Fish

By the time we got back to the apartment, we had around a half-hour before our guests would be here. I got to work putting away the groceries. I opened the kitchen window, and lost time gazing out of it. I had never been able to afford a kitchen with a window before. From our third-floor view, I watched a handful of schoolchildren kick around a soccer ball on this lively spring day. The children were of indeterminate animality, although I could make out a child with orange cat-ears, like mine. The breeze smelled like clovers.

I felt Nara's arms wrap around me from behind. "I played soccer as a child," she said squeakily. "My legs were so short back then, though. I'd always be picked last for the teams."

"Plus, you're a bad sport," I replied. "We're taking a break from tennis until we're fully settled in."

"Who's to say when you're fully settled-in anywhere?" she said, after a beat, her tail swishing, the lace fringe of her top flowing to the rhythm of its movement. 

I couldn't decide whether this was astute or too abstract to mean anything.  "Do you feel settled in?"

"No," she said definitively, half-transfixed with the soccer match outside. She loved ball games of all kind, finding some kind of ecstatic magic in it, but she could rarely find companions willing to put up with her abjectly horrific sportsmanship. She feigned injuries, foul balls - anything to keep herself on top. I already disliked team games, but they were more like enemy games with her in the mix. "Not until I have another goldfish."

My throat bobbed with guilt. I swallowed it. "How about something larger and more hardy, like a koi?"

"Goldfish are very hardy," she said sullenly. "I wish you had let me bury Finley."

"He was in a bad condition," I murmured, which was the truth. I had woken up in a sleepwalking stupor to find old Finley halfway down my throat. What could I do, except panic and send him down the porcelain throne with the awful, failure salute of a general, one who had sent off his most robust soldier to a shadowy death on the battlehill?

I'd tell her soon. After Sylvie's birthday celebration, which would be the first celebration in this new apartment. I did not want our place to be haunted by a vengeful ghost. Or if it was already haunted, I did not want her to know about it just yet. One look into the red pools of her bright, trusting eyes could send me into a bout of involuntary confession, so I avoided looking at her until I could settle my leaping heart. Poor Finley, who would never see any kind of soccer match again!

"What's wrong?" she said inquisitively. She stuck her finger in my ear and scratched lightly at the fluffy-inner pink, a very irritating habit of hers. "You're hiding something, aren't you?"

"No, I'm just itchy. Pollen is coming in."

She reached up with both hands and massaged around my ears. The warmth of guilt and pleasure blossomed in my chest. "Poor kitty!"

Poor mouse! Poor Finley! I could not help what I did when I sleepwalked, but in my waking hour here I was omitting a truth. I was a superstitious person, especially for a man, especially for a cat. I promised to dissipate this lie as soon as the moment arrived.

I slinked away, my tail whisking unhappily as she began yelling at the children below. "Handball!" she screamed, pointing out the window, nearly knocking out our potted plant. I hoped that we would not make any enemies in the building. I wandered about the apartment, folding cardboard boxes and wiping down flat surfaces as I saw fit. Nara brewed a grey tea, clipped her nails, found the TV remote, spritzed the houseplants, and jumped when the doorbell rang. A fox-male FedEx worker delivered a small, light box.

"My dress is here!" she said happily. "I got it for so cheap!" She undressed and tried it on in front of me. I rushed to close the kitchen window's curtains, though we were standing well enough away from it. I turned back to look at her.

Her dress was blue and patterned like a picnic table. She looked like a dandelion fairy, or something magical like that. She beamed at me. She skittered back into the kitchen and turned on the battery-operated CD player on the counter.

"Here's Wonderwall," she said. As I remember the joy on her face, it reverberates like the silken string of a guitar down the golden instruments of my mind. I forgot that she was a mouse and I a cat. I forgot what her parents had said about me when I had met them for the first time. I forgot about the pond I was pushed into when I was in kindergarten. I forget even about poor Finley. The seaweed swayed in his glossy, empty tank.

I often get sentimental thinking of her now.

I could not help but sweep her into my arms. She laughed and started kicking my ankles gently for no reason.

"Hey," I hummed into her shoulder. "Foul ball."

"Maaaaaybe," she sang. "You're gonna be the one that saves me."

We went for a quick walk before Sylvie and Dom got there. Everything smelled like dandelions. I sneezed over and over again. She tried to join the children's soccer game but I didn't let her. I did not want her to get angry and start yelling. A guinea-pig girl complimented her dress. Nara struck up a conversation with her. They talked about their respective art colleges. The guinea-pig girl was making an interpretative cardboard maze for her final. Nara asked to participate. They exchanged numbers.

"Busy girl," I meowed. "So, mice like mazes?"

"We're good at them," she said, wrinkling her nose. "That's all."

During our walk, I got a call from Dom.

I picked up. "Hey, man," I said.

"Hey," he said, and then sneezed.

"You, too?"

"Yeah, man," he said. "It's killing me. Listen, we're bringing salmon soup."

I paused. "We actually have that already."

"Ah, shit. Sylvie," he called out. "Get out of the line. Yeah, babe. They have it already."

"Bring whatever you like." I heard the murmuring undertone of Sylvie's lisp on their end.

"Is that Sylvie?" asked Nara.

"It's Dom."

She grabbed the phone out of my hand. "Can you put Sylvie on?" she said into the receiver. I took a deep breath and refrained from hissing.

"Sure, kid," said Dom. Sylvie came on the line. Nara put the phone on speaker mode.

"Why did you call her kid?" asked Sylvie. "She's older than you."

"What?!" Dom said, taken aback.

"Sylvie!" said Nara.

"Yesss?"

"Do you want to sleep over tonight?"

"What," I said.

"Yeah! A sleepover to christen my apartment!"

"It's christened plenty," I muttered.

"Umm," said Sylvie.

"Oh wait," Nara said, when she saw the look on my face. "I don't think Taro wants that. I think he wants it to just be us two tonight."

"Did you have to namedrop me?" I asked her.

"Umm," said Sylvie again.

"Never mind!" said Nara, beaming. "Just come over and then leave like normal." She hung up.

"You really yank your friends around," I said.

"I yank you," she said, a romantic look on her face, purring like a cat. 

Dom and Sylvie nearly beat us to our own apartment. The sun was starting to set. They both wore turtlenecks. They had brought pink lemonade and whiskey. Dom put a rap album on using our CD player. Sylvie switched it out for Credence Clearwater Festival. Nara switched it out for Oasis again. Sylvie thanked us for the salmon soup.

"Do you like being 23?" asked Nara.

"Did you?" I asked Nara. She glared at me for some reason! Nara was 24, a year older than me and two years older than Sylvie and Dom. Sometimes women get a little loopy after turning 24 before they reign it back in at 28 or so, according to some of my more experienced friends and family.

Sylvie smiled. "Yesss. So far, anyway.” She leaned into Dom’s side, who sat next to her. Nara copied her exact movement but with me, scooting her chair next to mine and wiggling into my side.

Dom and I discussed the football game, while Sylvie tried to convince Nara to get a train pass instead of paying for tickets individually as she needed them.

The sunset splashed the room in orange. Sylvie wandered onto our balcony and lit a Marlboro cigarette, a bad habit that she absolutely could not kick much to Dom’s chagrin. It was additionally painful for him to watch the smoke waft through the blades of her silvery hair; he had regretfully been the one to introduce her to cigarettes. Dom sulked on our couch. Nara put on a previous football game to try to cheer him up. When Sylvie came back in we tried to start a game of poker but the two girls were a little drunk for the strategy aspect. 

Our apartment felt christened in another way. I believed that we were destined for happy and important things here.