How could you?”
“Because black cats are kind of cool.”
“Then why does your friend think that black cats don’t go into their bedrooms?”
“…Yeah, but I can still get a good feel of the way this feels.”
“Then take your friend to the cat library, my friend,” the girl said. “I’ll show them a few books.”
And so, at lunch, as I watched my friend get back from looking through some books, I decided to tell her about my cat. How it got its name, what happened to the cat outside, and the cat in my bathroom that never left. All her responses were interesting, but my pet’s name?
The only thing that happened to my pet when it wasn’t in my room was that it went right back into the cat library.
I tried to ignore it, but the longer they talked about my cat, the more agitated my friend became. My cat had been the only pet with me since my friend moved out, but now it seemed like the only thing she could discuss, and what she found odd about my cat, was the fact that no one ever had a cat in their homes.
The conversation was going on for longer than I was comfortable with before I could tell my friend that my cat had a name. So I asked her about it herself.
“So my cat was adopted at a shelter,” it said. “I moved out a few months ago and when I was there, the shelter had been closed for three months or so. The manager had let some pets go through the front door, and one of the cats was adopted from the shelter, so I ended up finding her. She wasn’t a very good cat as long as she stayed in the back, but she was sweet and friendly…”
So she talked about her cat for a while.
In the meantime, though, a different girl had been talking about her cat. The other one hadn’t mentioned her cat. But now, that I had a chance, I had an answer for my cat’s name.
“…Cute cat,” the girl said.
“…Yeah, but I think if he went back in the house he’d start running and jumping on furniture around the yard,” the girl said.
“…It’d be weird,” the other girl said. “I mean, he’s kind of a freak, but how would somebody get him out of a place like him