Cat, Jane, and Me

This is something that I don't usually do, but here's a short story. The prompt was that as I was alone, my friend's animal spoke to me, and I could ask it any question. I'm not sure if I quite fulfilled it, but I thought it was interesting. Hope you enjoy it!

     Cat shifted, sprawling her paws into the mounds of the lumpy cushions that splattered across the 70’s sofa. Kneading the lime green print, her harmonizing eyes rested on my own, unwavering, full of knowledge. Push, push, push, her nails reached far into the fleshy pillows, drawing out wisps of innards that drifted into the dusty sunlight. I was mesmerized by the lax of Cat’s posture, with nothing to do but wait until Jane bounded in the door once more. I yearned to adopt Cat’s way of pleasant solitude, without having to rely on others for my well-being. 

     I had escaped someone who wished to encompass my roots, melding a blanket around them like the tomato plants I planted when I lived in the North’s cold. When I was first planted into the new, freezing ground, I found the protective blanket to be a comfort. As I woke up every morning to the light frost, so grateful for the blanket to be so snug, so grateful that I thought I owed them my life. We existed like this, myself trying to extend my roots while they tried to hold the heat in. As I grew, the blanket became suffocation, my roots growing back in on themselves, unable to pierce through the metallic folds. My distress was evident, you’re killing me. You are killing me. How can something that once kept me alive now force a self-mutilation of strangulation? I died that spring, among the sweet and salty breeze of the periwinkle rhododendrons and sea. The very thing that warmed and nurtured me while a babe asphyxiated me when I grew to be a curious adolescent. 

     I envied Cat, all nine lives, landing on her feet, immortal. Even a black cat’s own poor luck is brought upon themself, they are aware that they are born ill-fated, their misfortune not a product of love gone awry. 

     “How does one be born under a lucky star, able to relish in the eccentric and the glutton of felines?” I questioned Cat under my breath.

     “I suppose the ancient Egyptians had something to do with it when they created Bastet,” Cat smiled, her teeth porcelain dolls peeping out of tawny fur. 

     I blinked, and Cat blinked. 

     “You know how fickle people really are, they must create gods and rituals of worship in order to feel like they have a semblance of control. They will offer bread and wine expecting felicity, only to wind up with spoiled food on a false altar and a gnawing stomach,” Cat rolled onto her back, vulnerable flesh turned flush. 

     I am ill, but not this type of ill. At least I had presumed until a couple of moments ago. I felt the card with the indented writing in my pocket, past advice rushed into my head, whiplash. 

     “Oh, this can’t be right,” I mumbled to myself, pushing away unsightly thoughts and assumptions.

     “Didn’t you wish you could ‘relish in the eccentric’? I am opening the door to the abnormal for you now. Will you take it?” Cat paused, her body was curved like a crescent moon, and she reached in the air for something I couldn’t quite see. 

     “I am not well,” I announced to no one in particular, “I don’t understand why you’re doing this to me.”

     “You think that I have a clue too? We are nothing more than brief moments in space, and I choose to do something that will get me remembered. Even if it was just to you...” Cat confessed.

     Bristling, I spoke, “We might be brief moments, but our actions affect others around us, setting off a chain that no one will ever know the full extent. You set up a domino effect, and now I must simply be insane.”

     “You’re obviously not insane if you are self-aware of it. You’re halfway cured my darling,” Cat flirted.

     This was absurd. I thought back to all of my years of abuse, neglect. I am sick, I am just absolutely sick in the head and it’s not my fault. I was born into conditions that gave me a hand of cards that I ought to have just let get blown into the wind. I have created barriers and walls taller, forces stronger than anything that cut deep into the flesh of me. My blood had run until it was clear, and I was aware. I had created alter egos in my head, narratives that weren’t quite mine and I am sick. I was Cat, and Cat was me. I was Jane, and Jane was me. I am everything in this world, and yet not one part of it and I am going to go create my own Bastet, relishing in the eccentric and the gluttony of it all.