in some degree.

She sits there sometimes, just sitting. You can tell her mind is somewhere and thoughts are transpiring… but it isn’t something you could understand. It isn’t even something you could begin to fathom judging from the gaze that is always there in those moments.

The motion and way in which she moves… while still beyond anything I could begin to understand.

It’s thought, but it isn’t thinking. It isn’t thinking that is, in the way that you and I do… and it’s obvious. Poignant, seemingly flawless in flow, and obvious in the most subtle way.

The cat can do it too, I think. Think things that is. It must because I know for a fact that I’ve not thought any rats here… and definitely not any dead rats. But there they are now and then. Scurrying about or laying lifeless on the floor… or even in some contorted position where she left it to follow one of those trains in thought.

I guess I should mention the birds, too. It was all I could do for some time to keep the myself from looking like a statue in a park somewhere. I would wake up from my slumber, and there she would be gazing at the fluttering birds. Every one of them trying desperately not to land on anything, as everything they could land on was in clear striking distance of her anticipatory stance.

At first I thought it was rather neat, all of the chirping and fluttering…. But then as I’ve mentioned came the need to think in allot of newspaper.

I got a kick out of it once… when she actually thought up a bird in a cage so I kept it around, and soon found it to be enough to fill her apparent quota of attention to birds.

What I realized from all of this, is that the cat must have had other experiences elsewhere as well. How else would a cat know about birds and rats?

How then again, did this cat get here with me?

As much as I thought and remembered and considered it, I just could not seem to recall this cat.

It did serve a purpose though as it never seemed to take the same path around the place… and it filled the space of boredom where I could have even believed the Earth to be the center of the Universe with nothing else around to consider.

Not that I think the Earth is the center of the Universe. Only that with nothing else around, it was just as good of a motive for thought as anything else.

It isn’t as though I spent my life with a cell phone in my hand while insisting that space travel was a hoax. All I’m trying to say is that it isn’t such a bad thing to have a cat around to break the monotony…. Even if I don’t know how it got here.

I did think the Earth as the center of the Universe at one point though, just for something to look at through the window.

It wasn’t hard to see how incorrect such directions of thought were…but then again, this was no ordinary window. I could scroll it.. more the contents, and magnify it, I could even simply set it into a motion similar to a moving picture, but with far more detail.

The Earth being the center of the Universe thing? That couldn’t have been more off base from what I can tell.

But then again, I’m stuck in a room with a cat I never even thought here.