Love Saves the Day

The little girl says, “I know,” in a voice of such offended dignity that, for a moment, I think I’m going to like her. “They taught us that in Hebrew school. Actually,” she adds, “you’re supposed to say, Chag Pesach sameach.”

“Duly noted.” Josh sounds amused. “I keep forgetting how smart ten-year-olds are these days.”

I decide the little girl is like me—somebody whose intelligence is underestimated by humans just because she’s small. But when she and the little boy walk past the kitchen and spot me guarding the food, they squeal, “Oooh, a kitteeeeee!” Then they both run at me with their hands outstretched, not even giving Josh a chance for an introduction. And when I turn and flee from this attack, the little wretches chase after me! I race for under-the-couch as fast as I can. The two of them kneel and plunge little hands that smell like fruit juice and snack chips after me, trying to grab at my tail and bits of my fur!

I’m in so much shock from this display of horrible manners (has nobody bothered to teach these littermates anything?) that I can think of no better way of handling the situation than to hiss and swipe at their hands with my claws. My breath becomes loud and rapid as my fur twitches, what Sarah called “chuffing.” I don’t like reacting this way, but the whole thing is simply more than dignity or patience can bear. Finally, Josh’s sister says, “Abbie! Robert! Leave the kitty alone. She’ll come out and play with you when she’s ready.”

Not likely, I think, twitching my tail back and forth as I try to calm down. “I’m sorry,” Laura tells Josh’s sister. “Prudence isn’t really a ‘people cat.’ ” Hearing Laura try to pass this story around again just makes me madder. If she was telling the truth, what she’d say is, Prudence will only play with humans who have good manners.

Josh’s parents come into the living room where Laura stands in front of the couch pouring wine into glasses. “There’s my gorgeous daughter-in-law!” Josh’s father says in a loud voice. They each hug her, and Josh’s mother murmurs, “We’re so sorry your mother couldn’t be here with us tonight.” Laura hugs them back a bit stiffly and says, “Thank you,” in a polite but brief way that means she doesn’t want to talk about Sarah right now. Then she and Josh’s sister kiss each other on the cheek.

The couch has a long side and a short side, and I’m crouched beneath the shorter part. The littermates come to sit right above me, kicking their legs and playing with a kind of small black plastic box that has buttons and moving pictures all over it. Sometimes they try to grab it away from each other, saying things like, You’re taking too long, or, It’s my turn now.

Josh and his father sit all the way on the other side of the couch, where I can just see their faces if I peek out far enough. Josh’s father wears shiny black shoes with laces on top and black socks that slide down his ankles when he crosses one leg over the other. Laura is sitting between Josh’s mother and Josh’s sister on the other side of the coffee table. Josh’s mother is sparkly all over with more jewelry than Sarah ever wears. The rings on her hand catch the light as she keeps grabbing Laura’s arm while she talks, which makes Laura look uncomfortable. Sarah once said that Laura and I were alike, because neither one of us could stand being petted unless it was our idea first.

I notice how carefully Laura is watching everybody. It’s like she wants to make sure nothing happens that she isn’t prepared for or doesn’t know how to react to. I realize that Laura grew up in Lower East Side with Sarah, where holidays were celebrated differently than they are in Upper West Side. Laura’s an immigrant, like I am. She must also be trying to understand the way things are done in this country.

Not that I feel any sympathy for her. She did, after all, send Josh upstairs with The Monster to try to destroy me and the Sarah-boxes.

I’ve never been in a room with so many humans at one time, and with everybody talking at once it’s hard to hear everything. I can’t tell what Josh’s mother is saying, but I do hear Josh and his father talking about Josh’s work. Josh’s father sighs and says he never understands what young people do anymore, so Josh explains (in a voice that sounds like he’s explained this to his father already) how he does something called “marketing and public relations,” which means he talks to reporters and writes sales presentations for humans called “advertisers” and helps create awareness so other humans know they should buy the magazines his company makes.

“Eh,” Josh’s father says. “That’s too complicated for me. I still don’t know what it is you do all day.”

Josh laughs a little and says, “You know, your job seemed pretty complicated to me when I was a kid.”