Leonard (My Life as a Cat), Carlie Sorosiak [7 ebook reader .txt] 📗

after the movie, I ate my kibble with caution, selecting one piece at a time. See! my every bite shouted. I am convincingly feline! I am real!

The rest of the evening, I lumbered around in a sort of dazed panic, overthinking every step I took. Would a cat be more graceful? Jump more? Meow with greater frequency? And how could I evade danger—slippery patches on the tile, pollen lurking in the air? Despite my exhaustion, I stayed up quite late that night, mulling over how I could avoid detection, travel to Yellowstone, and (quite importantly) remain alive.

My homesickness was only increasing. Earth had all this oxygen, but where was the helium? Where was the pale peach of helium clouds, the blue neon of helium rivers? I longed for the mellow swoosh of it. I longed for the nights when I’d hover at the edge of a crystal mountain, watching the stars dip and collide. There, I didn’t have to worry—because worry did not exist.

I was still getting used to the unsettling feeling of being alone. Bodies can be useful, but they’re also a barrier. Earth had so many barriers. And I missed the comfort of knowing that the hive was there, always there—a part of me as I was a part of them. All of us together, never lonely.

“I’ve never had a pet before,” Olive said, breaking my thoughts just after midnight. In the darkness, I was curled at the foot of her mattress, my paws tucked under my chest; I found that I actually enjoyed a higher position, rather than slinking under her bed. It felt safer that way.

To my surprise, Olive switched on the lamp and gazed at me. “I’m not sure if I’m doing it right, this whole ‘pet owner’ thing. I don’t even like the word ‘owner.’ You belong to yourself. Did you know that, pound for pound, the house cat is one of the fiercest animals alive? They’re perfectly designed to hunt—and really, really good at it. Ancient Egyptians even worshipped them. There were cat gods and everything.”

I blinked slowly, my eyes adjusting to the light.

“Which makes sense,” she continued, sitting up. “The fierce thing. I think you’re pretty brave, living in a new place and all. You could be really feisty or mean if you wanted to be, but you aren’t like most cats, are you?”

My pupils dilated. Did Olive know? Had I given myself away with that smile?

“I can tell you’re super smart. Maybe the smartest cat I’ve ever met. It’s the eye-contact thing, like you’re actually listening. And it’s nice to have someone listen and not, you know, judge you.” She paused, elbows on her knees. “Maybe you can promise me something.”

I wasn’t sure. Honestly, I was confused. What could I promise to her that would mean anything at all?

“Just . . .” she said, chewing her bottom lip. “Just don’t think I’m weird like some people do. So here are a few things that you should know about me up front: I like overalls. They’re comfortable and they have big pockets, which are useful. Especially if you’re carrying treats for animals. I love animals a whole lot. One of the things I know about my dad is that he did, too. So I’ve collected all of these facts about them—and I like sharing them with people. Did you know that the milk of a hippopotamus is pink? Cool stuff like that. But my mom’s boyfriend, Frank . . . He told me . . .”

My stomach tangled.

“He told me,” she finally managed, “that I was ‘socially unprepared for the real world.’ That kids my age might think I’m weird. That maybe I was weird. And I . . . I was too embarrassed to tell my mom what Frank said. Because he’s right, isn’t he? A few months ago he even signed me up for Girl Scouts, so that I could ‘socialize.’ But I couldn’t get over what he said. So I barely spoke at all. Then I quit.” She drew in a tiny breath. “Anyway, promise you won’t think that’s weird, okay? Even after you get to know me?”

I didn’t know how to answer her. I didn’t think she expected me to. Still, I desperately wanted to do something. To help her. To feel with her. What might a real cat say, in this situation?

Calling on all my vocal chords, I gave a slight murrr followed by a low-pitched aaaauuuuh. It wasn’t nearly enough. It didn’t tell her that life is so curious on Earth; it didn’t say, You don’t deserve this. But hopefully it reminded her: You are not alone.

“Thanks, Leonard,” Olive said, then flicked off the lamp.

I lay there feeling very much like I’d dodged one thing—and stepped directly into something else. Weird? Olive? Weird meant unearthly, and Olive was firmly of this Earth. As an outsider, even I could identify her as human: someone who lived and belonged and spoke with intention. So I guess you could say the idea startled me, that Frank might not see what I saw, not feel what I felt. Olive had rescued me in a storm. She’d given me a place to stay, these blankets beneath my paws. How could anyone see her as anything but good? As anything but purely, wonderfully human?

I flitted, turned. And I thought about Olive—whom I trusted. Whom I trusted from the second we met. If she could share something so personal with me, then why couldn’t I share more with her?

That might put your species at risk, a voice in me said.

Olive is not just any human, another part of me argued. Wouldn’t it be so much easier, if I could just tell her what I was?

Very carefully, I started weighing my choices. If I snuck into a car, could I guarantee that it was traveling in the right direction? If I tried to board an airplane by myself, wouldn’t someone notice me? On my journey, what would happen if a human discovered that I