I opened the door in my pajamas, blinking and squinting into the sunlight for a slack second at finding my ex-girlfriend on my threshold. I\u2019d often look out my porch window, see her walking her Pomeranian across the park and say to myself, \u2018There goes Connie.\u2019 It wasn\u2019t so much a voided area, as a shrug to the real. \u201cCome in, Connie. Want a cup of coffee?\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned my back to her on the porch and as she followed me into the bedroom, I thought of how we hadn\u2019t talked in nine months, her way of showing disappointment that I didn\u2019t allow the relationship to deepen. \u201cNo, no, no.\u201d Before I could seat myself on the studio bed, she was at me like a tigress of need. \u201cYou gotta help me, Phil—you\u2019re the only one I can turn to.\u201d<\/p>\n
I cleared my throat to cover a chuckle at Connie\u2019s overwrought manner. She was alone; it figured that because of the proximity of our apartments, she\u2019d seek me out if she was in trouble. Ah, Connie, the sexual adventure that had turned into a relationship and she had been patient and in love with me for three-and-a-half years. Connie was petite and lithe and perky and with her faceted green eyes that sparkled, she was desired by many men. But it was more than a compatibility problem and the problem was and is entirely mine; in the presence of anyone for an extended period, I become uneasy because I want to be alone and then irritable listening to the petty attachments and fetishes of taste and attitudes, even from the one you\u2019re supposed to love, that are so quotidian as to make me physical ill. How express love? I need and yet I am repelled by the need. I could never be what she wanted, thus her future with me was disappointment and heartbreak.<\/p>\n
I watched her scan my eyes like she was trying to see what I was thinking. \u201cI got to get rid of my cats, Phil—take them down to the Humane Society.\u201d<\/p>\n
Keith Whitley! The most beloved cat; we agreed on that. I shielded my eyes with the blade of my hand like I was thinking. I sat bowed forward, elbows on knees, nodding patiently, dumbly; I probably looked dazed and stupid like a beaten fighter. But before I could conjure a defense for the cats, Connie screeched: \u201cThey\u2019re tearing up everything! Keith Whitley—Keith Whitley clawed holes in all my blankets and Roseanne Cash and Peaches are pissing and crapping all over the apartment!\u201d Her voice cinched up, twisted upon itself until it threatened to strangle her. \u201cRental property! This has got to stop! It\u2019s been going on for months now and I\u2019m finally tired of it. You don\u2019t know what it\u2019s like, coming home from work every day, your apartment in shambles, having to smell cat urine and cleaning up after them. If I don\u2019t take them to the shelter on my weekend day off, I\u2019m afraid I never will.\u201d Connie\u2019s voice didn\u2019t quaver, but she rushed through her words to their predetermined conclusion.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo the cats are safe, right?\u201d I knew I was fighting against the strong current of her resistance, but I had to try to save the cats. Yet she came to me because she trusted me. I had to deal with Connie in a calm, cerebral manner.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t jo-oke!\u201d Her wail like a banshee shriek assailed my ears. \u201cI need you to help me.\u201d She threw her arms down toward the floor like she was depositing her griefs like a load of laundry. \u201cI don\u2019t want to argue. I don\u2019t even need you to agree.\u201d She frowned down at the green scruff of carpet like she was considering and then turned away. \u201cI suppose I could get your next-door-neighbor. He said I could use his animal carrier.\u201d Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. \u201cMine only holds one.\u201d In the side yard outside my porch window, I heard the hollow thunk of plastic parts hitting the ground as Tyler re-assembled his carrier.<\/p>\n
I hitched a shoulder, more experimentally than if I had meant it. \u201cUse him then.\u201d<\/p>\n
Connie\u2019s lower lip trembled and her eyes slashed back and forth before they augered mine. \u201cI came to you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJesus Christ, Connie.\u201d Her mouth sawed back and forth in abortive censure. \u201cYou sure you want to do this? At least Keith. It\u2019s Keith!\u201d Her eyes were opaque; her expression didn\u2019t soften. I had almost forgotten how hard-bitten she could be when she wanted.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf I don\u2019t take them down to the shelter today, they\u2019ll keep tearing up my apartment until I do. Tellya\u2019 what. Since the cats were always your first priority, I\u2019ll give you the litter box and the rest of the food. I\u2019ll even buy the litter for them. But after the food runs out, you\u2019ll have to buy it from then on. Or you can take just Keith.\u201d I thought I detected a note of hope in her voice.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow can I do that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou still stuffin\u2019 envelopes?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMore gen-teel than ditch-digging. I\u2019m lucky my rent\u2019s cheap. I can hardly provide for myself, but with even one cat I couldn\u2019t make it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Connie shrugged at the comment then stood unmoving as though the gravity of what we were about to do rendered her inert. The far-off look on Connie\u2019s face soon hardened into the lacquer of resolve. \u201cYou ready? I\u2019ll go stand out there.\u201d Connie indicated the porch.<\/p>\n
