How to Find Love in the Newspaper

(continued)

By Anna Sykora

Two twitching black legs and a rump emerged underneath Dawn's tail. Gently Cathy pulled on the backwards male; and Dawn grabbed her hand but didn't bite: just held.

"I see you don't want my help."

Minutes later the kitten emerged, perfectly formed — not breathing. Following her books, she swung him gently upside down, then spanked him with her fingertips. Still he didn't breathe; so she offered him to Dawn, who vigorously licked him front to back, shuddering and whining when this didn't help.

After futile minutes, Cathy took him away and hid him in the wrappings from the Chinese food. Let's get on with it, she grieved. This is my fault, for leaving you alone.
Next a blind head emerged, grey and wiggling. This kitten was a girl. After long minutes, number three jolted out, female too, but twice the size, with white markings just like her mother's.

The last kitten, stillborn, looked decayed. Exhausted, Cathy hid it in the wrappings, and then gave the poor thing and her brother an inglorious burial down the garbage chute. What a waste, she thought. I hope Dawn won't remember them.

Rob wasn't home at 2 AM. It's over, she thought and threw up her dinner. Dragging blankets to the sofa, she lay down next to the towel-padded box where Dawn was nursing her two survivors, and dozed off. She woke to find the cat on her chest, the tabby kitten in her jaws. Dropping her off, Dawn returned in seconds with her grey kitten. Tenderly Cathy set all three of them back inside the birthing box. In a minute Dawn was back, carrying the tabby.

"Too bad I have to work tomorrow. Let's make a deal. You keep them in the box, and I'll hang my hand down here where you can feel me." Soon they all fell asleep.

Two weeks later, when Cathy came home to find the kittens nesting open-eyed in the cave of the climbing tower, they stared at her face in the opening as if she was King Kong. Rob did not return her calls.

Soon they were toddling, and Sheba — the confident grey — came climbing paw over paw up the sofa's side. Bella, much larger, mostly suckled or slept. With milk enough for four, they looked larger every evening.

How could she possibly choose between them? If you keep one cat, might as well keep three.

One evening she couldn't find the kittens, and all of the windows were closed. Frantically, she pulled her apartment to pieces, while Dawn, ensconced on the sofa, meticulously groomed herself.

"I don't know where they are. You find them, now!" Cathy appealed, weeping. Dropping lightly from the sofa, Dawn strolled the length of the bowling-alley kitchen, stopping just once, to gaze back at her. Two little heads peeked from behind the stove.

Sheba chewed the houseplants to green stubs. Cathy bought a water pistol but couldn't bear to shoot her with it. Soon she dumped out the last of her ferns. Bella broke all her china knickknacks, but at least she didn't have to dust them anymore.

Every night she fell asleep with Dawn curled in her armpit, Sheba on her knees, Bella on her feet. Who needs men? she pondered. Cats are kinder and more honorable. What you see is what you get, and they never leave you till they die. I'd call that true love.

She met David in the supermarket, when he took her cart by mistake. The broad-shouldered blond — an intern coming off call, he said — seemed helplessly good-natured. When he couldn't find his wallet, she loaned him twenty bucks. He lived just around the corner. They wound up going out for Chinese together, and then made another date.

When it's right, it rolls along by itself, thought Cathy. Just like Phyllis says.

Though not the best-looking, best-groomed guy in the city, David seemed patient and kind — reliable. She invited him home, to find drinking straws on the floor, along with balls of paper and aluminum foil. A Macy's bag (a lurking bag) lay in the middle of her living room.

"I didn't know you had cats," he said softly.

"Don't you like cats, David?"

"I don't know about cats. We had guinea pigs. They made peeping noises when I came upstairs after school. When they got loose in the house, they left their droppings all over."

He fell asleep on her sofa while waiting for their Chinese food. Dawn made herself at home in his spacious lap.

"What do you think?" asked Cathy, and she blinked her vivid green eyes. "He looks like an unmade bed, I know; but I think he's nice: a loaf of bread."

Their Chinese food came. She woke him, and they ate it, joking and laughing in her bowling-alley kitchen. Then they wanted to go to a movie, but Sheba had eaten the laces out of his shoes.

"I'm sorry. I should have hidden them for you."

"Didn't know cats could do that," he marvelled.

"Love me, love my cats," she urged.

"I do."