#1 — my cat is scared of me.
I could never imagine worshipping it. I’d be a rebellious Egyptian. It was in the cold out there, and now it’s here. Sitting on my rug, chewing on my pashmina, eating my food — cause yeah, I didn’t get cat food, you humble weirdos. And if that wasn’t enough, it’s one of that black-body, yellow-eyed — Mumbai cats think it’s called? Not even something you could show off to your friends — not that I have any friends. Just sayin’.
I feed her okay. But my cat is scared of me.
I can’t tell if it’s night or day cause of the rain. I hate the wet mud, makes me think of a warzone. I have been staring at the landline for many hours. I feel a brush against my foot. Ignoring it, I stare at the phone again. Many hours later, something makes a sound nearby. I slowly stand up with my cramped legs. I can feel the water coming behind my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I slam the empty bottle of wine on the phone. I run upstairs not bothering to clean up the mess. Under the covers, I bite my wrists as I hear the cat scratching the door. I should probably hug it, but my cat is scared of me.
The next day, I just sow a few sunflower seeds in my backyard. There’s a high chance I’ll never come back here.
It’s sunny and hot today. Too hot. I am thinking of locking the cat in the fridge. I change my mind after I see it eating a mouse. I spend a few hours staring at my naked self in the mirror with the cat observing me closely. It feels hopeful to be a woman today. After 5 hours in the bathtub, immersed in water as I try to control my breathing, I have second thoughts about tonight. My lungs start to burn, I can’t get up. I see the cat’s blurry face staring at me from above. I scream as I push myself up. I am still in front of the mirror, and the cat is scratching at my reflection. I should throw it out, but my cat Is scared of me.
I toe off the boots as I sniff my wrists. I feel pretty like Marilyn today even though I am not blonde. I close the curtains and my hand lingers on the satin for a second. It’s been ages since I lighted a fire. I do it and stare at the embers for a few seconds. They look pretty too. Even the cat looks less… judgmental. My cheeks are pink as I get ready for bed. From under my blanket near the fireplace as I smell my wrists, and listen to Connie Stevens’s reasons… the cat sets herself at a careful distance from me. I would pet it, but, my cat is scared of me.
There are cobwebs in the fireplace, and on the landline too. There are a million reasons why someone drinks wine. Are there a million reasons why someone doesn’t drink wine? There should be. It’s sunny today but I am cold as a witch’s tit. I haven’t seen the cat today. As I tie myself to a chair, not literally, and try to drink wine, It has never been more difficult. Hours later, I build up the courage. I squeeze my eyes and swallow the thick liquid in one go. Slamming the glass down, I run to the toilet. I hear a knock on the front door as I empty my bowels. I should probably look for the cat, but, my cat is scared of me.
In this big bad world, no one will know you ever existed. No one will mourn your death. So you can scream your pain out, just like I am doing now. This pain is making my skin crawl. It’s making me feel. It’s turning me into a beast. Try as I might, the tweezers are not coming out from between my legs. Through my sweaty hair, I see the cat come and stand at the toilet door. As it stares at me, the tweezers come out. A mass of flesh and blood lands at her feet. She sniffs it and then proceeds to gobble the whole thing at once. I should be scared of my cat, but my cat is scared of me.