I whipped off my pajama bottoms and underwear but dressed slowly. I selected a fresh flannel shirt, buttoned it and smoothed it down the front, though I wasn\u2019t normally one to fuss over my clothes. While I finished dressing, I thought of how it was like Connie to hold out the idea of my taking the cats. She knew I didn\u2019t have the money, thus the offer of buying the litter; but maybe it was her hope that I\u2019d take the cats anyway and deal with the money strain when it arose. Now that I declined, I figured she could be satisfied that all her options were foreclosed and she could do what she had planned to do beforehand without tweaking her conscience. Bath-less under crisp clothes, I felt dirty by circumstances I couldn\u2019t control.<\/p>\n
It was a short walk through the gate and down the steps to Connie\u2019s apartment behind the laundrymat. I put the animal carrier in the middle of the floor of the combination living room and<\/p>\n
kitchen divided by a dry bar. The Venetian blinds on the front door were down, the louvers closed; the half-closed blinds on the kitchen windows allowed light to skate across the surface of the floor but failed to illuminate the upper reaches of the bar. My eyes were used to the hard brilliance of sunlight; I craned my neck like I was peering underwater. Keith wasn\u2019t at his usual station, on top of the bar looking plump and self-satisfied as he noisily crunched dry food from his bowl. I thought I caught a glimpse of Roseanne Cash as she skittered from underneath an end table, where she had been cowering.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey already know something\u2019s wrong. I\u2019ll go downstairs and change. Then we\u2019ll go.\u201d<\/p>\n
Keith crept up from the basement, stuck his nose in the carrier and sensing that for now the box was safe, walked in and settled at the back. Keith was an ordinary black-and-white tabby, but still a beautiful creature. It was Keith\u2019s unpredictable temperament that captured our affection. If a cat could be said to have a witty personality, it was Keith. In what became a routine, I\u2019d bid Connie goodnight and then watch sitcoms, slouched in a chair. One night, Keith jumped up on my lap, put his chin on the kneecap of my crossed leg and plopped a paw on each side as if he was watching television. Another time while eating at the dry bar, Connie lifted her fork to her mouth and Keith swatted at the fork with a right, then left like he was boxing. That annoyed Connie no end, but even at his most obnoxious, Keith was endearing.<\/p>\n
I put my hand in the cage to pet or at least touch Keith. Keith shrugged off my hand, which fell wounded and then he ignored the intrusion until I withdrew.<\/p>\n
Time felt slack, tedious in empty waiting. I decided to make a gesture so I could report to Connie that I had at least tried to trap the cats. I dragged the disused AM-FM stereo console away from the front of the bar, slowly scooting the heavy rampart so as not to spook Peaches from his grotto. I poked my head into the darkness of speaker cones and a tangle of wires to discover Peaches wasn\u2019t there. When I shuffled the console back and turned around, Keith was no longer in the carrier.<\/p>\n
I moved past the bar and into the kitchen and sunlight. I lit a cigarette, thinking maybe Connie couldn\u2019t find any of the cats and, frustrated by her failed crusade, she could go back to being a nurturer, because that\u2019s what she was. And that\u2019s what frosted me. Connie took the cats from two different people because they were abused and underfed and now she was about to abandon them and duplicate the abuse and worse, use me to help. My dilemma, I decided standing there in the kitchen and lighting another cigarette, was paltry; I\u2019d help Connie.<\/p>\n
But if I were contemplating homegrown injustices, I\u2019d have to include my own; because, as I said, she waited patiently and in love with me for three-and-a-half years and I invented every way I could think of, short of infidelity, to get out of the smothering trap that would eventually lead to marriage. I\u2019d manufacture arguments and heat until I was actually angry and stomp off with Connie, her face florid and she in tears pleading, \u2018Is that all there is? Is this the end of it?\u201d I\u2019d use that free night to slide into the bar and figure my strategy for getting out of the relationship and later sleep alone in my own apartment. I didn\u2019t allow myself the pleasures of lovemaking, for I\u2019d be cynically laying her while reinforcing the idea of our love (thus all those Nick at Night sitcoms). Was I a cad? Yes, but all I wanted was to get out. But whatever happened to Connie and myself, I always believed the cats\u2019 home was permanent.<\/p>\n
Connie emerged from the basement and I announced, \u201cKeith was in the carrier, but I don\u2019t know where he is now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t find Peaches anywhere.\u201d She sounded weary. \u201cLet\u2019s round up the cats and get this over<\/p>\n
with.\u201d<\/p>\n
I treaded as softly as I could with my clunky boots on the carpeted stairs and walked on my toes on the basement\u2019s linoleum. The stone fireplace at the center of the back wall was surrounded by chairs, boxes and miscellany. I swung my gaze between the legs of a sewing machine table, rattled cardboard to flush Peaches if he was there. I then moved to Connie\u2019s bedroom.<\/p>\n
