the big cat and the little cat

on the worn armrest of the old, brown sofa, the little cat slept. this was his favorite spot. the material was faded and slick, the padding flattened by years of dreaming and purring and watching. that is what he liked most. just watching. he would look out the small, dirty window at the trafic below, picturing the cars as mice. chasing them with his eyes. life was good.

his keeper was a lonely man. what was wrong with being lonely the little cat couldn't understand. he himself preferred it. no complications, no noise. but for his keeper, loneliness was a germ, a fungus on his hands that needed constant attention. and so the little cat let him pet him. every day he would come home and drop food in the bowl, sit down on the couch. the keeper watched the glowing box. the little cat watched the cars below. life was good.

one rainy day the little cat's keeper came home late. he knew he was late because the sky had grown dark and the glowing eyes of the cars streaked yellow across the window pane. it hurt his eyes to watch so he just slept and dreamed of a hundred mice of different colours trapped in a cardboard box. he just watched them crawl over each other. blue, red, yellow, white, green... they just walked back and forth squeeking, squeeking, squeeking.

the little cat awoke with the sound of the door latch turning. click. his keeper was home but something was different. he smelt the change before he saw it. someone was with him. another cat.

the little cat's keeper swung open the door and stepped onto the black mat in the entryway. his coat was shiny from the rain and he shook his umbrella out in the hall before fastening it closed and hanging it on a hook by the door. the little cat watched as he kicked off his rubber boots, blowing damp hair from his eyes as he bent to pick them up with one hand. he was holding somthing under his coat with the other. his keeper seemed to stumble and he opened his arm, loosing what was held snug beneath. who was held snug from the rain. the little cat's claws dug instinctively into the armrest, piercing the taught fabric with tiny popping sounds. the big cat just stood motionless where he fell to the wood floor. he was looking right back at the little cat. eyes wide, back slightly arched, the big cat licked its lips. in a deep voice he spoke the first awkward word, 'hello.'

the little cat did not reply. for a full minute he just stared at the newcomer as his keeper removed his coat and hung it in the closet. who was this big cat? why was he here? how could his master do this to him?

the big cat began checking things out. he climbed onto chairs, ducked under tables, poked his head into open doors. the little cat watched every move from his perch on the sofa arm. after he had satisfied his curiosity, the big cat jumped up onto the sofa and made his way over to the little cat. the little cat pretended not to see. 'hello,' he said again. no response. 'hello, whatcha doin'?' he asked. nothing. 'are you looking out the window? can i see?' silence. the little cat was ignoring him. maybe he will just go away, he thought. the big cat tried to see over the little cat, to see what was outside. he put his front paws on the armrest.

'GET OFF!' the small cat yelled. the big cat was startled. he quickly jumped to the floor and backed away from the little cat. 'this is my couch, this is my armrest and this is my window.' his voice lowered as he squinted his eyes. 'get it?' the little cat didn't wait for a response. he turned his head towards the dark outside and the yellow light caught in the rain dripping down the pane. the big cat was unsure how to react. was this to be his new home? he wondered.

the small cat awoke to the sad mewling. the big cat was in the closet. outside the sun was rising and the cars below began to come more frequently. the rain was still falling but in the daylight the driplets did not blur his vision. he couldn't concentrate though. the big cat was making too much noise. what was his problem? why couldn't he just go away? he tried to picture the cars as mice. tried to think of them with tails and colourful fur, trapped in a box with nowhere to go. but the crying. the big cat just wouldn't stop crying and it was driving him crazy. he jumped from the sofa and made his way gently to the closet. in the back, beside the vaccuum, the big cat was curled into a ball, his eyes glowing yellow in the shadows. he was so sad looking. so scared. the little cat didn't know what to do. 'could you pleeeaaasse be quiet?' he said rather rudely. the big cat swallowed and stopped his sobbing, large eyes blinking slowly.

the little cat turned and left him there in the dark. well at least he listens, he thought. he climbed back up onto the armrest and lay flat on his stomach. the spot was still warm. outside the rain had picked up and the droplets were bigger, making small tapping sounds as they hit the window ledge. the sky, street and even the cars looked grey. he closed his eyes and imagined a cardboard box. hundreds of colourful mice were scrambling inside. everything was quiet except for the tapping of the rain. it was better to be alone, he thought.

Jamie Read - January, 2006

the handsome man who had sadness all the time

Sometimes he could clutch it in the palm of his large, supple hand, other times, he would have to pull it behind him in a wagon or on a sled in the winter. The handsome man was very handsome, but it did him no good because he had sadness.

The problem with sadness was that it was never the same from day to day. Some mornings, the handsome man would wake alone in his South Asian-themed apartment and sadness would weigh so much he could hardly lift himself out of his waterbed. He would be trapped for hours beneath the soft satin sheets and plush duvet. Other days, he would only think of it briefly while applying his aloe-extract facemask in the morning. These inconsistencies were what bothered him most about sadness. The constant adjustments of his well-to-do life were an irritation that only made sadness swell.

One spring day, the handsome man stood in the living room of his South Asian-themed apartment, peering out his 34th floor window through split bamboo Shanghai blinds into the harbour. From where he stood he could see the shimmer on the water, the red sails of anchored boats but he didn’t notice them. He stood there nibbling on the last bite of his vanilla soy protein bar, contemplating the benefits of low carb versus low protein diets. When he finished, the handsome man tossed the wrapper into the trash at his feet. 'It tasted so good,' he thought. Below, on the wharf near the pier, a boy stood, flying a green kite in the cool April air. The handsome man watched the green kite zig and zag against the blue-grey of the seawater and kept thinking.

He dated a woman once who kept her sadness in a sterling locket around her neck. She had said that the locket helped her forget it for a while, but that she would still open it sometimes when she was alone because she missed listening to the sounds it would make. Hers, she said, sounded like crumpling paper or the quick snapping sound that ice cubes make when dropped in warm water. The handsome man’s sadness didn’t make any noise. She had suggested he find a way to trap his sadness but he knew that his was too big and erratic to keep anywhere for long. Plus, his sadness was very round and smooth and would always slip away on him when he tried to get a hold on it. The girl had pretended to understand and he appreciated her lies. Later, he told her that it wasn't going to work out because she was the kind of girl that, while strolling with him on a date, other girls would throw evil eyes at. She was the kind of girl that would cause them to say things like, 'she isn't even that good looking! Why would such a handsome guy go for her.' He wanted someone who could compliment his handsomeness, not just his sadness. When he told her this, she scrambled from the apartment clutching the locket to her cheek, sadness leaking onto his hand-stitched oriental rug as she went.

The boy with the kite returned each day that spring and summer and each day the handsome man would watch him from high above in his South Asian-themed apartment as he moisturized his face and hands or flossed his teeth. Some day's he watched and sadness was almost forgotten. Other day's he cried and cried as he held his sadness like an umbrella above his head.
Last week, the boy brought a friend. She had a bright orange jacket and a dress that blew around in the same fashion as the kite. The handsome man was filing his nails as he watched, scraping his cuticles back with the file’s edge. That morning, he hardly felt sadness when he woke. It was only a pea in his pocket. But as he watched the boy and girl and the green kite all dancing together on the pier he felt sadness grow. It got so big he had to use both hands to hold it. It got so big it reminded him of the first time he ever felt it. It had felt like a wrecking ball.

The first time he ever felt sadness, the handsome man had been at a party in college. He had been drinking and was saying funny things like "...and prosperity only comes in jars for people with the intention of saving it for later...” people were laughing at him and he thought they thought he was funny. Later, at the end of the night, a pretty girl he was flirting with sat him on the couch and placed her hand on his knee. She had eyes like mirrors and she licked her lips often so that they were shiny and new all the time. He waited for her to say she loved him. Instead, she explained that she didn't like him in that way as she stood up to leave with Paul Henderson. The handsome man nearly split in half.

And so, crying at the weight of sadness held high above his head, the handsome man went to the balcony, stepping over his terracotta flowerpots and into the sunshine. The sadness gleamed in the sunlight, reflecting through the handsome man’s long lashes. He stepped to the edge and heaved it over the rail. The handsome man watched his sadness fall and fall and when it hit the black asphalt of the parking lot, the impact made his windows rattle. On the pier, the boy with the kite and the girl with the billowy dress turned, startled by the sound of exploding sadness. The handsome man saw them standing there, motionless as they looked up at him and then down to the ground where the sadness had crashed. The girl with the billowy dress gently put her hand inside the boy’s and whispered in his ear, just as the kite dipped in the wind, falling into the grey water behind them.

The end

jamie read - 2005