I knew Peaches like to hide under Connie\u2019s antique dresser, but to be thorough, I flipped up the bed coverlet and found the fabric of the bedsprings\u2019 underbelly shredded and hanging down, but no Peaches. I turned around and groped in the space beneath the dresser drawers, my hand curling around a piece of Peaches\u2019 coat. The cat flinched, pulled away. An orange streak shot underneath the bed.<\/p>\n
Down on my stomach, I swatted the fabric that obstructed my view, swearing viciously. Surely, the cats\u2019 work too. The hell they don\u2019t deserve this, I thought, making swipes that missed Peaches completely. Peaches hunched tense and motionless under the middle of the bed, his eyes wide as he stared vigilantly at me as if the cat intuited my role in his possible destruction. \u201cC\u2019 mon, kitty, kitty, kitty. C\u2019 mere, Peaches. Awww\u2026I\u2019m not going to hurt you.\u201d I heard the resignation, the straining falseness in my voice.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, crap, this could go on all day.\u201d I made a desperate arc-armed swing as I launched myself form the wall by my feet. Peaches scampered to the other side of the bed, rounded the bed\u2019s foot and scrambled for the door, his feet skidding out from under him in his haste. But still on my knees I was ready for him, lunged, grabbed a kicking leg and clawed my way up to the torso for a body hold. Peaches kicked and wiggled against the cradling restraint of my arms.<\/p>\n
Connie had either coaxed or captured Keith Whitley and Roseanne Cash in the interim. They were confined in the cage.<\/p>\n
I had barely gotten off the porch with the carrier when the cats started to whine. I got the animal carrier into the back seat and as Connie drove out of Mountain Gulch on the expressway, the cats\u2019 whining turned to strangled yowls, prolonged and plaintive. Roseanne and Peaches let out their howling moans, which sounded more sorrowing and raucous as they neared the shelter. I banged the side of the carrier. \u201cShut up, goddammit!\u201d Connie set her mouth to the right, then the left but no<\/p>\n
reprimand was forthcoming. Keith silently hunkered down, looking out uncomprehending at his fleeting surroundings.<\/p>\n
I started when Connie spoke, rupturing the silence I thought we had tacitly agreed on. \u201cBeen doing anything different—interesting lately?\u201d The weather was unseasonably warm and clear for November and the roads lightly traveled, but Connie seemed to invest all of her energy to concentrate on the traffic.<\/p>\n
I shook my head.<\/p>\n
Connie\u2019s face darted to me. \u201cSo what are you going to do for the rest of the day?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNothin\u2019. Day\u2019s shot already.\u201d My peripheral vision snagged a hunk of mall. I hadn\u2019t had time to think of the long, empty aftermath, alone in my cottage where I\u2019d fill in the silence with my own thoughts like shoveling dirt into a grave.<\/p>\n
\u201cCome on, we haven\u2019t talked in a long time. You\u2019re not going back to work?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t think I can.\u201d I pressed my cheek against the chill of the side window as the banal cityscape slid past until we pulled into the driveway of the Humane Society.<\/p>\n
The front and back doors of the Humane Society were directly in line and open as though the gloomy interior of the shelter was an intestine in which matter passed through quickly. Inside, I looked for a spot to put down the carrier and found a table opposite the check-in counter, where Connie was filling out forms while a woman asked her questions. I stood next to Connie for a moment until my jumpiness drove me outside.<\/p>\n
I stepped out the back door into the courtyard\u2019s dazzling brightness. Pain needled from behind my left eyeball. The cement pathways and the cinder block behind the back cages were blanched with sunlight. At a distance across the grass and on both sides of me, metal bars gleamed with greenness. There were a scattering of dogs in their cages, as silently glum as I was minutes ago beside Connie. Alongside the building on my immediate right was a breezeway ensconced in<\/p>\n
shadows; my eyes couldn\u2019t penetrate the darkness to see where the passage led. I stabbed a cigarette in my mouth and thought vaguely of a contraption called a decompression chamber.<\/p>\n
Connie joined me on the cement and lit her own cigarette as I contemplated the significance of the mostly empty cages. \u201cWhat are they doing? Jesus, Connie, all I want to do is get out of here.\u201d Connie gazed and frowned. Too bad. She knew all of my bad moods.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey\u2019re processing the cats in. The woman\u2019ll call us when she needs us.\u201d Connie\u2019s voice lilted with indifference.<\/p>\n
The attendant motioned them inside and then stood aside. A wire cage sat on the floor in front of the carrier\u2019s table. Connie looked at me expectantly and so it fell to me. With slow distaste I opened the door enough to grab Peaches, who clawed and scrabbled at the bottom of the carrier. I knelt to put Peaches in the oblong wire cage barely large enough to hold him. With the top swung half open I hesitated, wanting to touch Peaches one last time. Peaches sprang. I clamped the top down, trapping Peaches\u2019 body between the top and side in mid-leap. I shoved Peaches down and latched the cage.<\/p>\n
I went about caging Roseanne like it was routine and then I went for Keith. My stomach felt like it was riding up and down my esophagus, but I went about the business with a dispassionate mindfulness. Keith spat and tried to scratch, but I bore down on Keith\u2019s chunky body until I managed to shut and lock the top. I put my fingers between the wires to say goodbye; Keith abruptly turned his head and hissed like he had suddenly turned feral. I blinked, perplexed. \u201cHe\u2019ll be all right.\u201d I tried to keep the warble out of my voice. \u201cHe\u2019s just a little upset at his new digs.\u201d Afraid of the answer, I felt compelled to ask the question. \u201cWhat\u2019ll they do if he keeps behaving like this?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf he bites or scratches an employee or if he can\u2019t get along with the other cats, he\u2019ll be euthanized.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut he\u2019s\u2026not like that—I-I mean, he\u2019s a real nice cat, helluva personality.\u201d<\/p>\n
The attendant retorted as if reciting Humane Society dogma: \u201cIf he bites or scratches an employee or can\u2019t get along with—\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cAnother time, Phil,\u201d Connie said gently; she studied the floor and shook her head. \u201cForget it.\u201d Her hand closed on my forearm.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere is no other time! I can\u2019t forget it. Did you hear what she?..\u201d My jaw worked open and closed, but it was like my throat was clotted and nothing came out.<\/p>\n
\u201cForget it.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
We seated ourselves at the middle of the bar among the rambunctious fans who had gathered for the football game. Last afternoon when I finally scaped the key in my cottage door, I felt enervated from the day\u2019s turmoil and told myself I didn\u2019t want to talk to Connie for another nine months. But when she unexpectedly knocked on my door, pleading for me to accompany her down to the bar, I was bemused to see her at first, but then thought going out might be good for both of us. It felt strange being together two days in a row and then in a public and festive place where I felt I couldn\u2019t join in. As we waited for the busy bartender, I couldn\u2019t gauge what would be an advantageous time to say it, so I just said it. \u201cDid you call to see how the cats were?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s done and over. I don\u2019t want to know. You can go down Monday and rescue them if you want.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThanks, Connie. You going to give me a ride?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou already said you don\u2019t have the money for the cats.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTwo beers,\u201d I said to the bartender and paid for them when the mugs came because I couldn\u2019t and didn\u2019t begrudge Connie the price of any number of beers. But I didn\u2019t turn to Connie for conversation. I stared at my beer mug until all I saw was the square of bar top in front of me because my mind wouldn\u2019t let go and I ran over and over what I had done yesterday.<\/p>\n
I was confused because I wanted noble and settled for loyal and expedient. I was confused because I let Connie\u2019s manner made me presume that her decision was unchangeable and I didn\u2019t argue harder for the cats. I was confused because I helped to let the cats die. Whatever I did yesterday, it wasn\u2019t heroic.<\/p>\n
After a protracted silence I sensed Connie\u2019s chair was empty and glanced over; no purse or mug. Connie was down at the other end of the bar nested in Greg Zurblocki\u2019s lap, her legs wrapped around his torso, their noses touching. Without disturbing them I wished Connie well, but it still frustrated and bewildered me how she could bury herself. I finished my beer and walked home.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The End<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Mark Jones I opened the door in my pajamas, blinking and squinting into the sunlight for a slack second at finding my ex-girlfriend on my threshold. I\u2019d often look out my porch window, see her walking her Pomeranian across the park and say to myself, \u2018There goes Connie.\u2019 It wasn\u2019t so much a voided area, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":53,"featured_media":0,"parent":19,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-479","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry","clear"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/17-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/479","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/17-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/17-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/17-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/53"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/17-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=479"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/17-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/479\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":850,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/17-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/479\/revisions\/850"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/17-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/19"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/17-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=479"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}